• POEMS BY SANTIAGO B. VILLAFANIA

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    Supermoon effect and other bruises

    midnight wind
    bring her this breath of jasmine
    return with her kiss

    or with her scent
    to lull me into sleep

    ***
    if I breathe poetry
    it is to give birth to stars
    and that ancient fire-

    the substance that shaped the heart
    and the womb of a woman

    ***
    shinobi walk
    in the flooded streets of
    Manila

    ***
    calm before the storm-
    perhaps in another life
    you are my tempest

    ***
    closest encounter
    fingers cross for clearer skies-
    super supermoon

    ***
    now give me your storm
    i am but a naked poem
    written on a wall

    your silence is drowning me
    into the ocean of verbs

    ***
    morning drizzle-
    in the northern hemisphere
    a summer solstice

    ***
    rice in a box
    on a rainy night-
    my bohemian life

    ***
    it will pass I know
    after the summer solstice-
    this madness called love

    ***
    facebook-
    the narcissism
    that fuels the web

    ***
    in search of new earths-
    sending my verses
    into deep space

    ***
    a long Sunday-
    so tired of waiting for
    a word from you

    I am still hoping to see
    the supermoon tonight

    ***
    Arjuna
    you have two targets to bleed¯
    the moon and my heart

    ***
    moon over Dasma-
    there’s a sad song in the air
    longing to be heard

    and there’s a poem in my head
    that’s yearning to be written

    ***
    silence-
    this purple rain again
    this emptiness

    I think I know the answer
    but not what the heart desires

    ***
    letting them fall into places
    the broken pieces of my self

    ***
    undeath me a poem
    with one sweep of a verb-kiss
    from your sapphic lips

    Epistle to Ebard

    true poetry must speak in spontaneous speech
    like unto the will of the fleeting wind
    it sings its own note and tune to teach
    the heart what is to be heard

    it need not
    be expressed to hide mirth and misery
    to maintain the manner you learned by heart
    nor shall you lack of caution when using
    prosaic or archaic words in your verse

    a dead word is dead if it stands alone
    but lives if it is constantly used
    nor an archaic used in any attempts
    in prose or in poetry which may denote
    or connote a new meaning worth knowing

    never deprive yourself as to ignore
    the transient music in your inmost self
    and the personae that whispers freely
    into th’ ears of your imagination
    what you hear is the true poetry itself
    and however old it is always new

    have you no trouble to be one with nature
    earnest meditation becalms the soul
    when filled with nature’s symmetry express
    what the soul devoured what the mind installed

    oft you may not see the flaws in your art
    as those learned men even the slightest fault
    they find alas! there goes your art disdained
    how an honest imitation of life
    it may be

    have you ample time to be seasoned
    cultivate and do not suffer your art
    every poet believes in his self
    and in his work produced however deep
    or dull for common minds to be construed

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