A Story For Buddy (Part 6 of 6): February 30th

A simple closing poem for the set, half telling of the tired person writing it, and half telling of the dream (black and white picture show) he wishes could some day happen. But like the february 30th, it never will. And it's not tragic, nor it is sad, because that's just the way life is.

february 30th

sleep awaits a tired soul
lines away from the end of a story

blotting the past at the end of a pole
and tearing at the brink of memory

a black and white picture show
that flashed so many times in rainbow

whisper through the shield of snow
recurring when the beats are low

the sets, the lights, the cast has been stowed
awaiting february 30th for my heart's play to show.

2.26AM
5/30/2006
RGalang

A Story For Buddy (Part 5 of 6): Christmas In February

This is a story of the day that shouldve never occured. Should've never happened. But it did, and now I'm writing the mistake of it. Two gifts that should not have been given were, and we're all paying for that now. Here it is, a holiday set in the wrong month. This is actually a reference to valentine's if you still haven't caught on.

christmas in february

waking to a paper trail on my seat
slices pain through the beige

a returned metal case broken to repeat
reveals sweetness that still the rage

white gifts hastily thrice taken
a thought away from being a memory

bring burden and whispers that harken
swept under with a story for the leery

the halls wonder in ardent curiousity
at the mistake that was the christmas in february.

2.24AM
5/30/2006
RGalang

A Story For Buddy (Part 4 of 6): The December of January

This is the first poem written for the six-set. It was written a day before actually. And I feel it is the best of the six. It is almost impossible to understand, lots of deflections and metaphors, lots of raw anger and remorse. This one I like the best. The sticks are a reference to chopsticks, for we ate at a japanese restaurant for our first and hopefully, last night out.

the december of january

the scarlet letters flow from the falls
mask her stalled, agonizing wait inside

the starlight beckons the end of halls
whose walls tell the madness I hide

sticks clumsily sell my jaded love
and dance to sway her mind and eyes

the brown walls count down from above
as the plates' joyous clatter dies

a quarter passes with blindness in sight
the anguish, the rage, the anger,
and I, dying without a fight.

5.29.2006
RGalang

A Story For Buddy (Part 3 of 6): The Slow March Of January

This next one tells of the month where everything crept by slowly. Everything built up slowly. Which preceded the events that burned down quickly. Not much to tell here, just various lines pointing out events during the month.

Also -- the frozen rope is a reference to the type of throw a quarterback (american football) makes. A frozen rope is a very tight spiral, very very quick, and very very straight, no lob, no air under, almost like the ball is twirling from one end of a frozen rope to another. Hence the name, frozen rope.

the slow march of january

silence fills the start of days
an erasure of that mistake a distant hope

the feeling of remorse dutifully stays
solitude found at the end of a frozen rope

an eventual end is delayed by one
as all signs point to a wooden stake

the prolonged agony dances with the sun
as the error clouds over a hazy lake

the sleeping past has seen this mistake
the present forgetting, recoiling at its wake.

2.20AM
5/30/2006
RGalang

A Story For Buddy (Part 2 of 6): Midnight Of December And January

This one tells of the one new year's eve I spent alone at the condo in Makati. Suffice to say it was freakin' sad. But I was sad that night. Recoiling at the news about buddy. Which turned out to be false (which in hindsight should have remained true!).

midnight of december and january

eight strikes and all i have is myself
the lights of the window turn the madness

nine strikes and i drift down to fill the shelf
the trip quelling the burn of sadness

the exploding heavens washes the past clean
forget you will, the thoughts croon

ten strikes and the outside claims back in
sending a distant reply to a smiling girl's tune

eleven strikes with the end of the race soon
i succumb and i fall, leaving the watch to the moon.

2.17AM
RGalang
05/30/2006

A Story For Buddy (Part 1 of 6): The January of December

I could not, for the life me, stop writing lately. Its like the floodgates have been opened for 3 years of collected thoughts and emotions ... It's like I just have to write for some reason. I ended up with this theme-based set of poems. I managed to write six. Six! I can't believe I wrote six. And 5 of them I wrote in one sitting. Man, I must really be sad. The first one is a story for the start of the .. affair? The start of december. The 2nd actually, my birthday, of all things.

the january of december

the second of days ring me on
send me through another revolution

the quiet broken by a joyous fawn
a slave to the insatiable tradition

she etches trails with her words
burning paths not to be traversed

raising the past like a sick hearse
forging a frantic future showing reverse

a remorseful episode yet to be rehearsed
playing the hated past
and the dreaded future to converge.

2.14AM
05/30/2006
RGalang

electronic dreams

This new blog will be my online repository for my tales. A collection of sometimes really pathetic poems, and some that I am really proud of. I will start with the first one I ever remember writing. This is a really crummy poem, really geeky one too. But I have to include since its part of my collection. It doesn't have anything unique in it, just that its full of technical stuff. This thing really makes me feel sad, not because of the thought of the poem, but because how crappy it is. But still ...

electronic dreams

i had dreamt of transistors and capacitors
of transformers and inductors

of connecting series and parallel connections
and h-bridges that produced motions

i slept and imagined i was melted and soldered
stuck on a pcb along with bonds that faltered

looking around i saw electrons rushing past
taking paths that took them to their destinations fast

i had illusions of electronic immortality
transferring myself into data bits that you can't see

manipulating data with the flick of my wrist
creating reality at a moment's notice

i saw all of these and more, but when i awoke,
what i saw moved me to dream no more

JackRyan
02/15/2001