APPRECIATION POST: FIRE AND ICE by Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

BEETHOVEN WINTER

Like a mellifluous melody that transcended through piano keys,
Came the solitude of winter- by ice, by snow- ensuing the adversity of bliss.
Gentle as a dainty falsetto; malevolent as a dynamic vibrato,
I succumbed to my greatest yawn; with hopes high and reasons low.

As frost sang a hymn that lulled the earth to conscious sleep,
There I sat, pondering, yearning; beside the amber fire that burned deep.
The symphony it played is a nostalgia that devoured my memories of petrichor--
               The aroma of heaven's tears and earth's smile kissing with vigor.

Like gossamers that blended to the spectrum of air, I lost sight of hope and time.
The warm sonata of winter's flakes falling, no longer is  a harmony sublime.
Yet! Winter, like notes that shift through Beethoven's playful fingers,
It must soon come to an end; and the sun will rise with glow and warmth that perpetually lingers.

ENGINEERING

Engineering can be defined as: the application of science to commerce or industry; the application of scientific knowledge to practical problems; or even generally as the course by which students take as they pursue the path of design.

But, if I were to summarize the entire definition of engineering into one word, it would be INNOVATION.

Innovation in its mere sense is broad. It lies within the contemplative minds of gifted people destined to be this world’s creators, builders and innovators; and channeled through their hands, the primordial tool for perpetual and efficient advancements. Therefore, pondering upon the thought of innovation is to realize the dreams that surge within the percipience of a craftsman.

As the world is introduced to modernization, engineering itself is also introduced to unconventional manners of innovation. However, at the same time, it still manages to carry, transcend or uphold its tradition of excellence that has kept the course of engineering unequalled whilst pursuing the dynamic transcendence of life. Such goes to show that engineering, intertwined with innovation, is versatile and resilient. 

APPRECIATION POST: The Cuckoo Clock by Evelyn Walsh

He saw her

Looking at the cuckoo clocks

And asked

Did she like them?

Yes, but I have one,

She replied.

Perhaps you’d be interested

In another, he persisted.

No thank you, she said.

There’s only one,

She thought.

She could see it on the wall

The heavy, winding chains

The Roman numerals

The dark brown eaves

The delicate cuckoo.

Hear him coming out on the hour

And every half hour.

How often she had heard it call the time

Watched the cuckoo at work

Waited for it to come out.

It was never hers.

It belonged to her best friend

From childhood.

It was in the kitchen.

He’s gone now,

So is the clock,

It went to relatives.

But it always would be hers, she thought,

She would never replace it.

Couldn’t.

It was the only one she wanted.

And she wanted it to be where it always was.

Memory held it fast.

LOOSE INKS

Appreciation Post: Juvenile Amity

I once had a Crush,

She always made me blush,

She always smiled at me,

And always made me happy.

She was my inspiration,

Whom I always had an affection,

She was just a teen,

A teenager at the age of fifteen.

She was very smart,

A lover who uses the mind than the heart,

She knew what was right,

And the wrong that could cause a fight.

She was very pretty,

From the outside and the inside of her body.

She was gorgeous from the outside,

Especially in the inside.

She had the nicest lips,

And the nose that had the best tips,

She has the softest voice I’ve ever heard,

For she was the prettiest girl from the herd.

She was very brainy,

The very criterion that kept me happy,

Science nor Math,

She’d solve them without asking “What?”.

I loved her with all my heart,

To her, I did not want to apart.

But Amity,

Did she feel for me?

The Broken Charms of the White Witch

            For an exact estimate of five months, I was separated from my family, friends and to a very special friend. It was college, this vengeful warden of a scholastic prison that bore great miles separating my soul to the entities that fueled the very reasons of my existence. But now, I am back. Semestral break seemed to be an unsung recession in our academic economies which at the same time offered us chances to once again, meet.

            After months of watching the sky shift its ambiance from the amber gold rays of the sun to the silvery glory of the moon, I finally meet my special friend. To be honest, it was not supposed to happen. However, thanks to the presence of two of my friends, I am able to dig out that confidence and courage—that has long been buried in this pile of divergence which I have kept for more or less, four years.

             So, the story pretty much goes like this:

            As we have finished doing our personal errands, we agreed to visit my special friend and to welcome her back for going back to our dear hometown. As we waited at their paved, wet and stinky porch and endured the highly dangerous mosquito bites, we contained our eagerness and excitement regarding the comeback of my special friend. It was this once in a blue moon phenomenon and none of us would want to miss it for the world.

            She peered into the window and all I saw was her shadowy silhouette. I can tell that she has been stagnant, unlike my classmates. She managed to stay the same, to be who she is as she has always been. That’s what I like about her. She changes but manages to stay consistent.

            When the wait was done, it was time for that great visual feast: it was time to see her at last! She wore her favorite color, which I assume is her brand. The way she came to our sight was like this mainstream movie wherein the film starts with black and then fades into the appearance of the genuine article. Even though her notion was stereotypical, it seemed different the way she did it. I am puzzled on how she could do and be the common and yet seem special in my eyes. There is obviously a mist that blurs my vision to the truth.

            The first person she approached is our female friend. Obviously, she would first come to acquaint a girl. The chances of her approaching me or my other friend who coincidentally, also likes her would be akin to finding a needle in a haystack.

            We decided that she should treat us on some cheap restaurants or some meager fast foods, which, thankfully, she did. There were four of us, which made sense, that there is a zero percent probability that I would be the third wheel. However, the chances of me being the last wheel exceed the perfect 100% criterion. And so, I was the last wheel, once again. This always happen when my bestfriend is not with me or now with my present circle of friends. I tend to be the last wheel and I am very tired of it. They walked in a trilogy of interactive Homo sapiens while I was in their back, tailing their every step as if I was a shadow, a pitch black imitative echo of the living. I tried talking but my argument was blocked by the cloud of experience that each of them is sharing. I wish my bestfriend was here. She would connect to me as if I was an iPhone and she was a Wi-Fi connection. But she is not, which made me, with no choice, endure the silent damnation.

            We stopped by my friend’s house so she could discharge of her load. We waited outside with the seemingly angry dogs, hungry for an uncanny human scent. My friend and I chose to sit inside a tricycle while she just stood outside waiting. All of the sudden, dimwitted dogs came barking sending chills in her spine. She was afraid, evident on her delicate panting and will to stay away from the dogs. She had two choices: She could sit with me on the tricycle that I chose or she could sit on the tricycle that my friend’s chose. Mine was nearer and yet, she still went to the other tricycle. Her action was a smack on the face and the bruise that it left was a pain of immeasurable amounts of del. My heart sank on her meager notion, which, suffice it to say, is a bit overacting for a guy like me. But what can I do? Watching your love metaphorically choose someone else is a pain invincible to any cure that man can offer.

            And so, on that moment, my emotions came to a conclusion. It was time for me to move on. We’re on college, which means, we’ll meet more people and we’ll find that one special person who is meant to overlook our flaws. It is time for me to stop bathing on my daydreams which are honestly no longer vivid for reasons I assume, is because my heart has moved on a long time ago but my mind, it was still holding on. She no longer had the same effect on me as she had during my senior year in high school. Everything has changed, and now, it’s time to move on, let go, but never forget.

            I surely will only complicate my aforementioned statements with my next statement, but I don’t care. The thing is, I have moved on, but I will never forget. I still love her. She still has this special place in my heart. I still adore her and she is still special to me. But these impressions that she has on me, they are not that affective anymore. She is now like this white witch that has charmed me and I am this young knight who has escaped her succulently intoxicating enchantment.

            I am not ready for a new love story because I don’t think it is time to put the dot on my previous one. It is time to let go and move on but it is not the right time to end things yet. There is no 100 percent assurance on what I am saying. What I am sure of right now is that, I have broken a curse. Something that I think is not meant for me to put together again.

An Ode To Juliet

If I've known what I know now,

If I've dared or risked somehow

Would our love been brought to forever

By which we savor with one another?

It was true then, and it is true now

My love for you and for what I know;

Love like fire, love like ocean, love like the sky

Warm and passionate; vast and deep; love is heaven that will never make you cry.

I cannot tell you love like Juliet and Romeo

For I cannot tell you love that ends in woe

I can only tell you mine: love that lives and never dies

Love that dares and love that tries.

For love is juvenile - noble and bold

As you are precious - fine like glittering gold.

Of Blood and Bullets

Of blood and bullets lie death and justice

And with law and anarchy come the rangers' mutinies

By which to oppose the general wafture

To destroy the gold and align the unbalanced nature.

ESTUARY DROWNING

I am drifting away from this river of consciousness. The current that carries the residue of my past sleep deprivation is so strong that I am weakly akin into this stream of merry dreams.

            A vessel composed of fatigue weightlessness carry me gently on the laminar river. As it rocks delicately back and forth, I am taken slowly into an estuary— a common-point for reality and fantasy to meet.

            As it approaches the vertex of contradictory concepts of the mind, the water is introduced into turbulence akin to the rage of an impatient soul. Their encounter drives the boat to convulse and shake until it capsized into the murky mirage water.

            As the vast density of water engulfs my entity, my lungs were bombarded by a good of liquid death, compelling me to its side. I struggled but it seemed something from within was pulling me.

            “BREATH!!”, a slow and deep voice told me.

            I gasped in in astonishment as I heard the monstrous voice which allowed all of my breath to escape my poor body. It was a scene of hopelessness for I knew, that time, I was drowning.

            “YOU COULD BREATH!!”, said the voice again.

            “No I can’t!”, I replied to the voice with all my strength and a bit of angst.

            “YES!”, he replied.

            “No I can’t! Who are you?”, I told him with a loud voice.

            “YOU ARE SPEAKING…”, he replied again.

            It was only then that I have noticed I was breathing! I could speak as well!

            “How is this possible?!”, I asked him in glee.

            “YOU ARE DROWNING.”, his answer struck me with confusion.

            “What?! You told me I could breath and now you’re telling me I’m drowning?!”, I was starting to get mad.

            “YOU ARE DROWNING.”, he said again.

            “Can’t you see? I’m breathing underwater! Who are you? How is this possible?”

            “YOU ARE BREATHING IN A RIVER OF WATER, BUT YOU ARE DROWNING IN AN OCEAN OF YOUR THOUGHTS.”

            His words were powerful and loud enough to wake me back to reality. As I opened my eyes, I found myself back my the dark and stench bunker in the asylum.

Seven Nights A Diamond

Seven Nights A Diamond, could my baby eat

Seven Nights A Diamond, clean air we shall breath

Seven Nights A Diamond, could we survive a night rough,

But Seven Nights A Diamond, was not enough

So, Seven Nights A Diamond, did I cry

For Seven Nights A Diamond, had my poor baby die.

Featured Poem: I'm Nobody! Who Are You? by Emily Dickinson

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us — don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Ocean Deep, Mountain High

Vast as the seven seas,

            Deep as the trenches down below,

Firm as the noble trees,

Loyal like the innocent dog,

Ignorant like an admiring bog

Ocean deep, mountain high,

I promise not to make you cry,

Always know, my love for you will never go.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time you were Snow White, I was not the Prince.

I was not dashing, cut, nor handsome by all means

I was just the dwarf, the meekest creature among our forest

I was just your apprentice, your acquaintance: still, it felt the best.

I helped you be with your prince and get you true love’s kiss.

We defeated the Queen and put the kingdom into harmony and bliss.

I watched you fulfill the desire of your heart

I watched you marry the Prince: I watched you tear me apart.

Once upon a time, you were Cinderella; this time, I was one of the mice

I was beside you, through your laughs and cries,

I was the one who called Fairy Godmother,

I was the reason why you and your prince were together.

I have seen how he fit you those glass slippers and asked for your hand.

I have heard how everyone is invited from our land,

I smelled the flowers and candies, meat and cheese,

Still, there is nothing that I long for than your kiss.

Once Upon A Time…

Heaven is Gold

The touch of the sky is firm and fine

As its tears that flow are vestigial and benign

Take me not yet oh Heaven for I need more time

I will forever be the spectator of your beauty sublime.

Heaven is blue and gray and orange and black

Like men spontaneous, acts shift as they are taken aback

Blue as they frown, gray as they surrender

Orange as they smile and black as they deeply ponder.

Heaven is an ocean of patches and warmth and chill

Like lovers juxtaposed to bring emotions more thrill

Those who love passionately and those who want eagerly

Love like Heaven is for those who feel very deeply.

Heaven is Bronze, Silver and Gold

As it is an honor to be roofed by the vast uncanny and bold

The sky, bronze as it is what we see last;

Silver as it is where we live and Gold as it is a reward to those trust.

The Scorpion Stung

“Hello! Are you there?”, I asked myself once as I sat on this wooden bench that stood on the perimeter of our school’s Sports’ Field. I was lonely; which pretty much was the description of my everyday life.

            It seemed like a typical day for me: alone, depressed, anxious and longing. My only companion was my heavy bag that contained all the necessary stationery materials that aid me in my classes and some things that I consider as my lucky charms (such as rosaries and fans and coins.)

            “god Ridge! Can you stop being a weirdo for once?!”, I hiss at myself. I admit that I am weird. Sometimes I don’t like that term, sometimes I do. Whenever I feel proud of my eccentricity, I tell myself, “Being called weird is like being called limited edition. I must not deny it. Is just have to take pride on it.” However, there are times when my depression gets the best of my positivity which results to my overthinking regarding the abovementioned matter.

            Perhaps the reason why I’m pretty much alone all the time is because I am too weird. I am too different and too abnormal that people just stay away from me. It feels sad. My pride is my depression. I am my own undoing. There are times when I imagine myself as this cool jock in high school: popular and handsome and adorable and what not. I do it so that I could somehow keep myself happy amidst this Great Depression blazing inside of me. Some of the time, it works. I suddenly forget my sorrow; however, much of the time, it doesn’t.

            There’s this story that I once heard on one of my favorite TV Shows. It’s about this frog and scorpion. Once there was this frog and scorpion who were trying to cross the river. The scorpion asked the frog if he could carry him across the river so they could both cross. The frog was hesitant because he was afraid that the scorpion might sting him. ”Promise me you’re not going to sting me. If you sting me, I’ll die and we’ll both die in the river.” The scorpion agreed so the frog gave him a ride. When they were in the middle of the river, the scorpion stung the frog. “Why did you sting me?!”, asked the dying frog. “I’m sorry, it’s just my Nature.” The story ended in the death of the frog and the scorpion. It was tragic but the same time, meaningful and relatable.

            It makes me wonder, what if I’m the scorpion? What if weirdness and loneliness is in my nature? What if no matter how much I try to change, I still won’t be able to stop myself from driving people away?

            I have friends- an ensemble of the most amazing people in the world. However, there are times that I just feel lonely. There are times when I wonder if they really consider me as a friend or a random companion.

            The whole time I was sitting on that bench, I was pondering upon the things that made me feel so depressed. It was disheartening so I took out my phone and checked for new messages. I was hoping someone was looking for me to spend their lunch with or squander the vacant time with. However, NOTHING. There was nothing. It always happens to me and yet, I can’t seem get accustomed to such. I still feel depressed whenever I look at my inbox.

I started going through my phonebook and texting my friends hi. I do that all the time whenever I feel lonely. I text my friends Hi. I wonder if they notice that. I wonder if they can sense that when I text them Hi, it means I’m very lonely and desperate of accompaniment.

            Loneliness to me is analogous to pain; I have very weak tolerance of the former and the latter. From time to time, people get sad and alone and after a few reflections, they start to feel well and get over the reasons. Unfortunately, the case is different on me. When I start feeling lonely or depressed, there’s no stopping of my thoughts and emotions from bombarding me.

            “Yes! I am here!”, said an echoing voice that sounded very near. It startled me so much I almost fell off the bench.

            “Who are you? Where are you?”, I asked with eagerness and curiosity.

            “I am you. I am here. Here. Here. Here.”, said the echoing voice. His words descended into echoes until it faded into mere silence. I am you, he said. Was I talking to myself? Did my thoughts just respond to me?

            “I need your help. Help. Help. Help.”, he replied. What did he mean? Were I just asking myself some help? Why now? Why respond now?

            “Who are you? Why do you need help?”, I replied.

            “Because I’m changing. Changing. Changing. Changing.”, all of his repercussions had echoes. It almost felt like I’m talking to myself who is trapped somewhere dark and cavernous.

            “Changing? What kind of change? Aren’t all changes be for the better? Why would you need help with that?”, I was shocked with his plead. Why would he need help with the change that’s coming to him? All my life, I’ve been looking for some changes and he’s just rejecting them?

            “No. You don’t understand. I’m changing.”, he replied again. This time, it had no echo.

            “I’m changing into a Monster.”, he said.

TO BE CONTINUED…

The Doctor's Keys

Broken was my heart, like fragile debris of a broken glass

I sat in a chair, in front of a piano borne in brass.

I let my tears flow, like a dirty river from a watery hill

Till my emotions be like noble rock on an insipid stand still.

Must the treachery of love so deceptively fine be excruciating?

Must I be tortured by pain so unending?

I cannot bare to live a life with a broken heart.

Must there be found something of this end, it would be a new start.

I stared at the piano as if it had wisdom— enough to be supplementary

Of what I need so I may break free from the bonds of agony.

But all it did was imitate my very prime action,

He stared back at me, T’was his inanimate motion.

I reached for his keys, the very foundation of his silent soul

I pressed them, played with every black and white till a pianist was my sudden role

He spoke to me in notes and melodies of mellifluous harmony

He drilled into my skin, reaching deep within to get to the chain that is perpetually binding me.

Like the virgin ground of dear mother Earth, every single link cracked

My heart was anew, as if of pain, it was never attacked.

The piano was my doctor and its music was my medicine

He have put things back— same as they’ve always been.

I slept the night lulled by peace, as if nothing had ever happened

Awakened by the nonspeaking harmony of my doctor that has gotten me unchained.

Though a new age does not begin today, a new me is born still,

Thanked be the doctor for his keys, for from them, did I heal.

Down The Halls

I pass this wickedly narrow hall,

I walk blank, as if I were to rise or fall…

I am surrounded by these nasty creatures

Of crooked face, ugly teeth, bulging nose and other features.

I walk past this troll,

Whom by his phone, often does scroll

Then by the hag who cast spells

Of results in which, none can bare to hear nor tell.

I past more monsters than any heroes do

It’s the same routine, nothing ever new

But then, I approach a supernova of white

I come close to an angel who radiates brighter than the moonlight.

I approach you by the narrow hallway

If only time would still the moment so I could gaze at you all day

If only I had more than a sword and a shield

If only I had courage— the power to make efforts yield…

I would stand by your wings and gaze at your robe

As if you were a statue inside a glittery globe

I would hold you in my arms for you’re the perfect fit

To a jigsaw fathomable by wit.

My angel, my sweet serenity

If only I had a lamp that homes a genie

I would cast him free for he’s no longer needed

In front of me is all the wishes contained in one beauteous body— which I’ve always wanted.

The sun sets, the moon rises

As time flies, a moment vanishes

Every day I see you by the hallway, glowing genially,

I don’t get tired of it, for a sight of you is an adventure always uncanny.

The Reaped Ripper

I asked him who he was and he told me,

“It is I who walks with you in the light

It is I whom you seek by the dawn of night

I am your shadow, your greatest friend and enemy.”

He said he was hungry.

He wanted to eat but I didn’t know what to feed him.

Must he be the pitch in the black that dares to engulf my dream?

Must he be the underline that opposes the thought of positivity?

“I need not your dreams nor your happy thoughts,

I need not your soul for it is to white for my taste,

I need not your death for I am in no haste.

I need your heart, beating and pumping, but slowly, it rots.”

I told him you can’t for it is too good to be his

But he put up a fight and stabbed my chest with his ghastly claws

He ripped my heart out and showed it to me as it was beating raw.

And inside was a snake dark and heavy, biting with a hiss.

“You are too good, but too dark as well,

Thus you deserve no heart for you are a void

I will hide till it is found that love may no longer avoid

But for now, you’re condemned in earth, to live a hell.” 

The Pupil

I woke up this morning the way I did ever since I have encountered adolescence— taking everything around me for granted. My eyes who have never shown signs of poor sight did not see anything interesting that came in the transience of life. I wonder if that is the reason why the pupil in the middle of it is black. Perhaps it is supposed to represent the void that one feels inside and sees or shows in the outside.

                It took every ounce of my strength to get out of the only thing that I believe have loved me for who I really am— my bed. Parting it is such a painful sorrow that I have to endure every waking day of my life just to explore barren moments that never had the ample vividness or saturation to touch my line of interest.

                As I took my daily bath, I was welcomed by water that I think have seeped from the glaciers of Antarctica because of the extreme chill that it brought to stimulate my sensitive skin. The supple touch of soap and the marsh embrace of shampoo on my hair made me feel rather filthy than clean. Filthy in the sense that, I have to stain myself just to get the perfection that everybody, who knows nothing is perfect, still looks for. I am reminded of snakes and how they have to itch and scratch perpetually just to shed the skin that they have gotten used to living in. I wonder if life is really that unfair—that one has to shed and sacrifice a lot of things that belong to them just so they could be pleasing to the eyes of those who do not care at all.

I do not resent bathing because I know it is good for my health and hygiene. However, I take umbrage of its selfish metaphorical concept that incessantly haunts me at the insipid touch of water.

                Getting ready for school every day is a sally that I consider horrific rather than blank or exciting. Being the performer of such sham actions make me feel tyrannous and unsure about myself. It is ironic how, as I prepare to go into a place where I will be educated and fed with infinite amounts of wisdom could make me feel oppressed. However; paradoxically, I once learned from school that life itself is full of ironies as it is full of love as well. Perhaps irony is a form of love that governs all oppositions and adversities.  It must be the reason why love conquers and fates those who are different. In some analogous sense, if irony is love and I live in irony every single day as I prepare myself to go to school, then, it must mean that I love going to school as much as I despise preparing for it.

                If I myself am one complicated thought akin to the concept of the powerful forces of love and life, then, I must be relevant for the paramount existence of the world. And, in order to give depth and value to my significance, I must be educated. I have to be a pupil of the world, the school, my thoughts and even the concept of the things that I hate.

My Infinite Playlist

Sing me to sleep my songstress,

I wanna lay comfortable in my cotton mattress.

Encumber me with the harmony of your soothing voice.

I choose to hear none but the serenity of your noise.

Oh my infinite playlist,

Please, enchant me with the song on my list.

Your voice is a music that charms my spirit.

It is the air that fuels my esprit.

Be the pop that my body could jive with,

Be the truthful ballad that make my heart bleed,

But never the love song that is purely pretentious,

Be the Indie RNB that makes me feel amitious.

Little songstress on my bed,

Your singing, I can't get out of my head.

Sing me to sleep and caress me with your serenity,

So I shall slumber by your touch, oh so, lovingly.

Amity

Two hearts who age defies be bound by fate,

Of passionate amity, mellow, they shall not wait,

The day after tomorrow, the paramours shall foregather,

This thy day aforesaid swains shall be together forever.