Tag Archives: love poem

Clara’s Song

Clara and the Nutcracker.

The clock strikes
12, and once more,
the room is still. Even the
moon knows that
it is nearly time
to hear the pitter and the patter
of the mouse army
that has come to invade and take
you away from me. But
you should know that
I would never let them,
even if I had had you
for barely a day. For
you hold my heart now. I
have known — since that first
glance, and by the time we danced
around the tree, with your hard–
wood body wrapped in
my hands’ embrace — not even
the evil Mouse King and
his zealous wrath could take you away.

I will follow you, to save you.
Even if it means leaving
behind this world, to enter your
world of eternal snow.

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For You

The sky is emptier than the last
time we were together. Sitting
beneath a walkway, You and I
speaking in undertones we didn’t
even understand. Not
because we didn’t try harder,
but because listening was not an option.
at that time. Just staring
into seemingly blank spaces
of whiteness and dark spheres.

At that time. That was enough.

Now, those moments don’t exist
as before. The stillness disturbed by
unspoken undertones remain– still.
Only the staring into blank spaces
continue. But the whiteness
and dark spheres has finally disolved into–
nothingness.


2 Poems (Of the Brokenhearted)

Sticks and Bottles
I once smoked a joint. Three inches, straight. Not even stopping
to take a breath. Oxygen didn’t matter. Just smoke.
Dried lips, limp limbs. I didn’t stop. Just inhaled deeper.
Until my lungs expanded and I died. They found nothing.
Just clogged tear ducts and a lighter
with your name.

I once drank a bottle. One litre, straight. Not even looking back
to take a breather. The alcohol was hot. Warming
my blue fingers. Making the blood rush back to my heart.
I drank until I drowned, and my lungs collapsed. Then I died.
They found everything. Wrapped in a towel, the one with your name
stitched on it. Eyes drier this time.


J.C (Just Crumbs)
I looked behind the fallen
bread crumbs. They left
a winded trail. Even the birds refuse
to nibble at them. The ants have too much
on their backs, roaches don’t eat dust either.
Should I pick them up and throw them
into the pond instead? Let the fish gobble them
up. Lead none to waste. You wouldn’t like it
when I’m wasted. Did the road trip to Bataan go well?
You must’ve been numb, like you always were.
Teach me how to bake your blue velvet cakes,
without the artificial coloring. Don’t leave
behind a winded trail, you’re not bread.
No one would pick at your fallen crumbs.


Mantis

Not my photograph.

Claws for nails, hands that
clamp love at first.
Set up that final need
for lust. Gains trust, harder,
deeper, betraying even myself.
Why do I want you so? Closer,
until the faint embers of yellowed eyes
are all I see before you
take in that final deep breath.
Even humming birds fall into your trap

— goddess of rebirth flawlessly
populating the drying earth.
Glorious skies, with hands folded,
as if in eternal prayer.


Love, Lie Still…

Valentine’s Day is over, but since February is considered as the month of love, I believe that it is appropriate to share this wonderful poem written by none other than the “Love Woman” herself, Ophelia A. Dimalanta. 

Love, Lie Still…

What the body wants
Is the fecundity of forests
And not the forgetfulness
Of sedatives, the hinterlands’
Brief spreading, fluffs of clouds
Alighting noiselessly
Upon the shanks of space,
Skies shaped upon awnings
Of nights, bland breasts
Inevitably resting upon mindless
Hands… just there, serenely
Dreaming, so naturally together.

This unthinking laying of flesh
Upon flesh is honest speech
Caught still in the middle
Of a lie… this is the beginning
Of the truest voyage to the other
Secret zones, access into
The most intimate places.
Let us lie no more, glaze, pad up,
Camouflage in various subterfuges
The color of our helplessness.

Let us be sane before
We even start to dissemble,
Pick up from this erstwhile
Void as if we never minded.
Let this wilderness in us
Not ever begin to seek a clearing,
Knowing the impossibility
Of discerning the line
Between the lie of silences
And the truth of utterance,
The lie of naked complicity
And the declarations of sheathed faiths.

Let us lie, still as time,
Conspirator,stands by
As still, looking smugly
Shrewdly the other way.

Let us not ever speak again
Of the fictions and collusions
Of true love so-called;
Our instincts have been punished
Enough; let us now get on
With our lives and ever
So quietly naturally move
Into each other, and
Into the heart of need.


About the poet:

Ophelia A. Dimalanta (1932-2010) was a poet, writer, editor, and teacher. Being one of the Philippines’ premier writers, she has published books on poetry, prose, drama, and literary criticism.


Two Poems

Spontaneous Combustion

She sat by the window and watched

the migrating doves

of brown flutter by,

their feathers filling the view with

dandelion clocks

inviting her to make

a wish. She whispered

the words into the air –

but the fire consumed her, reducing her to ashes

before she could even finish.

Stars and the Moon

Take time to ponder in solitude

while walking under

the light of the full moon.

Let the trees create

silhouettes with their leaves, figures that dance

with the chime of the wind – creating

shadows of familiar faces. But never forget

about the stars even if moonlight is enough,

for they would never leave

once the moon

fades.