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Walang Masabi

I started this in November of 2007, and though I spent a full year singing the first four stanzas and two choruses to myself—at all hours—the rest just didn’t come to mind until over a year later.

Walang Masabi

I felt you breathing in my thoughts
a breath as subtle as the whisper of spring.
And though I couldn’t begin to guess your name,
I sensed you were out there, somewhere.

For years I struggled with a sense of you.
I searched the eyes of every face for a clue,
but no-one looked at me the way I knew
would leave me lost for what to say.

    chorus 1:

    walang masabi
      nothing than words can say
    walang masabi
      take my breath away
    walang masabi
      more than words can share
    walang masabi
      something’s in the air
      something’s in the air
      something’s in the air
        oh in the air
    walang masabi

In time I courted solitude,
prepared to walk the long remainder of life
without the comfort of companionship,
and yet I felt strangely at ease.

Then like the rising of a tropical sun
you rose illuminating all of my dreams,
a gift beyond the spectrum of my hopes
that left me lost for what to say.

    chorus 2:

    walang masabi
      more than words can share
    walang masabi
      something’s in the air
    walang masabi
      nothing words can say
    walang masabi
      take my breath away
      take my breath away
      take my breath away
        oh away
    walang masabi

I saw the blank unwritten years
stretching white into a life alone,
meditating in the silence of
a still and unusual peace.

But now I’ll journey through the days ahead
with promise written onto every page,
a sense of joy I never knew before
you left me lost for what to say.

    chorus 3:

    walang masabi
      more than words can say
    walang masabi
      take my breath away
    walang masabi
      nothing words can share
    walang masabi
      something’s in the air
      something’s in the air
      something’s in the air
        oh in the air
    walang masabi

Now let us join and fix our eyes
upon the blue horizon of our life
and venture all undaunted through the years
believing in our path together.

For you, mahal ko, are my utmost heart,
a mystery beyond imagination.
I never felt my spirit pulse before
you left me lost for what to say.

    chorus 4:

    walang masabi
        nothing words can share
    walang masabi
      something’s in the air
    walang masabi
      more than words can say
    walang masabi
      take my breath away
      take my breath away
      take my breath away
        oh away
    walang masabi

Walang masabi is a Tagalog (Filipino) expression that means something along the lines of “beyond words” or “nothing”, in the sense that it’s nothing words can express. Mahal ko is Tagalog for “My Love”.

This was written for my wife, then my fiance. I sing it a capella, though not very well. If I ever manage a decent recording, I’ll Youtube it and post a link here. The refrains are repeated all four times because the wording changes slightly each time around.

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an inkling hope

The idea for this poem came to me a few months back, at which point I hurriedly tapped out the opening four lines—then nothing. So today after four or so months of periodically checking in on it, I’ve finally managed to sit down and finish the original idea.

an inkling hope

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general. However, the above player can still be used to listen to it.

Publication History:

Clamor — Fall 2009

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Visions

Originally, this was going to be part I of “Transmogrification”, but the energy and time investment involved in adhering to the strict prosodic scheme of the stanzas proved to be too much. So I saved the first fragmented stanzas to be finished later and restarted “Transmogrification” with a simpler scheme. As a synthetic ode, the prosody and length of this poem would have to have been mirrored exactly in an antithetical part II, which I knew would require more of an effort than I was ready to commit to at the time.

And yet, what I had already managed seemed worth saving and building upon.

Visions

Earthen eyes gaze out on crescent dunes,
     there to ponder remnants
of cities melted ages past in doom,
          cultures from another time
          ground to rolling fields of sand,
no monument nor trace left moaning on the wind.

Sagebrush eyes peer off through scented timbers
     and sense within the green
an elven nation thriving, ever timid,
          past the reach of human menace,
          fortressed in their deep concealment,
a realm of sylvan magic lush with rare fulfillment

Lapis eyes take in a waste of waves
     and fancy far beneath them
a shimmered halflight rippling from the wake
          down on castles carved from myth,
          peopled by a watery race
who dream in coral homes and thrive without a trace.

Soft gray eyes look up to view a sky
     where nimbus clouds conceal
a wonder floating just beyond the sight,
          palaces of pastel color,
          built by beings half transparent,
forever held adrift on atmospheric currents.

Hazel eyes reflect on fields of light
     and find within the silence
a universe replete with distant lives
          strewn across the starry swell,
          spun throughout the depths of space
on worlds of every axis bound to planes of grace.

Imagination dares to dream a world
     alive with magic hues,
emergent shades of mystery at work,
          bearing gifts of subtle wisdom
          manifest from hidden sources
welled from deep beneath the realm of conscious forces.

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evaporation

Someone emailed me a Zen poem, and I found myself tapping out this small response.

evaporation

in an ocean of stars
a ballet sun pirouettes
alone in a glimmering sea
of waltzing partners

in an ocean of light
waves wash the empty shores
of a trillion winkling eyes
an island of contemplation

mass gave light to motion
birth gave life to mind
thought gave dream to atoms
form gave way to karma

by the river of no return
a solitary observer
breathes in the emptiness
steam rising to nowhere

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happy deathday

I guess my “holiday” poems tend not to be so festive. It was a phrase from Joyce’s Ulysses that somehow got me going: “Must be his [Smith O’Brien’s] deathday. For many happy returns.” (pg. 93).

Thought this a curious twist on the phrase. And found myself jotting down a note in my composition book… which expanded into a quatrain… which expanded three more stanzas. At which point I looked at it and thought to myself, “Why am I writing something like this this early Thanksgiving morning?”

Why indeed! But with a little reflection, it came to me.

It’s the forth anniversary of a father’s death—suicide—which I can’t help but feel some responsibility for. Our most tragic mistakes shape us, hopefully into better beings. But they also scar us. And sometimes others.

I’ve been told again and again that I shouldn’t accept responsibility for this suicide. But… leaving circumstances untold here …It’s difficult not to. I hope his shade some semblance of peace there at the edge of Styx.

So, this realization in mind, I found myself focusing the last three stanzas more tightly.

happy deathday

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general. However, the above player can still be used to listen to it.
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birch

A small set of haiku inspired by late autumn in Ukiah, specifically the turning of a few tall birch trees growing in the front yard.

birch

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.
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Transmogrification

My second synthetic ode. Parts I and II represent antithetical aspects of a child’s development, first the creative wonder and exploration all children seem to enjoy, then the addictive violence and desensitization of modern video games. Part III presents the synthesis of these two, the soldier on the field of battle, ready to kill without hesitation or remorse.

Imagine, as you read, one voice—say a soft-spoken female voice—reading part I and a second voice—say a harsher male voice—reading part II. Then, as you read part III, imagine the two voices reading in unison.

Transmogrification

        I

Hazel eyes absorb a world of wonder,
    cities floating through the sky
  half concealed among the clouds,
    mermaids dancing in the sea
  half revealed among the foam,
    and camouflaged away from human sight
        elven nations thriving all around the world.
            Nimble hands explore
    paper wood and plastic,
          creating new inventions week by day.
        Supersonic aircraft zoom through hallway canyons
          and out across imaginary bays;
        coffee table cities rise among the couches
          busy with the sounds of industry; and
        stellar ships and space ports emerge from bedroom closets—
          precursors of a future yet to be.
 

        II

Stormy eyes absorb a realm of slaughter,
    cities rotting with the dead
  overrun by demon hordes,
    Gothic townships ever dim
  overwhelmed by zombie mobs,
    and everywhere, apocalyptic doom
        drowns imagination with visions of the slain.
            Frantic hands control
    pixels bent on trauma,
          with implements of every kind of war
        wielded to the hymns of personal damnation,
          gentleness made mad for battle-scores,
        shooting hacking slaying, all discrimination
          lost amid a growing thirst for more. And
        steadily the will to think and learn is narrowed
          to morbid rivulets of combat lore.
 

        III

                Steel gray eyes survey
            silent flesh and burning bone,
        columns pluming black against the darkness,
            cities rubbled with dismay,
        broken homes where broken mothers moan,
    brick and mortar scattered through a halflight
fraught with holy terrors lurking deep in shadow
and sensor-tripped explosives stashed along the roadways.
        Steady hands take aim,
    crossing foes between the rigid hairs
        of righteousness and training,
    a firm belief that killing in the hallowed name is fair
        ingrained through years of subtle inculcation.
            Calloused fingers stroke the edge of death,
    forever tense, prepared to deal
            the fatal strike that leaves the twitching dead
        left glaring up one final supplication.

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revelation

I found myself thinking about the story of Adam and Eve. It has always seemed odd to me that god would place his newborn creations in a garden of ideals, and then stick a tree in the middle that grows fruit you’re not supposed to eat. Then, on top of that, toss in a snake that gets off on lying to people and convincing them to do what they’re not supposed to do. Never mind that Eve didn’t know anything about lying, so imagine her confusion when god tells her one thing while the snake tells her another.

This is like putting a small child in a room with a great big bar of chocolate, telling him he’s not supposed to eat the chocolate, then leaving a recording behind that repeats over and over, “You can eat the chocolate. It’s okay to eat the chocolate. Go ahead and eat the bar of chocolate.” Well, what do you think is going to happen?

Naw man, if you take the story at face value, then the whole thing was a setup from the start, like a really bad practical joke. So thus this experimental poem.

revelation

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

Sometimes I just feel like experimenting.

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Usal vespers

Though I did a lot of journaling while I was out on my seven day walk on the Lost Coast Trail at the beginning of the month, I only wrote one small poem. This wee tanka.

Usal vespers

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

Usal Beach is at the southern end of the Lost Coast Trail. I have on many occasions driven all the way out there from Ukiah just to spend a night under the redwoods and alders.

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iris mist

And the second of the two haiku posted today. During winter, dew that settled during the night here in Ukiah will sometimes evaporate at sunrise into heavy mists that carpet neighborhood lawns and garden plots. This phenomenon lasts for a very short time—an hour tops—so I count myself lucky when I get to see it.

iris mist

hints of pastel blue
sift through silent folds of gray
swaying in the void

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electric willow

Two haiku today, posted separately. They were written on the fly to demonstrate the way a haiku should say nothing but show everything. Here’s the first of the two.

electric willow

long leaf branches flail
howling twisted shadows stark
against the door frame

Treatises are better suited to poetic forms that grant space for explication. Of course, there are the rare haiku maxims that lodge within mind and recycle there almost indefinitely. But still, even those are usually in image form, avoiding overt exposition. And those maxim haiku are probably not really haiku anyway, but successful aphorisms.

Is it showing that I have a fever? Day three. I’m getting a bit tired of the dizzy delirium.