tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49199592856862766202024-03-08T06:27:07.055-08:00MOODSWINGSWords and Thoughts by Carlos de la Fuente.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-52267222313487950402010-05-25T20:20:00.000-07:002010-05-25T20:24:36.408-07:00Among Trees<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">This towering presence,<br />has witnessed our distant past,<br />when others before us,<br />found shelter underneath it's branches,<br />a place where children played to their hearts content.<br /><br />It is in this place,<br />a nation found their identity,<br />borne out of their innocence and infancy.<br /><br />It is silent and one with the breeze,<br />as the dreams of a nation grows,<br />and progress fades it's spirit,<br />as man now revels it its destruction,<br />and denial of our mother.<br /><br />CDLF 2009<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-74535831898451676362010-05-25T20:13:00.000-07:002010-05-25T20:18:41.450-07:00The Fisherman<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">When the day turned to dusk,</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I asked him once, </span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">where i should go,</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">for a great harvest.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">He smiled and looked upon my face,</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">and pointed to a distance my eyes could not see,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I asked again what made him sure,</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">he smiled and looked upon my face,</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">turning his gaze to the horizon,</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">"I'm not sure" he said</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">But it is the hand of God that points to where you should go.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">CLDF 2009</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-23172076950336846112009-09-03T16:50:00.000-07:002009-09-03T02:00:11.849-07:00Strange Fruit<span style="font-family:arial;">A barren landscape reveals the burden of a generation’s guilt,<br />When a solitary tree bears witness to the tightening of the noose,<br />And the final grip of one man’s fading breath.<br /><br />It is a strange fruit this centuries old tree bears,<br />As Billie Holiday sings the blues throughout a moonless night,<br />When the silhouette of cloaked riders near and break the silence of a peaceful night.<br /><br />Grab hold of your innocence as the cries of women and children,<br />Echo throughout the valley and blood breaks free from the skin and parched lips of another,<br />As this society stakes claim to what they never possessed.<br /><br />It is during the harvest of the season,<br />When one man rises as the product of a decade’s long struggle,<br />To take the reins of a nation and,<br />Fulfill the dream of one man. </span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">CDF 2009</p><br /><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-64713773723037681122009-09-03T14:13:00.000-07:002009-09-04T00:14:17.120-07:00Poem for a Beloved<span style="font-family:arial;">This I write for you my dear,<br />as my life was once out of sorts,<br />your love, has set my direction forth.<br /><br />I hold my head up high,<br />my arms stretched out towards,<br />the evening sky,<br />as my chest is filled with the sweet air ,<br />that carries your love for me.<br /><br />When we part,<br />I ask the Nightwind,<br />that it may bring you,<br />the kiss I blow into the open night.<br /><br />Should you receive that kiss,<br />may it be in your sleep, or waking hour,<br />please remember it holds,<br />the love I offer to you,<br />a love you shall have,<br />for as long as the night turns to day,<br />I will be with you,<br />my beloved.</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">CDF 2008</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-53867313778870365052009-09-03T14:07:00.000-07:002009-09-02T23:08:09.345-07:00The Wind Carries Memories Past<em>Inspired by Bach’s cello suites.</em><br /><em></em><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Memories past come once in a while,<br />I was by the window when it came,<br />riding the crest of a biting afternoon chill,<br />with it, came a dusty canvass of images past,<br />as the trees swayed in a silent chorus,<br />of forgotten dreams.<br /><br />By the window, I stood still,<br />As the cold wrapped me in its invisible embrace,<br />it’s hollow kiss tracing lines upon my face,<br />as a flood of forgotten memories,<br />brimmed at the surface,<br />as memories of you,<br />lit the fading afternoon sky.<br /><br />The music you once played,<br />found its way into the deepest recess,<br />as the wind carried the mournful strains,<br />of hearts parted by time.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">CDF 2009</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-90397969145675767202009-09-03T13:57:00.000-07:002009-09-02T23:18:55.177-07:00Something You Should KnowIt’s was a temporary feeling<br />This thing you gave me<br />Sure, It had all the trappings<br />Of something perfect<br />But I couldn’t help but feel<br />The ache coming my way.<br /><br />We both took that fall<br />I took the lead, you followed<br />But while I continued falling<br />You decided to arrest your fall<br />When another came from afar<br />Wishing to take you back.<br /><br />You told me once<br />If maybe I had gone down on one knee<br />You would have probably stayed<br />But I knew, from the start<br />That you weren’t mine.<br /><br />But if only you knew I did go down on my knees<br />But I didn’t pray to ask you back<br />I merely closed my eyes<br />And thought about you…<br /><br />To this day, it’s one thing I continue to do.<br /><br />CDF 2008Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-17741291153444084932009-09-03T13:45:00.001-07:002009-09-02T23:01:43.711-07:00Retreat<span style="font-family:arial;">Let me tell you of a place,<br />where ever so often i can lose myself,<br />where i can sit back, and<br />bask in the blessings of the earth,<br />and count the stars,<br />as i stare tearfully into the night.<br /><br />Let me tell you of the oceans song,<br />that lulls me to sleep, and<br />the hymns of the soft salty breeze,'<br />that wakes me from my slumber.<br /><br />Let me tell you of the soft warm sand,<br />and the sensations between my toes, OH<br />how the gentle breeze on my bare chest,<br />chases away the pain of a broken heart.<br /><br />Let me take you to a haven,<br />a shelter during the storms of my life,<br />a refuge in times of uncertainty,<br />my place of worship,<br />my little corner of solitude,<br />a vast plane of tearful memories,<br />my own little corner of the world.<br /><br /><br />“Retreat” by Carlos de la Fuente<br />Published in Philippine Graphic Magazine<br />Poetry Section, January 29, 2007<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-68784679522289236962009-09-03T13:45:00.000-07:002009-09-02T22:45:55.965-07:00Glass Farm Ensemble<span style="font-family:arial;">Shoulders slouched in a Quasimodo pose,<br />aged streaked hair a mess of gray beauty,<br />her face contorted in an expression of orgasmic pleasure,<br />her fragile frame cloaked in silk and shimmering blackness,<br />destitute and without a care for the voices she hears,<br />tonight the hall is hers.<br /><br />The myriad colors bleed their satisfaction and frame this catatonia,<br />into a seamless fabric of abstract expressionism,<br />for the minstrel and her henchmen in this conspiracy of noise and art,<br />posses the spirit of those willing to hear,<br />their bodies swaying, their eyes closed,<br />here they remain disciples to every inflection of the artists ‘notes.<br /><br />She pounds the blacks and whites in organized chaos,<br />her piano rises amidst a backdrop of declared confusion,<br />answered by the swirling glissandos of the saxophone,<br />and echoed by the atonality of the vibraphone,<br />in this hall the artists are one with each abstraction,<br />this, a mathematical equation and a solution.<br /><br />As each artist one becomes one single sound,<br />she slowly hears the music of her inner voice,<br />passionate, respondent and stimulated as only one who has tasted<br />life’s bitter and sweet offerings,<br />can amalgamate into a curtain of pleasures ,o<br />of the artists’ pain.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">CDF 2009<br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-5083344560363654692009-09-03T13:33:00.000-07:002009-09-02T22:33:13.667-07:00Own HolocaustAnd so he found me,<br />crouched in some desolate corner of my mind,<br />jaded by worldly virtues,<br />blinded by society's ills.<br /><br />I was left here one cold and tragic night,<br />when dreams turned into nightmares of faded reality,<br />when voices retreated to deafening silence.<br /><br />Yes, he found me, face in hand,<br />as the hourglass emptied its sands of fading light,<br />when voices echoed into,<br />a chasm of whimpering cries.<br /><br />CDF 2009Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-55902023258683385302009-09-03T13:08:00.000-07:002010-05-24T22:08:41.133-07:00A Summer Night<span style="font-family:arial;">An empty room lit by a solitary candle,<br />It’s the four corners of my prison painted by a solitary dancing flame,<br />Shadows not of my own, prancing about as my mind slowly falls into shambles,<br />My clenched fists buried deep within a grip I can’t feel,<br />My eyes straining to see what’s there but clouded by visions of yesterday.<br /><br />It’s a warm night,<br />Warm as the valley between my sleeping lady’s breasts,<br />There’s nothing outside my window but the dancing fireflies,<br />They dance around; climbing, falling as luminescent as my evident thoughts,<br />When I finally reach out,<br />They turn away leaving me alone.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">CDF 2009</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-39268977686023048602009-09-03T13:04:00.000-07:002009-09-02T23:07:04.511-07:00Mirror Image<span style="font-family:arial;">Saw an old man yesterday,<br />scraggly and bent he seemed,<br />holding a cane,<br />keeping himself up,<br />wincing with every step,<br />wrinkles and scars on his face,<br />the vestiges of youth long gone.<br /><br />Saw the old man again today,<br />sitting by the sidewalk café,<br />holding his cup of coffee to his lips,<br />hands shaking,<br />struggling to keep the cup from falling,<br />and finding his drink,<br />on his lap.<br /><br />Saw the old man on my way home,<br />standing not far from the corner pub,<br />where the lost try to find themselves,<br />in their beers and vodkas,<br />where the troubled man may find his joy,<br />in the arms of a total stranger.<br /><br />Never saw the old man again,<br />probably taken in by his family,<br />or perhaps, skipped town,<br />retirement home maybe,<br />never saw him again,<br />never saw his bent frame again.<br /><br />“Copper” came this morning,<br />asking me questions,<br />found a dead old man,<br />in the alley behind the bar,<br />fetal he was clutching a metal flask,<br />what a pity he said,<br />was the town drunk,<br />pity he said,<br />wasted his life by dealing with the devil,<br />living by the bottle, and die like a dog.<br /><br />“Mirror Image” by Carlos de la Fuente<br />Published in Philippine Graphic Magazine<br />Poetry Section, January 29, 2007</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-50873001838204258922009-09-03T13:00:00.000-07:002009-09-02T23:19:47.681-07:00Her Voice and His Walls<span style="font-family:arial;">She is but a voice,<br />A relief from the day’s stress.<br /><br />While this could all be a game to her,<br />she has turned a stone heart into clay.<br /><br />He is enamored by the thought of being with her,<br />but she is someone he may not be able to hold,<br />for she may not see the light in him,<br />because she spends her nights cold and alone.<br /><br />After years, he finally feels for someone,<br />after living behind the walls of his broken heart,<br />but this I know, she has mended his heart,<br />And all she is,<br /><br />Is a VOICE in his soul.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">CDF 2008</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-29241560881460402302009-09-03T09:19:00.000-07:002009-09-04T00:20:07.994-07:00What I’ve Known<span style="font-family:arial;">I know this pain,<br />i’ve felt it before,<br />a constant entity,<br />in my 30 years of existence.<br /><br />I’ve lost more in this life,<br />than I have gained,<br />all these haunt me,<br />endlessly.<br /><br />It comes like a creature in the night,<br />constantly ringing in my ears,<br />confusing my mind,<br />creating fear in me.<br /><br />I know this pain,<br />it is guilt, it is sorrow,<br />it is despair,<br />it is regret.<br /><br />I regret my actions.<br />I yearn for change,<br />I’m still waiting and hoping,<br />But is anyone waiting for me.<br /><br />Is there anyone who loves me ?<br />Is there anyone searching for me ?<br />Is there anyone who will save me ?<br />will she still long for me?<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4919959285686276620.post-85843014464217186502009-09-02T23:14:00.000-07:002009-09-02T23:17:26.286-07:00An Empty Room<span style="font-family:arial;">I never danced, how I wish I could,
<br />I was shy, afraid of what others would think,
<br />afraid to show who I was,
<br />ashamed to let go of myself,
<br />afraid to release myself in her arms.
<br />
<br />I walk into this room, with a rose in my hand,
<br />dressed in a pressed suit,
<br />to fulfill a dream she had,
<br />to relive the moment,
<br />to remember,
<br />to feel the spirit that overwhelms me,
<br />this was to be our first dance.
<br />
<br />But, I stand alone in this room,
<br />looking down at the well worn shoes,
<br />tears in my eyes,
<br />remembering how we were,
<br />living in the past,
<br />struggling to live in the present.
<br />
<br />I ‘am alone,
<br />she has left me,
<br />stranded, confused, and rejected,
<br />with no hand to hold or grasp,
<br />fearful of the solitude, fearful of the silence.</span>
<br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">CDF 2006</p>
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<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com