#49 2018 Blog “Woman, A Succulent Specie”

“Woman, A Succulent Specie”

NOTE: my new recent love, poeticising, grouping artfully, succulent varieties:

many times a woman falls in love then… no more, then… again and again and again… tears again and again and again… like a succulent plant, she’s a rare ambrosian; a fleshy tasty delicious flavoursome yummy grapes!

i wish to banish that scintillating parfum that puts me to a standstill… a nagging shadow that haunts my valley, a private valley that once upon a time video-ed our romance…i search i shout for a tsunami to get rid of ‘love’; its pulpits its attitudes its sentiments;   succinctly erased from the horizon; and welcome a rising dawn that would once again exalt colours of rainbow… enjoy the wrestles of windstorms, striking thunderstorms floodgates of lava.

ahhhhhhhhh… my blood surging like tsunami reigning in laughters!!! __would i love once more, would i compare, would there be rival meanings… gads, i would let these wrestling matches melt themselves to nowhere and flower new buds… dancing moi endless in the meadows of nonlocation; a flying saucer without a site; a coruscating accident i’d call; triggering a vexatious punctum, simmering into bliss.

i, the woman, could be alone but never lonely, i am a detached leaf… i am free to go north, south, east, and west, carried by the wind, i shall treasure every moment of my ‘now and here’… and once in awhile lay on my tummy, under the expanses of blue sky kissed by the cold breeze and tickled by the soft wind __i shall close my eyes; shall refresh my ‘then and there!’ __ life is simply awesome… i shall whisper, “honey, my honey… it’s marvellous…  ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh… that lovely night”!

we foxtrot in graceful dips 

never minding the many stares

the music seek not to stop

our lips… seal, glue

clock stops… as we embrace!

you look at me

ahhh… as if i’d melt 

moulding me like candy balls

playful tongue faddy lips… play sip roll.

i am deliciously consumed… a WOMAN!

as a poet, times when i feel terribly in naughty-want… while it could be engrossing, possessing to read love poetries, yet if it’s explicitly  languaged, it becomes a distaste nuisance, pornographic in lustful tone… but pornographic poetry could be utterly interesting if intricately sculpted in the metaphysical form… so, let me interestingly ink my erotic  “the goddam colgate”… in my dim lighted bathroom, the music sounds Rod Stewart’s …  “I SAW YOU LAST NIGHT”

the melodious wind chimes

a hold, my fingers numb

the press the squeeze

a wish for its mossy abundance

ahhhhhhhhh… i remember.

my hands tremble

my hands like a tickling spoon on a saucer

artfully smothering 

then…

ahhhhhhhhh… i remember.

a snakelike mint flavour squirts

the goddam toothpaste 

COLGATE’s last spurts

a sighing heat mist

ahhhhhhhhh… i remember… 

 

_ade caparas manilah

tuesday 5:26pm 21 august 2018

sydney nsw australia

#48   2018 Blog” “Cry In Silence”

“Cry In Silence”

One fascinating memories of the 50s was the the crying in silence… then, young people like me, were totally submissive to parents, who seemed to be our earth god… for we have to feel so infinitely indebted for being sent to good schools, while they sweat to fill their financial pockets.;  education  seemed and believed to be the only gateway to successful future during this era; my parents expected a top notch, a summa, a valedictorian at all times. I was 16age, i remember having layers upon layers of dreams, fantasies, imaginations, occupying my 24/7 thoughts… these were infatuation  crushes, fantasy of love, fantasy of riches, of actors, of beauty contests, besides the obsession to be top amongst the grades. I avoided  public complaints, on the contrary, i found cry as my most consolable  friend when things got so difficult, a negative result then, was taboo… it had  to be triumph at all times!

ade draft-1

i weep not… i cry

a painful water drop in silence…

not of resignation nor helplessness 

but of weariness boredom suppression.

cricket’s chorus song

impedes my sighing pains

i cry to myself to win

the battle of triumph,

through longevity of my strength.

Now, this 21st century, parents, the Dads and the Moms, are on the receiving end of ‘cry’; the children they love, cared and educated, now far exceed the attainment of triumphs; the parents are subdued, finding themselves in the ‘cry of silence’. In some cases, the children would dare utter loud languages  against the Dad and the Mon without a glint of hesitation. This parent’s precious precious silent-tears, is what i would call ‘self-pity’… self-pity because, they are expectant of gratefulness from their children, which i would definitely not be in agreement. As a mom myself, to see to hear to feel, the triumphs of my kids, would instead make me cry in joy… i never would expect any repayment of gratefulness or material gifts for whatever i have done for whoever… and should i get some disrespect from them, i would have to review why. I would conclude that perhaps, “i had been wrong in the upbringing of my children or perhaps i have misread people”.

cry is a gift

it releases pain

it opens a new vision

for a renewed strength

finds my new me

my independent moi

opens my eyes

a wider field of interest

i start to love me!

A forsaken lover would shed a silent tear as being magnified in music like the song  ‘CRY’ by Johnnie Ray:

“if your sweetheart sends a letter of goodbye

it’s no secret, you feel better, if you cry…….”

or the song by Diana Krall, ‘Cry Me A River’:

“now you say, you’re lonely

you cried the whole night through

well, you can cry me a river, 

cry me a river

i cried a river over you.

you drove me… 

nearly drove me out of my head

while you never shed a tear

remember, i remember all that you said…….”

What is ‘crocodile tears’?

actors in movies cry

reliving the reality 

of roles they play.

lies relived as reality

are crocodile tears.

this kind of tears

are mere acts

that involves not

a heart.

Crying, an involuntary release of emotion, touched and moved by a situation like death of ones child, of a parent, or some devastation of properties, of wars, of massacres, or victim of assaults, etc., is in fact a wonderful feeling of unloading heaviness of heart…  and though it may prove to be a painful struggle, to cry does not lessen, degrade, insult, my existential being.

__ade caparas manilah

thursday 12:03am 02 august 2018

sydney nsw australia

#47 2018 Blog “My Lacerated Soul”

“My Lacerated Soul”

draft pic cover

tumultuous silent drips

the pouring rain shouted a deafening silence 

drew moi to madness

laughing crowds surrounded moi

hour after hour scheduled  trains

left moi behind

a tiny dark corner

i licked i licked

my lacerated soul!

i stare at the grandfather’s clock

a pendulum oscillates 

announcing passing hours

swings me throws me

to the left and to the right 

a cyclone; toying me like a paper doll

leaves moi without rest

gasping drowning…

my bleeding soul!

ahhhh a temptress 

reaches a hand

drops a moment of existence

hypocrisies, treasons, gossips

endless bullies 

rob my moment of peace

i dance to rhythm 

of hallucination

a mirage of lifeless corpse. 

all of my love

my times, my strength, my soul

i give, unmindful of death!

why why why?

i die i die…  i question, why

my tears scream, “where are you”?              

 i pain i hurt i bleed

my lacerated soul… bleeding 

j’ai besoin de toi… i need you!

__ade c.

wednesday 12:15pm 11 july 2018

sydney nsw australia

#46 2018 Blog “the Hair”

“the Hair”

final HD pic the hair 2018

 

the strands re-translate

the visible into antediluvian  

perceives  the depth of soul

something divinely whole

a dithyrambic drama poetry

a woman is seen 

spiral locks dangle

pronounce her forehead 

of spiritual radiance!

 

Writers Artists Actors Bible speak of hair: 

1 Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead. (Chapter 4:1 bible Song Of Songs King James)

Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair. Khalil Gibran  [https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/khalil_gibran_106889?src=t_hair]

I love fashion, and I love changing my style, my hair, my makeup, and everything I’ve done in the past has made me what I am now. Not everyone is going to like what I do, but I look back at everything, and it makes me smile. Victoria Beckham {https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/victoria_beckham_765163?src=t_hair}

i don’t know who is 

what is a poet

but i know when where how is a poet

the how of creativeness 

the where of autochthonie  weaves

the how of well-sprouted exclusivity

phrases shine shimmer glimmer

like a freshly shampooed hair

each strands in enchanting hellooooo!

 

ade caparas manilah

tuesday 3:02pm 10 july 2018

sydney nsw australia

#45 2018 Blog “Yet Still I Love 💖U”

“Yet Still I Love U”

If a simple being… a tree, though being stripped of all its green leaves in autumn; chilling the silence of loneness during winter; would gladly and willingly survive till it gets to spring, why can’t i, with all the gifts of intellects, talents, movements, not excel it?…Am i that weakling… that i easily melt drown submerge like a poor rat? Is a being like a tree stronger than i??? __ade c.

HD pic poetographart 2018 1

corner of soundless tears

relentless drops of silent rain

flood my illusion  imagery

i had to acknowledge 

the ‘here’

the ‘no-where’ beyond

the dizzying schism

amongst my peoples.

Yet Still I Love U”

fallen spirits left and right

sights of skin and bone

daggers of hunger

are their food

stench of decaying bodies

cloud my air

my limbs in heavy dis-movement

no one no one in sight

“Yet Still I Love U”

 

mocking laughters 

the super-hymn

où où où

is your God?

hahahahahahah… U

une creature misérable

tearing my clothes

whipping criticism surrounds

“Yet Still I Love U”

__ade caparas manilah

2018 sydney nsw australia

#44 2018 Blog “Unconsciousness of the Unconscious”

“Unconsciousness of the Unconscious”

It is the pleasure of text, the overflowing command of words that can make a mountain dances;  makes violent waves to appear like making love to a rocky mount; makes wind to sound like a love song… texts that postulate bliss, rather than a philosophy, a method, a research, a pedagogy. It has a very faint institutional future: its structure assumes nothing…  it is the art of poeticizing a simple sentence, “I have two hands, the left and the right” into  a simulative mysterious  seductive phrases… the Unconsciousness of the Unconscious effectively renders a poet’s work into a level of excellence!__ade c. 

ade draft-1

those lovely days

those misty breaths

those  loving moans

such intoxicating gowns of joy

consumed wrapped me

created in me the empty silence of silence 

pin-pricked, colonized haunted taut-ed 

lacerated my soul and bled me 

to an eternity of deafening shouts.

My ghost pocket traces emotion and passion, dominate, shadow, line, my linguistic field, the truths about my joy happiness pleasure; the joy’s temporal nature; like my daughter takes me out for groceries… the happiness’s ten-seconds of thrill; like getting my doctorate degree… a pleasure’s moment of bliss, that second of only me matters.

all the magical monads

the vagabonds of thought

the pragmatic force

the spontaneous rhetorics

make me a refugee displaced

no conscious illusion prolonged

minutes and seconds compete

like a switch-on motor

the Unconsciousness of the Unconscious.. the UU of me!!!

_ade caparas manilah

friday 1:10pm 06 july 2018

sydney nsw australia

#43 2018 Blog “A Pictorial Poetry”

“A Pictorial Poetry”

why, ahhhhhhhhh… my endless whys… why do people, including moi, enjoy the wind the rain the moon the stars the rainbow the sea the mountain, such strings of wonders. __but also man’s creations like biographies novels poetries paintings fashions jewelleries, and most extremely, our ownselves? _ade c.

final hd pic my hair 02 july 2018     ade hd pic 01 july 2018    hd pic sins of our forefathers

i create moi

the physical moi

my supple body 

my skin my hair my lips my nails

reminds me that i’m fresh

it shines glows teases

leaves me in ecstatic mood

feeling voluptuously lovely

makes me love me!

let my hair speaks

let it creates poetry

let it calms moi

it temps moi 

to go out

to meet people

that i may pride

its loveliness

Yessssssss… it’s a pictorial poetry!!!

_ade caparas manilah

monday 2:44pm 02 july 2018

sydney nsw australia