Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Are people talking behind your back? Ward off the bad vibes and make it a positive New Year.
If people talk behind your back, it means that you are a few steps ahead of them. There is no sense taking a few steps back to confront them, you will only waste your time and lose your head start. Just give them a look from where you are - with a sneer, perhaps, or a raised eyebrow - and then take a few more steps forward. If they continue talking behind your back, they will never be able to catch up with you.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Mountain Dance. In music and poetry.
Mountain Dance
What is it I hear
Lurking quietly in the musty air
Murmuring echoes of rhythmic thunder
Rousing me from restive slumber?
What is it I feel
Tugging gently at nerves of steel
Evoking thoughts of verdant fields
Stirring passions refusing to yield?
The woods dark and deep beckon
Like shadows in the light they traipse on
The wild blue yonder entices the senses
Over the rainbow it mesmerizes.
Distant drums they summon somnolent feet
To walk on clouds stripped bare of doubts that seethe
Should I abandon my prairie nest on morning's sweet dew
To climb the mountain and dance the rhapsody with you?
Denn A. Meneses
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Alone, naturally. Two poems.
Alone
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Edgar Allan Poe
Solitude
alone
i listen to the silence of my thoughts
flying on wings of song to places unknown
over desert hills and snow-capped mountains
stone monuments and raging streams
and fields of gold and red and green
breathing new meaning to worlds without borders
discerning, yet knowing nothing.
i see visions in the dark jostling for space
like shadows on a ledge weaving tales
of angels dancing in the rain
leprechauns cavorting at rainbow's end
gypsies pitching tent along forgotten byways
circus clowns wiping away tears that no one sees
taunting, and tugging at strings.
i smell the scents of passion unleashed
the whiff of new-fangled sensations
wreaking havoc on a crumpled heart
haunted by ghosts of legends past
smoldering, screaming in numb defiance
apathy grudgingly giving in to starkness
acquiescing, but not believing.
i taste the essence of nature's beast
lingering on the fringes of sweet reverie
sun-kissed laughter erupts from nowhere
in hopeful relapse and chaotic anticipation
giddiness reborn to exhale another moment
to impale and trample on too fragile skin
another day, perhaps forever.
i feel the gush of inexorable motion
like tiny waves rushing hurriedly to shore
only to recede into cosmic emptiness
the lustful touch of phantom fingers
cajoling, beguiling ever so dolefully
leaving me parched and craving for more
to embrace the night as if there's no tomorrow
alone, naturally.
i listen to the silence of my thoughts
flying on wings of song to places unknown
over desert hills and snow-capped mountains
stone monuments and raging streams
and fields of gold and red and green
breathing new meaning to worlds without borders
discerning, yet knowing nothing.
i see visions in the dark jostling for space
like shadows on a ledge weaving tales
of angels dancing in the rain
leprechauns cavorting at rainbow's end
gypsies pitching tent along forgotten byways
circus clowns wiping away tears that no one sees
taunting, and tugging at strings.
i smell the scents of passion unleashed
the whiff of new-fangled sensations
wreaking havoc on a crumpled heart
haunted by ghosts of legends past
smoldering, screaming in numb defiance
apathy grudgingly giving in to starkness
acquiescing, but not believing.
i taste the essence of nature's beast
lingering on the fringes of sweet reverie
sun-kissed laughter erupts from nowhere
in hopeful relapse and chaotic anticipation
giddiness reborn to exhale another moment
to impale and trample on too fragile skin
another day, perhaps forever.
i feel the gush of inexorable motion
like tiny waves rushing hurriedly to shore
only to recede into cosmic emptiness
the lustful touch of phantom fingers
cajoling, beguiling ever so dolefully
leaving me parched and craving for more
to embrace the night as if there's no tomorrow
alone, naturally.
Denn A. Meneses
Heartstrings
Riding in vans, bikes and planes
Family ties that don’t end
Sun and moon, wind and sea
Stars that shine for them and me
Food for the heart, music for the
soul
Laughter rings free, young and
old
Mother dearest, you’re the
fairest
Babes in the woods hug the
sweetest
Life
is good, God resides
Love so true, God provides.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Just because it doesn't get old
Christmas doesn't get old even if its message is sometimes forgotten in the humdrum of life spent reaching for things that don't matter to the spirit. "X" now marks the spot where Christ used to dwell. Let us not CROSS out the Reason for the Season; instead, bring Him back to CHRISTmas.
A Christmas Poem
Christmas means a little bit more
than trimmings on a tree & presents from a store.
It means more than tags attached to boxes & bags,
the ribbons & twirls that make kids swirl.
It dwells in families gathered in good cheer,
in ever-loving friendships far & near.
Grinch or Scrooge don't matter
for Christ alone is the answer.
'Tis really no puzzle how it came to be
'cause it lives in believers like you & me!
A Christmas Poem
Christmas means a little bit more
than trimmings on a tree & presents from a store.
It means more than tags attached to boxes & bags,
the ribbons & twirls that make kids swirl.
It dwells in families gathered in good cheer,
in ever-loving friendships far & near.
Grinch or Scrooge don't matter
for Christ alone is the answer.
'Tis really no puzzle how it came to be
'cause it lives in believers like you & me!
Monday, December 23, 2013
Just Random Thoughts
1) At the rate the supposed ‘players’ in the 2016 presidential elections are washing each other’s dirty linen in public, they should likewise be cancelling each other out from the almost maniacal race to be the next Pretender – paving the way for the emergence, hopefully, of a White Knight who will lead this country out of that bogus path, crooked and full of potholes such as it is. About time you disappear from the face of our benighted land – husbands, wives, sons, daughters, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren of families whose sense of entitlement and lack of character have reached the people’s breaking point. Have you no shame?
2) At this point, ANYONE is a better alternative to BS Aquino III. Stop the crap already about no one ‘good enough’ to take his place. No one is INDISPENSABLE, people. The first anointed King of Israel was replaced by the previously unheard-of giant-slayer because the former was more preoccupied with – and this one really sounds familiar – hunting down his perceived enemies than attending to the needs of his people, which the Bible says displeased the Lord. As the jeepney driver might say, God knows who does not pay.
3) Is it still ‘More Fun in the Philippines’, DOT? Selling the country as a land of good Swedish massages in the wake of the recent and successive devastations (“Feeling the Pressure. More Fun in the Philippines” goes the title of the full-page ad at TIME Magazine’s POY issue, with a photo showing a girl in swimsuit being massaged in the arm by an attendant at a resort) is in bad taste, to say the least. How about a big ‘Thank You, World’ for coming to the aid of our beleaguered nation instead of your meaningless sloganeering? In the first place, is it really fun to arrive at the airport (with no CCTVs, duh) considered as one of the worst in the world?
2) At this point, ANYONE is a better alternative to BS Aquino III. Stop the crap already about no one ‘good enough’ to take his place. No one is INDISPENSABLE, people. The first anointed King of Israel was replaced by the previously unheard-of giant-slayer because the former was more preoccupied with – and this one really sounds familiar – hunting down his perceived enemies than attending to the needs of his people, which the Bible says displeased the Lord. As the jeepney driver might say, God knows who does not pay.
3) Is it still ‘More Fun in the Philippines’, DOT? Selling the country as a land of good Swedish massages in the wake of the recent and successive devastations (“Feeling the Pressure. More Fun in the Philippines” goes the title of the full-page ad at TIME Magazine’s POY issue, with a photo showing a girl in swimsuit being massaged in the arm by an attendant at a resort) is in bad taste, to say the least. How about a big ‘Thank You, World’ for coming to the aid of our beleaguered nation instead of your meaningless sloganeering? In the first place, is it really fun to arrive at the airport (with no CCTVs, duh) considered as one of the worst in the world?
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