The Poetry of me and You.


The Apple

the appleThe Apple

On the first day

He ran toward her mother

To the kitchen where she busied for dinner

Telling her his problems at school

But she didn’t listen

So he cried alone

So he looked for Ben, his father

So he waited

That’s the time his father never came back.

On the third day

He ran toward the cedar lane

To the big apple tree

Watching the fruit if it’s ready

But it’s not

So he went home

So he called Shirley, his friend

So he waited

That’s the time he promised to her.

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As the spider knits its web…

spider web

As the spider knits its web…

The spider moved its legs

Came down the green curtain

Paraded, crisped, paused, paraded

Perfect place to web a home

It heard shouts, rumbles

Noise was drawing near

A door opened in a roar

Swallowing the terror of the hidden crime

A girl, cries for help

Yet nothing but walls called hear

Following, men of three

Smiling – no- laughing Continue reading

Of what he fears beyond hate


Of what he fears beyond hate


Just maybe.

That he doesn’t feel any hate.

He’s afraid.

Naming what he felt as love.

He lives in hate.

He had grown in hate.

He hated the mother who left him.

He hated the father who was gone.

He hated the world.

The world who did nothing.

Nothing but hate him.

Hate is what he only knows.

Yet, he felt fear.

He’s afraid of this unnamed emotion.

This absence of hate.

Telling that he never hated the girl before him.

He was afraid.

That it’s a feeling,

A love.

More tragic than what hate could offer.

The Storm

the storm

The Storm

She rolled the flag down,

An answer to the sea bird’s call

She looked upon the sky,

Beneath the horizon,

Darkness is crawling.

The wind didn’t sing,

Nor dance, nor cheer,

But fear laid in its coldness,

A breath of untune retribution.

Suddenly, she’s underneath its blanket.

Lights blinked in unpatterned instance,

Illuminates the world she feared.

Fierce lights came hitting her senses.

In each blink, she saw her sailor.

Smiling, crying, dying.

She’s been spellcasted,

She heard the voice,

The grasping horror of the darkness.

Ravishing, heavy, loud.

She ran inside her cabin,

Afraid, terrified, haunted.

She cried in fear like it was the first time.

Tears streamed down heavy and warm.

She remembered,

It’s been a year since her sailor died.

The Christmas Creation

In every Christmas I draw these trianglessss

Three in fact with the same angles.

But sizes are obviously different.

A small, medium, large of what it is meant.

I placed the smallest on top and the largest below.

Colored ‘em green, hues of life and glow.

Then made long diagonal rectangles.

Placed like a sash awarded to the triangles.

Gave one to each of it as it was told.

Color ‘em maroon or yellow or gold.

Then I put circles in sizing variety.

Do the math and have as many as it can be.

Do the color according to your like.

Play with shades, just let the art strike.

For the finish touch this is an easy call.

Put a square under the largest rectangle.

Then put a star on top of your creation.

Color it gold or silver or even combination.

And viola! You see!

You just created a Christmas tree!


The Rain, The Dance, The Tears

With touch and wishes and rain romance.

He dared to move a lovely dance.

Set the fears aside, let the hopes remain.

“Tell me.” She asked. “Have you ever danced somebody under the rain?”

“Ah!” He said. “I did. To you I have danced.”

“How?” She wondered. “We had never met once.”

“In my dreams.” He replied. “I held you in my arms.”

“You’re graceful and enchanting, a dance full of charms.” Continue reading

The Drama

The Drama

The Wife

I am pretty.

I’m a lot more caring than her.

We we’re married.

And you still wore the ring in your finger.

You can go to her,

I can let you play in her bed.

Because I stupidly Love you,

More than my heart had said.

I’m still confident and not afraid.

Eventhough right now you’re with her charms.

Because in the end of the day,

You will always end up in my arms.

That’s reality,

And that’s what it says.

For in the world and God’s eyes,

A mistress would always be a mistress.

The Mistress

I’m just a mistress,

And yeah I’m proud of that.

For he always took time,

To have me no matter what.

You are pretty,

And the hell I care with the things you have.

For your time is up,

You can never bring back his love.

You might be her wife,

But you can’t even give him a kid.

I might just a mistress,

But for months now I’m bearing his seed.

You were married,

And for me that’s just fine.

For you have his body,

But his heart will always be mine.

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