Never Too Distant
Basking the dithering umbra
of an endless, moonless
void oceanic night
where the clockwork caught tremors
with terse ebb and flow
before it defiantly sojourns
in a vertical line ensconced
in the abysmal marrows of depth,
I became the caper, and the ruse
is the stillness of the vesper
I undulated through
the most convoluted slopes
never too distant from
the diamond-tethers
riveting me in the manifold
phases of this empty night
Because in this cobwebbed room
your shadows remained prancing
even when the soiree ended
with the midnight toast
brewed with oblivion
And here I wager with solitude
contending for your echolalia's decadence
because if I leave and follow
these phantom corridors
of your generous affliction
rue will bereave the inflection
and the night would start to pass
like an inclement weather -
uncommitted thunderstorms
leaving a futile basin
to buoy the caustic veracity
And to live in this illusion
is an auspicious demise -
A deadlock where
your hands behold the bolts
piqued with the undying
phantoms of your final stride
Because the hunters astride
the frangibility of sleep
sloshes their scythe
for broken souls
And this brunt
between the fangs of death
makes me feel more alive
than living itself
poem by Norman Santos
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Oceanic
As your pliant hands resurge
every night of oblivion
no matter how terse,
no matter salient,
your flagrant subtlety
jeopardizes my frailty
and these obdurate sea walls
can never be your frontier
You are the sapphire ocean -
the unrivaled beauty of its infinity,
the moon on its stark reflection,
the enigma of its moonless nights,
the soigné tremors on its skin,
the lulls of its horizontal vertigo,
and the peril of its silence
You are the azure pall
of my lonely drowning planet
Sometimes I forget you,
but your saline susurrations will
pick up to remind my scorched skin
Sometimes I forget you,
but I always thirst to reckon
your unfathomable depth
and shallow trifle of attention
Whilst you buoy the hefty
in you, I sank weightlessly
deeper and deeper, impenetrably -
slowly and haplessly
I flummoxed into your quicksand
without a footprint left
But I still endure, obstinately
because your shores
is full of beautiful sunsets
all looking the same
yet progressively inveigling
in its pristine melancholy
You are my moor in liberty,
my oceanic odyssey
poem by Norman Santos
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Bedtime Stories
Once upon a time.
A picturesque blur of line
An etude cradling every night
Laced in the line of silver light
When will your hope arrive
Without the inflection of lie?
What periphery do you behold?
Yonder idyllic nights unfold
In dreams basking in marigold
And scathe veracity sneers untold
Once upon an incidence,
Once upon an ignorance,
Once in a loop of ambivalence;
A tale exuding such complacence.
Salvation. Redemption.
Darling tales of grand illusion
Fold your arms, shut your eyes in peace
Sleep in the serenity you find in bliss
Oblivion is so abused
Oblivion is so misused
Like a sleepless child praying
Fingers interlacing, faith toppling
Clasped tightly in a gnarl too dearly
A riddle you pray too generously
Bury it all in a garden below
Recoiled in the burl of a fanaticism's bellow
Amplified in the spring blossoming
Marigolds in a night of flustering
Into forever.
Impasse this sun kissed river
We glide down like boats
Vessels fervently buoyed
By such expectations
Sealed in a tale's narration
Of encrusted lies and promised bliss
Enthralled in a good night kiss
When the crown of sun dawns
Allow the light to take throne
Paving away a mystic dream
In the frothing glacial streams
The end lost in an oblivion
Forever told in a delusion.
poem by Norman Santos
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When The Clock Sojourns
When the Clock Sojourns
The grandfather's clock
Defunct, senile, and silenced
Loomed like a vertical demise
Rising in the muted corner
Or rather the clandestine core
Of the disembogued hearth
And I can tell in its scathed varnish
Of weary and eroding mauve
That it had once vied to emancipate
From the providence's dictates
And that was probably when
Its hands stopped from moving
The pendulum was now a lissome
Unwavering string to the grave
Of the clockwork's very soul
And although it never swings
Its phantom was undulating
Into the sloped paths of impasse
Swelling and bloating inexorably
Without beckoning the rousing
Of the prismatic night lights
Perhaps it was consumed
By the darkness of the hour
And in this unholy instances
Of the suppressing nights
I can still here the diurnal ticking
Of its moribund arms
And the infinitesimal gears
And their asunder whirring
Billowing in a haunted echo
Sojourned, like how it was once
Smoldering in zeal and alacrity
And the memories sank
Into the capricious sea
But not of the forgotten
Rather, of the evocative forgotten
A bandwagon of phantoms.
Halted but never liberated
The clocks never stops
It never even started
And you will realize this, flat and hollow,
When you understand that the clock
Only stirred when you had handed
Time, in your unbolted callused palms
And no one ever took it
As the nights will never permit
Nothing ever ends
Even when the clock sojourns.
poem by Norman Santos
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The darkness of my soul
My soul is dark.
Darker than the night sky on a moonless night.
Darker than my room on a moonless night.
If I shall die on this moonless night.
My soul shall rise nor fall within the darkness of the night.
Without any light in the sky of this moonless night.
poem by Charles Howard
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Moonless Night
The air is cold in this moonless night
its so beautiful
this moonless night
the night for an eclipse
three years of waiting for this night is so wonderfull
the beauty of this world
you never want to end this moment
of joy
this moonless night is wonderful
with you here
i will never forgett this night
with the cool waves and the beautiful moonless night sky.....
poem by Aurora Lockwood
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Night Must End
Night must end,
And in the future years
There will come another dawn
To wipe away my foolish tears.
Nightly shadows must flee
Beyond the distant brink,
Bringing a glorious sunrise
That will blot out the gloom of night's ink.
Night must face
Into the endless deep,
Bringing the hope of a future day
To arouse my heart from sleep.
Yes, night will pass away;
The darkness will vanish with the night
And father on beyond the glade
I will see a beacon of light.
poem by Grace Riffle
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Tails of Bliss
The truculent sensation of auspicious sedation in a puncturing thrill
Is as evasive as the clear vesper skies flooded with constellations
Bliss, I calculate like the fragment of aeons spewed by the clock
With hands dancing into the euphonious crooning of decadence;
Bliss, I forfeit to fringe you esoteric definition in a mooring point
But I wish to enter your anteroom and never leave, anchored in your skin,
And when I climb and crawl in the craters and crevasses you hollowed in
Your plasmatic visage my flimsy hands and mind still can never grasp
Who you are; Are you the same for everyone? How do I claim you
And fill the depression in your mattress? Or do you claim me and shatter
The impassable ashen moonbeam of my every night? If then, come, now.
In the awning of this protracted wondering nurtured by the city's malingering,
I wonder if I will ever touch you, the wisp of your tail that had grazed me once
The whiff that was not recounted by any noble man, the pleasure that had
Established a sagacious demand for cynicism's arduous flagrance,
In the patina of bleeding pain I tasted of your poison making me grovel
For the oblivious thrill, the ecstatic bereavement of feel, the orgasmic static in the ears,
In this world of blind alleys where death walks with garrulous snores of the shadows
I yearned for your faceless name, futilely aborting the lies riveted in hoping.
The harsh gale of levanter had whispered a clout in my ears; a clandestine item
A map to your lair, where you slumber coiled around your lustrous virgin hair
Your place, a castle within reach made of frangible bricks from the dim corners
Cobwebbed with fear and secluded thoughts, your nest is in my corpuscles
In its warmth and passionate hue, simply put into words of mirth
You are a lever ensconced in the ribs and only I can pull you out
To transpire personified, either in the illusion of altered perspectives
Or the hapless hummingbird-chance in erecting your lofty pillars
Into the damped soil where everything sank with the void and hollow
Yes, reality, the dour malady of having you unfold into the corporeal
Land of the breathing tombs is already a painted picture in abstraction
Bliss, have you visited the strangled heads dangling for your platform?
The lifeless eyes darting into the void horizon, grasping for air?
Your tail is a trail of streams that had ran in quest to find you
Or in the demise of finding your ephemeral plane, cold and ashamed
Are these streams lacerating the gulfs and barricades, cold and ashamed
I am for these streams that had engulfed your boiling core
Your tails, as elusive as the sating of questions, wounds and hunger
The yarns taut in the trample for every interior entropy
Bliss, your illusion was enough to keep me here
Wondering about the pristine pyre of Hades.
poem by Norman Santos
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All You Want
I'd like to watch you sleep at night
to hear you breathe by my side
And though sleep leaves me behind
there's nowhere I'd rather be
And now our bed is oh so cold
my hands feel empty
no one to hold
I can sleep what side I want
It's not the same with you gone
Oh if you'd come home
I'll let you know that
All you want
Is right here in this room
All you need
Is sitting here with you
All you want
It's been three years
One night apart
but in that night you tore my heart
If only you had slept alone
If those seeds had not been sown
Oh you could come home and you would know that
All you want
Is right here in this room
All you need
Is sitting here with you
All you want
I hear your key turning in the door
I won't be hearing that sound anymore
And you and your sin
can leave the way you just came in
send my regards to her
I hope you've found that
All you want
Is right there in that room
All you need
Is sitting there with you
All you want
I'd like to watch you sleep at night
to hear you breathe by my side
song performed by by Dido from No Angel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Road Away The Night
The night perched on its favorite peak
To let down the pall of oblivion and
Murmur temptations into the wind
It's reedy voice swept and perforated
The euphonious singing of the stars
Like a dissonant violent string it shrilled
And shattered the taut smile hoisted
In the harlequinade that comforted
This pilfered parcel of direst and slosh
The aqueous blood of the saline sea
Where the memories drowned struggling
These convoluted meandering that lead
In a rendezvous with death's scythe
Is starting to outnumber the plethora
Of my night terrors and day dreams
And the shadow of my blinded fears
Is starting to blend into the thin walls
That rectifies my ebbing faults and sin -
I am lost in this aimless wandering.
Walking upon this slivers of rues and regrets
And slathered with the profound burning
Of these salty tears of absolution and bereft,
I conspired for my salvation, and still
The only wisp of light in the firmament
And the only peace roving in the air
Was the same treason in these veins -
The liberation to this labyrinth
Is another sweet immolation
Perhaps, the night will always fall
And her phantoms will always call
The vultures will fence my sleep hoping
That I may finally found the valiance
To face the black demise of the night
But with my complacent obduracy
Perhaps I will endure this walk with time
And the scars will fade, but not your face
And the sun would sink, but not my yearning
And the night will wan with all her demons
But not the trepidation in trampling
In the sweetest treacherous roads.
poem by Norman Santos
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Phantoms
It is the night, it is the night
When they come - those
Phantom thoughts that
plague my quiet,
They crowd around my bed
and mock me, these phantom
thoughts, they stop me sleeping
I cannot rest, I cannot rest.
I long for the morning when
the light will chase those
phantoms away, but all too soon
comes the night, it is the night,
It is the night when they come,
the night...
poem by Glenda PalmerVibert
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Stillness Of The Night
Midnight on the hill I heard the thunder fill
The stillness of the night
It hit me like a slap, youre never comin back
From the stillness of the night
It was never black or white, neither wrong or right
Like the shadow of a full moons light
I knew wed lost the track, when I heard the lightning crack
The stillness of the night
Chorus
In the stillness of the night
Thats when well make it right
We can stop the thunder till the light
In the stillness of the night
I know you think you hear, those voices in your ear
In the stillness of the night
But Ive tried to make it clear theres nothing left to fear
Just the stillness of the night
And if you listen hard you might find the reason for your fright
Just the wind is high tonight
And the danger we must face is the anger of this race
In the stillness of the night
Chorus
song performed by by Reo Speedwagon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Without You
On the wings of the night
I wager for another glance
the doors were closed
even before the departure
but the windows are ajar
on your open sleep
There is a limbo behind
the beseeching and crestfallen
but this yearning cannot lie,
its veracity cannot be tamed
so I tethered myself, caged myself
until I grew more savage
and even more desperate
I miss you and I miss you
too much that it would kill
like a lynch embracing tight,
you descend into my skin
like a fang and every night,
you come with larcenous feet
like a saccharine death on a slumber
Vines embraced the epitaph
and the etched date slurred
There is a brooding loneliness
underneath this sleeping grave
but it won't hatch in this cold
until your raging flame pounce
Yonder, under the moon
I can feel you shudder
and the shuffling of your feet
as you danced in oblivion
and I envy the night
as it pranced with you
The bones shivered
but it melt into ashes
and the wind won't ferry it
and the sea won't sink it
I need your final clout
or your familiar joust
Without you, the silhouettes
who stood as my beacons
for my derided weight
the days turned to dreams
and dreams turned to phantasms
I can feel a shattering
its fulmination trapped inside
my asylum heart
poem by Norman Santos
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Sunset Pedagogies II
The scripts that built bridges toppled
Into the famished and oceanic mouth
Where every sunset soused its itching
I searched inside every vacant room
And marauded transparent dooms
Where I may find you flaying colors
Or flitting among flared starlights
All these corridors stood in the semblance
Of your open palms, echoing your psalms
To steer my feet into the end
Of this labyrinthine pondering
And self-pitying and destructing
And in my hopefulness I nearly forgot
The boudoir of yellow petals that was cloyed
By crimson laces and fervent kisses
Is taken to an odyssey by an exonerated sea
And the lighthouse remained unlighted
So in this labyrinth I tried to find
My own room instead and tried
To find my sleep, my lullaby
Without your affable camaraderie
Basking in a brazen sunset
To let go of the brambly bouquet
And be the departing phantoms
That I mused and confounded.
poem by Norman Santos
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All Souls
I
A THIN moon faints in the sky o'erhead,
And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead.
Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways,
Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays,
But forth of the gate and down the road,
Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode.
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
II
Fear not that sound like wind in the trees:
It is only their call that comes on the breeze;
Fear not the shudder that seems to pass:
It is only the tread of their feet on the grass;
Fear not the drip of the bough as you stoop:
It is only the touch of their hands that grope -
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can yearn and the dead can smite.
III
And where should a man bring his sweet to woo
But here, where such hundreds were lovers too?
Where lie the dead lips that thirst to kiss,
The empty hands that their fellows miss,
Where the maid and her lover, from sere to green,
Sleep bed by bed, with the worm between?
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
IV
And now that they rise and walk in the cold,
Let us warm their blood and give youth to the old.
Let them see us and hear us, and say: 'Ah, thus
In the prime of the year it went with us!'
Till their lips drawn close, and so long unkist,
Forget they are mist that mingles with mist!
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can burn and the dead can smite.
V
Till they say, as they hear us - poor dead, poor dead! -
'Just an hour of this, and our age-long bed -
Just a thrill of the old remembered pains
To kindle a flame in our frozen veins,
Just a touch, and a sight, and a floating apart,
As the chill of dawn strikes each phantom heart -
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear, and the dead have sight.'
VI
And where should the living feel alive
But here in this wan white humming hive,
As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold,
And one by one they creep back to the fold?
And where should a man hold his mate and say:
'One more, one more, ere we go their way'?
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the living can learn by the churchyard light.
VII
And how should we break faith who have seen
Those dead lips plight with the mist between,
And how forget, who have seen how soon
They lie thus chambered and cold to the moon?
How scorn, how hate, how strive, we too,
Who must do so soon as those others do?
For it's All Souls' night, and break of the day,
And behold, with the light the dead are away. . . .
poem by Edith Wharton
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My Delirious Veracity
I look right and see nothing left,
I look left and see nothing right,
Behold, my delirious veracity
Look beyond the mountains,
Do you see the clouds i see,
A storm is approaching,
Should we fight for survival?
Or shall we face death head on?
My delirious veracity
I see a flood, can you?
I see the waves coming,
There is nowhere to run,
For the place of refuge you destroyed,
This prison was a shelter
Face your fate almost lover
My delirious veracity
I built a tower of strength,
A spirit level in my right hand,
A hammer in your left hand,
You invited demise,
The fashion of your own hands
My delirious veracity
I trust you but you dont trust yourself
You destroyed our future,
The art of our destiny,
Behold, im delirium
Loving you was veracity,
My delirious veracity
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Excited?
When the day gets dark
Over a thousand streets
And you feel your heart
Is a living beat
When you're all alone
And you close your eyes
Naked to the bone
The dream comes alive
Do you get excited
When I touch you in the night?
My oh my...
Do you get excited
When I meet you every night?
You won't let the night pass you by
When your body's hot
The window's open wide
This moment's all you got
In this race of life
When you feel the fire
Is getting close to you
Hey baby, you know
Im lonely too
Do you get excited
When I touch you in the night?
My oh my...
Do you get excited
When I meet you every night?
You won't let the night pass you by
Do you get excited
When I touch you in the night?
My oh my...
Do you get excited
When I meet you every night?
You won't let the night pass you by
I wanna know
I gotta know
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(Do You Get) Excited
When the day gets dark
Over a thousand streets
And you feel your heart
Is a living beat
When you're all alone
And you close your eyes
Naked to the bone
The dream comes alive
Do you get excited
When I touch you in the night?
My oh my...
Do you get excited
When I meet you every night?
You won't let the night pass you by
When your body's hot
The window's open wide
This moment's all you got
In this race of life
When you feel the fire
Is getting close to you
Hey baby, you know
I'm lonely too
Do you get excited
When I touch you in the night?
My oh my...
Do you get excited
When I meet you every night?
You won't let the night pass you by
Do you get excited
When I touch you in the night?
My oh my...
Do you get excited
When I meet you every night?
You won't let the night pass you by
I wanna know
I gotta know
song performed by by Roxette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dream in the Shade of Gray
Time is bound in a spell tongue-tied
Prance and wince like the ocean's tide
And ebb back into the waterfront
At the time you're eschewed most
Shall we sleep in cold repose?
Days that flutter like little hands
Of such bliss in ignorance
Unknowing of an inching death
A deadlock in inestimable breadth
Shall we dream in blues and reds?
Your greeting warmth of dawn
Cleaved on rocky mountains' brawn
A hesitant beckon,
Or nonchalance withdrawn.
Shall it compensate the price I pawned?
Tied in laces, gaps and spaces,
Gaping faces sunken in pillowcases
With the brunt of endless ribbing
And the toll of lucid dreaming
Shall we adhere in the killing?
In between a yes and a no
A basking truth I least follow
A questioning not of truth
Such an acerbic grape fruit!
Shall we call this point of moot?
Memories inside the mirrors
Behold raptures and horrors
Submerged in a knowing smile
Unhappy yet unforeseen wry
Shall it festoon a muted cry?
All too random, all to bane
All the thoughts recoiled in vain
For I dream with eyes open
Veins shut, neurons broken
Shall we linger in the gray hue too often?
poem by Norman Santos
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Designer
Comfortably ensconced in your cavalier motif...
I reach for you but only jagged edges appear-
And there 'tis no solace from the bitter night...
Its harsh brandishings flash 'cross my eyes-my dear;
Fear catches my once bated breath...
And closes my in ways and out ways-tight...
Shadows onced abated in the languishing of noon...
Now creep back-in the darkness of a moonless night;
You are a dapper knight of the lost and forlorn...
Who captivated and captured my all...
Why-oh-why does this night seem so menacing?
With many shades of a bitter swift fall?
So comfortably ensconced in your cavalier motif...
Seduced by your remnants of cloth...
Adorned by the fire of your intense desire...
I am drawn to your light as the moth;
But apprehension t'will not move itself...
While a cold chill suffers my spine...
Limiting me to a seemingly endless eternity...
For sweet charity t'will not make you mine;
So comfortably ensconced in your cavalier motif...
Alas-a dream design only for reverie-
Reality has its locks and boundaries...
Painting for me-a picture: 'of never to be';
May 7,2010
poem by Theodora Onken
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When The Night Comes
When the night comes
The shadows call your name
When the night comes
Nothing will be the same
When the night comes
No safety shall be found
When the night comes
There shall be no solid ground
When the night comes
The innocent shall sleep
When the night comes
A secret it shall keep
When the night comes
A promise shall be made
When the night comes
All trust will be betrayed
When the night comes
The shadows will be freed
When the night comes
You’ll pay for your misdeeds
poem by Raven Nevermore
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