CAVEAT

There is a place called
The Crossroads.

An intersection.

An intertwining of shadows and colors -- shards from boulevards of broken dreams, dizzying prismatic cascades of brilliance.

Be drawn into the murky whirlpools. Drink from punctured holes of sunlight. Whether you seek respite or redemption, this is only what you make of it. But we remain, always, our own guardians.

Welcome, Traveler.

I welcome myself
into my own plane.
On a rock, I carve
with my dagger
an inscription of my name.
With the little, sordid, tangled
deaths of day-to-day battle,
I will ensure my immortality
when the dust has settled.

-- Blue Rogue

SCRYING GLASS

Intelligent Ash

Poetic License

Soul Phantasms

Unguarded Utterance

INTUIT DIRECTION

We always arrive
at our destinations
with the help of stars.
Their ponderous trackings
benign and benevolent
in their certainty.
Salvation mas merely
a twinkle away,
and vastness
becomes more measurable
if inhabited by constellations.
But Neverland
was not included
when they made the compass,
and stars are too silent,
too jealous of secrets
cloistered within their nebula.
I am a mariner
in my dreams,
where oceans
can never be chartered
and heavenly bodies
are more mischievous
with travelers like me.
The moon merely winks
at my telescope
as it pulls the tide
depending on what tugs
the edges of its mouth,
making it smile.
Instead I sit
at the top mast
surrounded by a breeze
coming from the sighs
of a thousand sleeping people.
And then I wait,
intent,
for the merest wisp
from the stuff
in which dreams
are made of.
I listen
with every fiber of my being
for the sounds of clouds.

-- Blue Rogue

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Site Design by: S.L. Corsua

Tiptoes

December 31, 2005

I tread days, sometimes in silence,
wading through the hours
as if direction and purpose
never matter much when
everything, eventually, comes full circle.
I slip through nights, maddened
by the faces of so many
waxing and waning arrogant moons,
oblivious to ardent wishes--
these spectres of yearning
as many as the stars,
as desperate as crammed resolutions
in the last hour of the year,
Hope, however, begets a tiny spark
outliving the last firecracker
as it ushers, sputtering,
a dawn (that feels the same
as all others), momentarily
slaking ones need
for a beginning. There is none,
only the faint ticking of cogwheels
that trundle behind the face of longing
stopping for a while, in reverence,
at the end of a long wait, an obliteration
of every other awareness, except
that of being able to breathe, again.


To my best friends, thank you. Pitong taon na tayong nakatambay kasama ang isa't-isa...oh damn, that reminds me of my age more than my birthday did.

My beloved, pinakamamahal kita--you spin for me, days of light and life. You made my year, blaze. You made my year, warm. Hopefully, the next hundred years will be the same.

To everyone, have a happy new year, may all your resolutions, er, come slightly true. :)

blue rogue