Strange Fruit

A barren landscape reveals the burden of a generation’s guilt,
When a solitary tree bears witness to the tightening of the noose,
And the final grip of one man’s fading breath.

It is a strange fruit this centuries old tree bears,
As Billie Holiday sings the blues throughout a moonless night,
When the silhouette of cloaked riders near and break the silence of a peaceful night.

Grab hold of your innocence as the cries of women and children,
Echo throughout the valley and blood breaks free from the skin and parched lips of another,
As this society stakes claim to what they never possessed.

It is during the harvest of the season,
When one man rises as the product of a decade’s long struggle,
To take the reins of a nation and,
Fulfill the dream of one man.

CDF 2009

Poem for a Beloved

This I write for you my dear,
as my life was once out of sorts,
your love, has set my direction forth.

I hold my head up high,
my arms stretched out towards,
the evening sky,
as my chest is filled with the sweet air ,
that carries your love for me.

When we part,
I ask the Nightwind,
that it may bring you,
the kiss I blow into the open night.

Should you receive that kiss,
may it be in your sleep, or waking hour,
please remember it holds,
the love I offer to you,
a love you shall have,
for as long as the night turns to day,
I will be with you,
my beloved.

CDF 2008

The Wind Carries Memories Past

Inspired by Bach’s cello suites.

Memories past come once in a while,
I was by the window when it came,
riding the crest of a biting afternoon chill,
with it, came a dusty canvass of images past,
as the trees swayed in a silent chorus,
of forgotten dreams.

By the window, I stood still,
As the cold wrapped me in its invisible embrace,
it’s hollow kiss tracing lines upon my face,
as a flood of forgotten memories,
brimmed at the surface,
as memories of you,
lit the fading afternoon sky.

The music you once played,
found its way into the deepest recess,
as the wind carried the mournful strains,
of hearts parted by time.

CDF 2009

Something You Should Know

It’s was a temporary feeling
This thing you gave me
Sure, It had all the trappings
Of something perfect
But I couldn’t help but feel
The ache coming my way.

We both took that fall
I took the lead, you followed
But while I continued falling
You decided to arrest your fall
When another came from afar
Wishing to take you back.

You told me once
If maybe I had gone down on one knee
You would have probably stayed
But I knew, from the start
That you weren’t mine.

But if only you knew I did go down on my knees
But I didn’t pray to ask you back
I merely closed my eyes
And thought about you…

To this day, it’s one thing I continue to do.

CDF 2008

Retreat

Let me tell you of a place,
where ever so often i can lose myself,
where i can sit back, and
bask in the blessings of the earth,
and count the stars,
as i stare tearfully into the night.

Let me tell you of the oceans song,
that lulls me to sleep, and
the hymns of the soft salty breeze,'
that wakes me from my slumber.

Let me tell you of the soft warm sand,
and the sensations between my toes, OH
how the gentle breeze on my bare chest,
chases away the pain of a broken heart.

Let me take you to a haven,
a shelter during the storms of my life,
a refuge in times of uncertainty,
my place of worship,
my little corner of solitude,
a vast plane of tearful memories,
my own little corner of the world.


“Retreat” by Carlos de la Fuente
Published in Philippine Graphic Magazine
Poetry Section, January 29, 2007

Glass Farm Ensemble

Shoulders slouched in a Quasimodo pose,
aged streaked hair a mess of gray beauty,
her face contorted in an expression of orgasmic pleasure,
her fragile frame cloaked in silk and shimmering blackness,
destitute and without a care for the voices she hears,
tonight the hall is hers.

The myriad colors bleed their satisfaction and frame this catatonia,
into a seamless fabric of abstract expressionism,
for the minstrel and her henchmen in this conspiracy of noise and art,
posses the spirit of those willing to hear,
their bodies swaying, their eyes closed,
here they remain disciples to every inflection of the artists ‘notes.

She pounds the blacks and whites in organized chaos,
her piano rises amidst a backdrop of declared confusion,
answered by the swirling glissandos of the saxophone,
and echoed by the atonality of the vibraphone,
in this hall the artists are one with each abstraction,
this, a mathematical equation and a solution.

As each artist one becomes one single sound,
she slowly hears the music of her inner voice,
passionate, respondent and stimulated as only one who has tasted
life’s bitter and sweet offerings,
can amalgamate into a curtain of pleasures ,o
of the artists’ pain.

CDF 2009

Own Holocaust

And so he found me,
crouched in some desolate corner of my mind,
jaded by worldly virtues,
blinded by society's ills.

I was left here one cold and tragic night,
when dreams turned into nightmares of faded reality,
when voices retreated to deafening silence.

Yes, he found me, face in hand,
as the hourglass emptied its sands of fading light,
when voices echoed into,
a chasm of whimpering cries.

CDF 2009

A Summer Night

An empty room lit by a solitary candle,
It’s the four corners of my prison painted by a solitary dancing flame,
Shadows not of my own, prancing about as my mind slowly falls into shambles,
My clenched fists buried deep within a grip I can’t feel,
My eyes straining to see what’s there but clouded by visions of yesterday.

It’s a warm night,
Warm as the valley between my sleeping lady’s breasts,
There’s nothing outside my window but the dancing fireflies,
They dance around; climbing, falling as luminescent as my evident thoughts,
When I finally reach out,
They turn away leaving me alone.

CDF 2009

Mirror Image

Saw an old man yesterday,
scraggly and bent he seemed,
holding a cane,
keeping himself up,
wincing with every step,
wrinkles and scars on his face,
the vestiges of youth long gone.

Saw the old man again today,
sitting by the sidewalk café,
holding his cup of coffee to his lips,
hands shaking,
struggling to keep the cup from falling,
and finding his drink,
on his lap.

Saw the old man on my way home,
standing not far from the corner pub,
where the lost try to find themselves,
in their beers and vodkas,
where the troubled man may find his joy,
in the arms of a total stranger.

Never saw the old man again,
probably taken in by his family,
or perhaps, skipped town,
retirement home maybe,
never saw him again,
never saw his bent frame again.

“Copper” came this morning,
asking me questions,
found a dead old man,
in the alley behind the bar,
fetal he was clutching a metal flask,
what a pity he said,
was the town drunk,
pity he said,
wasted his life by dealing with the devil,
living by the bottle, and die like a dog.

“Mirror Image” by Carlos de la Fuente
Published in Philippine Graphic Magazine
Poetry Section, January 29, 2007

Her Voice and His Walls

She is but a voice,
A relief from the day’s stress.

While this could all be a game to her,
she has turned a stone heart into clay.

He is enamored by the thought of being with her,
but she is someone he may not be able to hold,
for she may not see the light in him,
because she spends her nights cold and alone.

After years, he finally feels for someone,
after living behind the walls of his broken heart,
but this I know, she has mended his heart,
And all she is,

Is a VOICE in his soul.

CDF 2008

What I’ve Known

I know this pain,
i’ve felt it before,
a constant entity,
in my 30 years of existence.

I’ve lost more in this life,
than I have gained,
all these haunt me,
endlessly.

It comes like a creature in the night,
constantly ringing in my ears,
confusing my mind,
creating fear in me.

I know this pain,
it is guilt, it is sorrow,
it is despair,
it is regret.

I regret my actions.
I yearn for change,
I’m still waiting and hoping,
But is anyone waiting for me.

Is there anyone who loves me ?
Is there anyone searching for me ?
Is there anyone who will save me ?
will she still long for me?

An Empty Room

I never danced, how I wish I could,
I was shy, afraid of what others would think,
afraid to show who I was,
ashamed to let go of myself,
afraid to release myself in her arms.

I walk into this room, with a rose in my hand,
dressed in a pressed suit,
to fulfill a dream she had,
to relive the moment,
to remember,
to feel the spirit that overwhelms me,
this was to be our first dance.

But, I stand alone in this room,
looking down at the well worn shoes,
tears in my eyes,
remembering how we were,
living in the past,
struggling to live in the present.

I ‘am alone,
she has left me,
stranded, confused, and rejected,
with no hand to hold or grasp,
fearful of the solitude, fearful of the silence.

CDF 2006