Crippled Thoughts

This, um, cheesy one, I wrote for somebody I met during my senior year in lasalle. Me and my thesis buddy, teves, took up a sophomore block's LITERA2 class in COS (College of science). It was a human bio block. Why I got into a humbio block is another long story. But anyway, I met this girl there, who was pretty, and kinda, off-kilter.
To cut a winding story short, I wrote this for her, and posted it on the class' yahoo group forum under a pseudonym. It created some chatter in the class the next day. And of course I didn't reveal who I was outright, so the girl's friends got into a guessing game.

There was one time when Anna (the girl) asked me and teves point blank if we knew who this jackryan (the pseudonym i used) was, so we said no, who the hell is that? Teves went so far as to say (under his breath) that the guy was a loser (bastard!).
Eventually I revealed who I was at the end of the term, but Anna was taken already, so that was it for that. In the end it was fun, posting some poems for her, and getting bludgeoned and humiliated when she brought her boyfriend to sit in for the class' last meeting. hallelujah.

Crippled Thoughts

mask my eyes
so that i can't see
make me blind
to the beauty that stands before me

cover my ears
so that i can't hear
make me deaf
to the sweet voice that rings through my ears

remove my heart
so that i can't feel
make me numb
to these feelings that shouldn't be real

take from me
these thoughts of you
make me forget
this love that could never be true

JackRyan
03/09/2001

Flower and Thorns

The two poems I've here were written some ways back, during the LittleChinaGirl episode. These things are dark, they're freaking sad, and they break me every single time I read them. I hate these poems. They bring me back to a time and place I would rather forget. Though I did learn much, much from those troubled times, still, I hate it. I mean, surely, there exists a better way to learn what I picked up from that debacle, right? right?
I am the hand and she is the flower.

Flower

a thorned stalk lays fresh
the petals rest on pale skin

the thorns press against flesh
as the palm closes to hold in

the points breach rivers running blue
the stilletos yell and pierce deep

the blood flows gently through
as i hold a flower i can't keep

rGalang
4/2/2003

There is a story for Flower. I wrote it, when I was still living in Laguna. It was a wednesday night, we had a blackout, so I opted to sit out on the garden swing set. I had a pen, a notebook and mosquitoes hovering around me. Fun times.

Thorns

the hand holds fast to the blinding pain
as the beloved thorns dwell deeper

hungry for escape from emotions slain
the flesh writhes, drowning in dreams of forever

the dying palm remains clasped true
over rivers red and thorns of strife

let go, the felled hand cannot do
for the pain has become its life.

rGalang
4/12/2003

This one, I completed over a couple of days. The last two lines I wrote while working in the office. Talk about office productivity going down the drain. This is supposed to be a 3-set poem. The last one being the closing, the one that announces closure. Guess what?? I can't write it! HAHAHAHAHA. Yeah yeah I'll get to writing it sometime soon.

A Seaside Waltz

This is something that is supposed to have been written a year ago, but as it stands, it wasn't. They say better late than never, so here it is. This is written for somebody I lost.

A Seaside Waltz (For rou-rou)

let the pale moonlight guide
our steps across the sands

take me little lady and slide
to the music of the band

let the wind kiss your hair
as we move in the twilight

let the waters crash and dare
the day to never come in sight

twist and let the warmth flow
across my soul and into yours

pretend the waves will slow
feel, forget grief and remorse

why not take my hand for this dance
let's sway to the night's tunes
into a blue ocean of chance

rGalang
06/08/2006

Addendum:
I love this poem, I do. Its one of the most heartfelt ones I've written, and while the fact remains it is all but a useless composition, wherein the receiver doesnt even want anything to do with it -- i love it nonetheless. Perhaps I can reuse it sometime and give it to some other girl who would at least appreciate it -- haha! poem recycling. very nice. and very cheap at that.\(^^)/

A Simple Day At The Beach

A paired piece for "A Complicated Day At The Beach". that spongebob squarepants OST really got into my head. I havent stopped writing about shores or beaches or seas yet ... nor have I stopped writing in general. I've never written this much in my whole life (literally) ... I've something like 17 pieces since I started this binge. I like this one, buddy likes this one too. She says good, its not that sad anymore, for a change. Yeah, for a change...

A Simple Day At The Beach

perhaps splashing across the shore
is not the way to go
your Prada heels wont withstand that,
you really should know

so why not join me by the seaside store
sleep the afternoon off
hang out under the half-shade and forget
the distress up on the loft

smile and share the splatter of the sun's
tanning hand
watch those elusive sequence of lines
written on the sand

see the palms sway the simple nature
of our smiles
and maybe then find how to figure
out all the styles

sometimes its really just one long
line of starfishes on the coast
and not an elaborate maze of urchins
that we all boast

so come on, let the sunshine wash over
your laundry hung
soak your mind on the fact that hey,
we really are, still young.

rGalang
06/07/2006

A Complicated Day At The Beach

this one i wrote for mabs, and her impending thoroughly complicated visit to the beach sometime soon ... that girl is really going nuts. so an equal dose of mabs going nuts and the spongebob squarepants soundtrack playing in my head -- resulted into this. i kinda like it really. makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

A Complicated Day At The Beach
(Mabel's Complicated Day At The Beach)

maybe we're still too young too know
why the seas gobble up lost sailors

the difference between yes and no
caught between the splash of oars

maybe today we're too old to go
jumping across oceans and shores

adrift between those whose days slow
but wondering of the years of lore

maybe its better to be aged seven
when having fun meant just that -
building sand castles under the heavens.

rGalang
06/07/2006

An Idle Piano and A Waiting Hand

I wrote this 5 years ago?! Good grief. Wow that was a long time ago. This is one of the first ones, and this I am really proud of. It has great metaphors and combined my two loves at that time. The piano, and my girl. Although this came at the brittle end of that self-destructing relationship, it still is quite good, well for me, that is. It's sad that it brings back some difficult-to-digest memories, but hey, thats how it is with the sad poems.

An Idle Piano and A Waiting Hand

the piano sits idly in front of me
hoping and waiting to be played

once, its as if it calmly spoke to me
asking if i can give it some shade

i hit a key softly on its white length
the pitch resonates gently through my head

i naively thumped a chord with further strength
the sound abruptly leaves the room instead

i play the notes and the room comes alive
changing the still tone of the place outright

the tune goes on until the rests arrive
and comes slowly to the end like the night

the conclusion of the piece is at hand
i stop. the piano waits for the next hand

JackRyan
03/11/2001

You and Me

This is one of the first ones I wrote when I got the recent writing binge. I got into fits writing in the third-person. Sortof being in a crazy-weird-schizo thing. This one is really written for me. A snapshot of my life right now. The notes are the songs I listen to, and they are intertwined with my tales. The search is -- well I think everybody knows what that search is about. The ambition -- now that is something else I can't discuss. ;)

You and Me

Their notes, your tales, and an unending hymn of despair
echo through the stained glass walls of your heart

your search remains an exercise none can compare
breaking trails across the days you wish to part

your ambition, reaching for above branches bare
as hymns stall the silence that seek to tear you apart

your mind and soul inch closer to its break,
as it refuses to yield, your stupid, stubborn, relentless heart.

05/28/2006
RGalang