On May 5. Remembering... Me and A Poem

 

On April 11th. The Grace of His Light Saves Us

 I hurried to reach you in your room of books.

There you were praying, anointing your blessings for us.

Your prayers and all our prayers unite in God’s heart.

You said, “The grace of His light saves us! ”

I worried. We worried. Be peace in Syria!

Be peace in all the world!

Prayers, big and small miracles become a concrete wailing wall,
a dome, the mountain of Moses, the sacrifice of Abraham, fatalities
of Job.

Prayer is Magdalene’s incense, Solomon’s songs, the widow’s alms.

It is the sacrifice of the sick, life of soldiers, the cross of Christ!

Vocation!

Chants must surround the earth like angels.

I wish I were beside you in my lamentations.

Passing lights, neons of blue, green, yellow and whites,
in a spectrum of Theology I dreamt of you.

Last night, on the ninth day, in sweet September
with Santo Hannibal, we were there.

For zeal, in ten days of union, you came in my night of pleas.

“The grace of His Light saves us! ”

I danced that you may see a daughter, a poem for your heart.

Angels opened doors, chanted as summoned.

Mats, soft and red, laid bare my womb.

Newspapers abound culture. Everyone read the texts.

My letters, wrote vowels of barks, like ancient
stones, a ziggurat!

I wept at your feet, before you, like Magdala to Jesu,

I kissed your feet.

You were there with the relics, a guru that always asked
me to write a hundred inspirations.

The Psalms came into what you hoped me to be, a bloody
hero of words, day and night a target of muses,
and bleeding drops of red.

I am a relic of the past sifting through time.

I am judge of the moons, spine and bones of literature,
here is the twilight of the gods and
golden hours and metaphors to your desk.

“Jesus heals, ” you said.

“Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.”

Tongues of fire in the room and a tiny hat on your head Pope Francis,
you, adorable as sunrise!

Brother Cyprian of St. Mary Magdalene speaks,

“Monks are man alone but united to all.”

My poem Imbroglio rhymes with Bergoglio.

Monkey George makes Marco and the children happy!

St. Benedict’s medal around our necks!

I remember you, dear Father, as two rivers come together.

Nuestra Senora De La Paz, pray for us!

“The grace of His light saves us! ”

Then you touched my head like a baby,
let anoint me words that kiss clouds with flames,

“Oracion por la paz en Siria! ”

“The grace of His light saves us! ”

Vigilia por la paz!

In a great circle of the horizon, all hands meet with God,
like forming halos of light with angels,
a zuni becomes a heart of peace en el mundo!

Layers of light, come!

Flower lights be after the rain!

Come, Holy Spirit, come!

rosalinda flores rosevoc

 Saturday, September 14, 2013

Two Poems from the Philippines, by Marjorie Evasco

Two Poems from the Philippines, by Marjorie Evasco: “I curled fern- / like in bed, not to sleep, but to keep awake / to the motions of poetry throwing filaments / of light, the way a resident spider brings / bright symmetries to being from its almost- / invisible body.” from “Pollen,” by Marjorie Evasco

My Poems on PoemHunter.Com

Click to read my poems on www.poemhunter.com

You: A Fusion of Tongues

My Psalm Proem Narrative 6

How I Write Poems

August 24, 2012




































How I Write Poems





















There are many books and essays on how poems are made, Rilke’s How Poems Happen, how I write, or like George Orwell’s Why I Write...









In as much as, I want to gather all the fibers that have been woven and thread them together at this time, I will share how I weave my own, as taught, as read, as practiced, and with all due respect to my professors and other writers and poets.









When I was an MFA student, I was a mother who wanted more than 24 hours of a day to get closest to the life I lived. That ranges from the 20th century (December 1, 1901 – December 31, 2000) and the 21th century (January 1, 2001 – December 31, 2100) now, where I will end.









I must admit, I was chipped before the boom of technology. From the magnetic tapes on checks and tickets, I evolved with internet cards and got promoted with servers today. That was how I lived.









Everyday, I was a witness as to how technology evolved from big mobile phones, car phones, antique phonograph and stereos, boom box, first cars with automatic windows, karaoke, microwave, remote controls, laser discs, Altec Lansing speakers, automatic cars, control switches, bio prints, digital cameras, the lap top, notebooks, PC tablets, the complication and elegance of Apple, fame of Blackberries, my tape recorders for work, my Neo laptop damaged by lightning, and my Nokia phone (which I call user friendly) that can only use the text mode due to a writers budget, in some point of my life. Don’t forget the Sega games; and now everything online, Twitter and Facebook as with dictionaries and translations, ezines and ebooks. Hence, a blast of high technology and our global community!









Back then, poems were made years, months, or some of them from spark of muses. Poems were crafted, revised many times, simmered, and some just still on stones, mossed. I recommend for reading, “A Passionate Patience,” by R.M. de Ungria and “Twentieth Century Pleasures” by Robert Hass, among others. Also, read poems of contemporary poets and teachers like Eric Gamalinda, Cirilo Bautista, Marjorie Evasco, Tony Perez, Luisa Gloria, Zeus Salazar and Albert Casuga.









As for me, I dance on pages online. I sing on pages online. I go naked. Maybe, it is that POM in fiction of Isagani Cruz. I send and submit as fast as technology can communicate first drafts, after fire from prayers, other texts, and reading materials. Take for example, the prose prayer poems I had written and attempted based on the Psalms, where I read and wrote only because of God’s grace and maybe from God’s mercy, too. It is because I lived with the Psalms all throughout my happiest and saddest times. Moreover, I set myself, a deadline, an output for a month that I must produce. Revisions will be later.





Ordinarily, my work is to think. Now I am an android built with a heart. That is how fast I can write a poem; press me, press my heart and I will zoom and burst in you words. I deal with symbolisms and images, as well. I experiment because I didn’t have enough chances to go out, when I was still younger. So now, while there’s still fire in me, I am living in fiction and my poems to pull back the years I have missed, while fate chained me to something else. In the future, perhaps, revisions would be easier because the poems online, are archived and could be published until then, whether paid or free for all. By that time, I will be very old or dead.







Thank you for reading my poems.



RoseVoc on IWroteFiction




Reference:  Wikipedia Online, PoemHunter.com

An Ode To Silence

An Ode To Silence




Your silence is harp to me

When I travel into you, I feel so in love

Lifted on clouds, the hum of peace

Rotating the sun and moon

Like an angel



You are the music in my heart

You are my temples

Thrust your silence, say nothing

When you said nothing, your eyes

A strong ripple, bathed in me, bliss



I am at the level of your madness

So beautiful and free, bursting a kid’s laughter



I sleep in your eyes

I dwell in your heart

I am your miracle

Our love is a miracle



I come naked in your sigh, a secret garden

A pillow for your head

My breasts supple for your mouth

I have taken off, everything

Carry my bruised heart

And before we’d die our love

Would kiss enough



Your kisses, cherished by time

Diamonds and flowers, a rain

In the shadows of my grief

Hold me tight, be forever mine



Your kisses, the plight of my heart

They teach me all the languages

I can’t speak

The questions

I can’t answer

Those things, I do not know

They teach me everything

How to write

How to weave

How to wind words

And prayers.



I trace your face, your lips, your nose

Your hair, your body, all of you

And when you smile and cry

Day and night, you are

In my memory



I awake with you in my thoughts

I sleep with you in my thoughts

Your eyes look at me

Like a warrior’s eyes, fierce from a battle

Your fists bold, with blood, the baptism of loyalty

To be back in my arms, be mine forever



Those times I cried

Your face, my light

Your love completes me

It is all I have



They saw me bathing in your eyes

We can’t conceal our love

We can’t conceal the love in your eyes

They would show to the world



Your silence fills me, deep as the ocean

Your smell on me, like birth

Your touch, I adore



Hold me tight, in age and sweetly

And until death, keep me

Let Heaven bind our promises



My heart is yours as my diaries

The words I speak and those buried on God’s hands

Are gifts, I have carved on my heart

My sorrows, only heaven can heal

Come kneel with me



Take me, take me now, drink the tears

I hide beneath rainbows

Take me, take all of me, touch me

Never let go



As I am cleansed, in heaven’s mercy

Untainted now, and separated

I am yours forever

Veiled in a mystery of grace

As I lay down my life



Because I want you

Because I love your silence

Like

Eternity drizzling on us

While we kiss

Like

Snow falling on us

When our bodies become one

In a lightning’s hilt

We create



And that is why, I love you

And that is why, I love you

And that is why, I love you so much.



RoseVoc2
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Poems: Some Poetry Thoughts

Poems give light to pleasure in words. I don't know what poets like it for, but as I practice my poetry every word comes alive, while I diffuse myself to that which lay before me.

From a burnt wood, from the slivers of time, from the gusty wind of waves,
how from heart unto heart life could feel and see, believe the hum of seasons,
touch the blossom of sun, face the whip of tide, thou receive the mercy of Allah.

Thought:

In poems the hands are filled with abounding grace
In those times they're denied the sweetness of flesh
The hands and grip are never releasing
Until something blooms from stars, the clouds drop rain
And refresh seeds for a harvest.

Check these beautiful poem lines from Master Poets. Each one can give a thought by expressing a feeling on the poem. It is not exactly to summarize it, but explicate the images that create sensations. Moreover, critics relate the poems to other significant literary texts. Express your thoughts!

T.S. Eliot: The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock (1909-1935)
"I grow old... I grow old
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled."

Thought:
A glimpse of aging as told by Eliot. Can you imagine how an old man rolls his trousers?

Carl Sanburg: The Ghost of Milton
"One of the triumphs of the poem is that is takes a literary figure and makes him not a remote writer in history, but a living and vigorous man." Paul Engle

"I would sit by fire and dream of hell and heaven,
Idiots and kings, women my eyes could never look on again,
And God Himself and the rebels God threw into hell."

Thought:
Milton was always in protest. Sandburg shows sympathy for Milton, and empathy to Milton's blindness.

According to Paul Engle, the last line of all "And God Himself and the rebels God threw into hell," is the strongest line of all.

D.H. Lawrence: The Snake
"Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second comer, waiting."

Thought:
The poet brings us an exact, vivid and true picture where snakes love to dwell. Humans need not attack, but just wait and see, as the lines express in "a second comer and waiting."
Man, as D. H. Lawrence (most afraid) is also honored by a snake accepting a kind of hospitality from us, letting the animal be first in the line. The snake, crawling holes, troughs, as in "dark doors" whence the snake comes from, from all of creations that part, of our secret earth.

True enough, a poem is from God's sup, dropped down our tongues, a sweet taste of bliss.

Rose Flores Martinez
PoemHunter.com
Iwrotefiction