Poetic Attempts

She Brought Home a Gold Mine

Thu, 10 May 2007 15:16:54 GMT

She used to live in a shanty
   with nipa roof
   and bamboo walls,
   and soil for a floor.
She used to look so shabby
   in hand-sewn clothes
   and an old pair of shoes,
   which, all, her mother once wore.
She used to be poorer than the rats
   she would run after
   and smash with a broom.
But everything has changed
   since she met Mr. Jones.
Now life for her (and the neighborhood)
   suddenly became easy
   as Mr. Jones�it seems�
   is a man so generous and wealthy.
No trace of a poor lady can be seen
   as she walks around the town
   with a tall, white man.
The smile on her face beams with pride
   as her head she holds high.
But never had she heard of the stories
   passed on from mouth to mouth,
   of what she might had done
   to bring home a gold mine.

Ariel Lalisan

Boarders

Thu, 29 Sep 2005 15:15:44 GMT

Ssshh...
Speak softly
the landlady's asleep.

Ah, the tiger!

Don't disturb her.
You might awaken her

with your noise

and she might throw away your things
or she might throw you some things.

Damn, she's awakened!
Hide the cards!
The bottles!

See?

I've told you ahead.

Now,

take care.

Ariel Lalisan

The Artist

Thu, 29 Sep 2005 15:11:02 GMT

Scribble.
Yes, crooked lines.
Some more crooked lines.
A few words.
And some phrases, too.
Meaningless at first.

Dab.
For now, with just watercolor.
Cheap watercolor whose shades
change right before your eyes
and colors fade even before
you're done.
Some figures.
Abstract.

Step, point, step.
And mincing steps.
Observe the feet of your
meticulous instructor.
Endure the pain
of the stomping
of your sweating mate;
on your foot
and her verbal lashing
when you take your turn,
accidentally.

Resonate.
Exhaust your vocal cords
until the piece is over
and your trainor's
long list of sharps and flats
you did
extincts;
until you run out of breath.

As grains of sand
slip between your fingers,
a heap forms.
Gradually.
Ascending to a height.

Build your castle.

Ariel Lalisan

PMS

Tue, 14 Dec 2004 06:18:36 GMT

The stars are crawling westward
But have not, at least, sunken to nowhere.
Poor souls, young and free
wallow in the darkness.
The last bottle is emptied.
The spirit runs where blood should be.
The world whirls around unstoppably.
Unknown to each other were he and she.
But stares, like needle, prick so deeply�
and inside, blood gushes forth so rapidly�
the nearest hiding is the place to be.
The moans and groans
with every thrust
seem to them a melody.
Their pulsating and sweating bodies
go with the rhythm
till morning comes,
when stars have gone to another place,
there, where more poor souls rejoice,
she cries in guilt and pain.

Ariel C. Lalisan

The Land of the Lost

Mon, 08 Nov 2004 11:33:18 GMT

I have been to the land of the lost.
Nobody was there but poor souls.
No terrain to see.
Not a place for all to be--
if you're not lost then you're astray.

The land of the lost
is for those
who can't help but stay
the way the world lead them to be.
It is not for those whose hearts
long not to be free--
for they reside in the prison cells
to which they are held in captivity.

The land of the lost
calls for free spirits
who search for their eternity,
but were so unfortunate
to look not in the right places
and found their selves
alone and hopeless.

I have been to the land of the lost,

where fools choose to wander.
I felt at home in the land of the lost,
and stayed there for a century or so.
My soul rejoiced for there I am alone;
so, I can be what I want
and do what I long to do.

But the land of the lost was not forever for me
for a light I saw and I found my way--
back to where I should be,
in this lonely world--
the land of reality.

To the land of the lost,
I'll be back someday
if my grip to the hand that lifted me
will slowly loosen and then I'll see
the world turn dark
and there I'll be--
back to the land of the lost.

Ariel Lalisan

Wandering Soul

Sun, 24 Oct 2004 09:04:32 GMT

I am a wandering soul,
looking for I don't know what,
searching for I don't know whom.
Those places I've been to
taught me not.
They caused me doubts.

I am a wandering soul.
The questions, how could I count?
The answers, when would I find?

A wandering soul,
would I still be?
A peaceful soul,
when would I be?

And a voice from nowhere spoke:
Wandering Soul,
would you ever meet
someone to drench the fire inside?
I think, you won't
until you find the one you're looking for--
he is no one but you.

Ariel Lalisan

Legacy Naught

Sun, 24 Oct 2004 09:03:44 GMT

It came from without.
Nothingness was its seed.
From nowhere it did sprout.
Now, it's in my head.

The train is to leave.
I still sit undisturbed.
For transition I so crave.
Yet, I wait to be served.

This way, I'll pass but once.
There is not a second chance.
Having no intent to pry,
After living, I will soon just die.

It is to me if I dwell in passivity--
I'll leave not a worthy memory.
Not a trace of valor;
But of cowardice
and terror.

Ariel Lalisan

Shackles

Sun, 24 Oct 2004 09:02:28 GMT

Free me from the thoughts that engulf my acts.
Free me from this life that sucks.
Free me from this cold world--
      to where I never chose to be hurled.

Free me from the evil within that scares away the rain.
Free me from the venom that runs through my veins
      and will suddenly bring me to hell.
Free me from my fears.
Free me; hear me yell.

Free me from tongues that bite.
Free me from pain.
Free me from the shadow that blocks the light.
Free me from darkness.

Free me from these shackles
       that hold my soul tightly.
Relieve my agony and make me free--
       from this grave whose latch's on hold.
Free me, please, from this world.
Free me.

Ariel C. Lalisan

Heal Me

Sun, 24 Oct 2004 09:00:38 GMT

Loneliness...
I'm falling into your abyss.
Slowly, I'm losing my breath
as I descend into your depth.

Fool I am who believes
in him who says,
life contains
only joy and bliss.

I am alone in this cruel world;
fighting the battles on my own.
Ever did I triumph?
No, I never have won.

My soul is starving.
I need healing.
I don't need Hippocrates--
maybe, words from Socrates.
Come now.
Bring me out of the cold.
Begin the healing, cheer up my soul.
Would you?

Ariel Lalisan