#4 “The Provocateur”…[Series Poetry-Painting]

” a woman’s mystique”

final HD the Provocateur Cover page


sometimes in my solitude, i would ask myself, “what if i had made the other choice? What if i have chosen to be a career woman? __ yet i believe in destiny, whatever however choices i had made, i am certainly destined to encounter the same degree of life in this world.



it’s now midnight my darling

crossroad of my life

confused so confused

am i black or am i blue

is it north or south…  east or west!

nothing nothing is incontrovertible


surely… however whatever

regret is never a choice!

happiness is a choice

but is it enough 

to choose right?

fresh as tulip,

i dreamt to be

a mom of 12 kids, a huge home, a grand piano

but then… 

i was a scholar

groomed for a big career!

well pronto… my first dream opened i have chosen it! But though i survived the thorns and bustles, tears and joys  combined, i still wonder, “what if i had chosen the other path?”


the same routine of struggles 

though in a different angle… 


how is the end-result?

this is the hidden 

woman’s mystique


regret is never a choice! 


an expressionism poetry-painting by:

 __ade caparas manilah

sunday 2:19pm 28 october 2018

Lanecove West NSW Sydney Australia

note: a revised version of “My lips” series 2016 Sydney NSW


#3 “The Provocateur”…[Series Poetry-Painting]

“is nature the eternity i expect?”

final HD the Provocateur Cover page

i am at the winter of my life, my mind works like a horse on a gallop…  from a walk to a trot to a canter… unnoticeably galloping! 

this gold glimmer of 7th heaven

is somewhat a passing breeze

and even if i take a snap of it

it will never be back, 

never to be duplicated


if only time will keep still

even for few seconds

then, i can get a glimpse of eternity. 


i try to retrace my shadows

but it also won’t keep still

for every movement i make

goes to yesterday

a yesterday that refuses 

to clarify, so elusively zeroing

 my mind in its blurry image 

whether it’s joy or sadness

my fingers refuses to portray.


9:30 am (having my cup of coffee here at my ‘pergola’

As i lean against the corner post of my pergola, weighing the passing drizzles that have been on an off-on gymnastics for more than three weeks now, i caught the tail end of Roy’s motorised wheel chair, which i often refer as Roy’s ‘Ferrari’. Roy, a 92 year old neighbour, can still proudly walk inspite of that bundle pillows his back carries- but only for few minutes or else, he will be romancing and kissing the shadow of his steps. Gads, he still exhibits a pair of googling  eyes on beauty like a teen; every morning, he would be on his way for a cup of coffee at a nearby cafe and when he comes back, he would be handing me a stick of choclat ice cream! My other neighbours tease me as his lover! hahahaha!!!

sing a song of love in a bath tub

dance the conga while cooking

sway dream on a hammock

walk a mile a day

eat what you like

make love…  lol make love!

enjoy your life

why count the minutes 

in complaints?


death is always

but a foot away

we are all destined anyway

so why worry

go lucky be happy

throw all your garbages

make beauty surround you

be youthful and healthy

look at me… lol!!!


do i labour in abandonment  

won’t i ever reach a conclusion 

would i ever know my own praises

would i always be in mysticism 

not knowing how when do i end?

would i be a part of your nature

a tree a flower a bird or rain

is nature the eternity

i expect?


Impressionist art is a style in which the artist captures the image of an object as someone would see it if they just caught a glimpse of it. They paint the pictures with a lot of color and most of their pictures are outdoor scenes. Their pictures are very bright and vibrant.

impressionism poetry-painting by _ade caparas manilah

friday 6:59pm 19 october 2018

Lanecove West NSW Sydney Australia

#2 “The Provocateur”…[Series Poetry-Painting]

“fetish of perfection”

HD ade imperfectionMy gardening eccentricity of stainless-ness;  picking dropped leaf one after another, sooner than it has fallen, reached its saturation point when Sofie, a new neighbour from Poland, who  has recently moved in a unit next to mine, and  who, in her eagerness to get rid of the muddy soil that thickened  her pathway after a pouring rain, started to shoot a strength of water hose on it… pushing all fallen dried leaves along my new garden wire groyne…  “Please pick up all the leaves before or after you target your water hose,” i said profiling some kind of displeasure.

“Why, it didn’t enter your property,” she curtly replied.

“Pick up the leaves… pick up the leaves,” i shouted back like a piercing cat, uh uh uh… my fetish of perfection obliged my tongue… surfacing my most uncontrolled  attitude. “Where’s your common sense? Don’t you see me meticulously  keep my garden free of unsightly garbage.”


fetish of perfection


poison gas to line a blue sky

with a baton thunderstorm

dropping acid rains!


fetish of perfection

the beauty the delicateness the fragility 

the perfection of a white rose

mirror a character

dirt elevates mankind static and backward.


fetish of perfection

ties to pillow passéistes of attitude

clumsy tone of undiplomatic language

an imperfectly licked ice cream

metamorphosing back and back.


fetish of perfection

yesssss… against non-common sense

a cry,  a remorse occurring  

suddenly naked 

before the eyes of a zigzag  world!

a surreal poetry-painting by: ade caparas manilah

thursday 10.54 am 18 october 2018

Lanecove West NSW Sydney Australia

#1 “the provocateur”[series poetry-painting]

The Monster-Man

Now now now, i shift my mind to nature… gardening; talking to flowers birds pebbles stones rocks soils woods… my keyboards are ax shovel sow hammer, nails screws wires ropes, etc.,__ my veins muscles bones actively throbbing pulsating more than my brain, and though my feet hands body are plastered on the ground, my soul thoughts heart, float-like on a high-rise 100 level building, imaging a grandeur view of mankind! How how can  i poeticize paint sculpt a landscape of gnawing anxieties… despairing alienations?  Has mankind reached the point of no return, where their fears are now turning to hate, to satisfy their unbearable tensions? From my imagined  height, i see a sight of an egg twirl conga samba boogie on a boiling pot.



Amazingly, my gnawing spirit has produced the siamese -twin of hypocrisy… the physical beauty of a pergola, side by side with my poetic image of a Monster-Man; hypocrisy of creation!!!

final ade tools

the Monster-Man

a recede of cumulative dishevels… 

spring-rain of tears

summer-heat of famine

autumn-leaf of discontent

winter-virus of floating anger

the new  nature landscape

gnawing anxieties… despairing alienations…

a lovely landscape?



i see your reflection 

ala Shakespearian’s literature

a symbolic consciousness 

yet, you are 

but a man-stroke fire  

whose ashes have not 

the traces of man

you are the Monster-Man!

First Poetry-Painting by Ade Caparas Manilah

wednesday 9:37am 17 October 2018

Lanecove West NSW Sydney Australia

#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 


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