Inks and Verses

*

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Sun, 07 Jun 2015 07:00:00 +0000

at dusk, the sun paints
brilliant, surreal, dreamy hues
through Ann Arbor skies.

***

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Sat, 06 Jun 2015 05:44:00 +0000

in Huron river's calm waters

the kayakers at dusk stalk the setting sun,

stir the proverbial pot and disturb the gods.

*

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Sun, 18 May 2014 08:13:00 +0000

softly treading the narrow
pathway, a pitcher-full of ice
drawn from the hotel's ice machine

in hand.

about to pull an all-nighter
with a bottle of grey goose vodka

for company.

alone inside a four-sided wall, all i could hear was the quiet hum of the monitors sending their messages into the gloom.

downrange. and in country.

a flight of drones. a flash of doom.
one less tango inside the room.

a sardonic smile. a vengeful toast.
a silent triumph. a night of quiet celebration
at home.

*

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Tue, 29 Apr 2014 04:39:00 +0000

traversing a deserted
road at
dusk
the shadow of a
bare tree framed against
the setting sun
glaring back
at you
like a dark sentinel
from long ago
a harbinger of doom
a sinister picture of what lies
ahead
along the barren path to
oblivion.

*A2.MI

Tonight I can write the saddest lines

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Sat, 13 Jul 2013 04:25:00 +0000

tonight i can drink beer and read some Neruda.

feliz cumpleaños señor Pablo.

*Andy Garcia

...

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Sat, 18 May 2013 11:18:00 +0000

you

pray

for a never-ending

harmony

that exposed

your

innocence

and predilections

for that

uncertain

butter-soft

fragility

of the human

spirit

melting

the essence

of your

sweet

heart

and rebellious

psyche

into one

coherent

soul.

This Old Guitar

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Sat, 30 Mar 2013 08:28:00 +0000

my old acoustic guitar,

the sole witness

during those rare

times where i can

wear

my heart on

my sleeve.

In Solitude...

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Fri, 29 Mar 2013 05:20:00 +0000

I found a long-sought

soft self-comforting freedom

a heart-rousing understanding

governed not by the common reason

but by untamed emotions.

*

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Sun, 10 Feb 2013 23:14:00 +0000

...early Sunday morning, driving on a deserted Southfield Freeway. the sun's rays are trying to break through the grey clouds' spell. Michigan in winter; beautiful and lonely.

BrainDamage

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Thu, 13 Dec 2012 23:38:00 +0000

Salvador Dali- "Exploding Raphaelesque Head" 1951

Another day, another wasted day. Another rotten day has passed, spent in this dark old room, an abyss where not a sliver of light, have penetrated its four corners for ages -- the dominion of the damned, where sanity is slowly eroding inside the battered head.

In the Brain; where the never-ending labyrinth of gelatinous gyri and sulci, continues to boggle and rattle, the spirit of the demented mind.

Pitter patter-raindrops spatter-eat the matter-in the platter-
helpless tapper-leader-follower-naked in the shower-
nobody answers...

this never-ending childish prattle-

taxes the mind, burns the soul,
castrates the emotions
and rips off the heart

Of everything.

In isolation, inside this padded room, the only place for lunatics- lost in space, locked in total darkness- a prisoner condemned into oblivion.

This smokey room; Where the stale air flew in circles, where the mind somersaults like the high-flyer in a circus. This smelly room; where the stench of urine is stronger than the odor of filth, where the nose forgets its sorry existence. This room where darkness rules is the only one that I have ever known.

"The Sandman lurks in the dark. Take this pill and you'll be all right," says the woman in white. The lady with the perpetual smirk, the purveyor of dreams and what have you.

Eni meni mini mo, take the pill and off we go!

Blue pill or red pill it does not really matter. The brain is bursting and the neurons exploding- Time stood still, warping my sense of being.

I am a traveler. I am a gatherer. I am a pilgrim

I am home.

DotMatrix

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Fri, 31 Aug 2012 04:04:00 +0000

I. look. inside.
You.
nothing. but. emptiness.

deafening. silence. in.
the vast. expanse.
of. a. barren. universe.

the speck. the dust. the sky.

a. dot. in. space.
a. moment. in. time.
a. sea. of. darkness.
a. land. of. the. dead.

a. black. hole.

I. contemplate.
my. contempt.
of. everything. beautiful.

I. seek. to. destroy.
all.
the prettiest.
things.
your mind. can. think.
your eyes. can. see.
your hand. can. touch.
your heart. can. feel.

I. am. you.
you. are. me.
a. mirror. image.
a. friend. a. lover.
a. dream. a. nightmare.

inside. my. head.

Martin Luther King, Jr. - I Have a Dream

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Tue, 28 Aug 2012 14:43:00 +0000

Amok

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Tue, 17 Jul 2012 03:38:00 +0000

You

blabbing, filthy

mouth
Cursing

spewing trash
Stirring

unwelcome emotions to show
Agitating

the frailties of my conviction
Too much

careless words that tax the weary mind

and test the limits of my patience

In my mind, the clock is ticking
In my head, darkness is consuming my being
My heart is raging, my nerves edgy and my senses foggy
Dark thoughts

flying in circles as morbid pictures start to swirl

in nerve-wracking fashion

Clinging

to the last straws of

Sanity
trying to prevent the dams of self-control from bursting
But

the current is too strong

the murky waters rampaging
It is too late

now, my friend
My mind has reached the end

and

the screws have finally snapped in my head.

Wa-pak!

photo credit: Finding Rest

street sweeper

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Sun, 01 Jul 2012 23:41:00 +0000

bite the bullet, taste the blood

feel your heart, beating deep inside

count the pulse, shake off your fears

ignore the call, calm the nerves

check the sight, aim the gun

steady the finger, squeeze the trigger

sweep the floor, waste them all

tune out the cries, ignore the moans

you are the greatest of them all

*photo credit: Takati2012

Broken China

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Fri, 25 May 2012 15:35:00 +0000

Sitting alone under the century-old Tamarind tree,
meditating about anything
that can

ease the loneliness felt
inside of me.

Like a sordid drought
of intellectual exercise
capable

of harming the mind,

thoughts run
like mad
and strike
a fire
engulfing everything in its
path.

The shockwaves
rattled
the nerves

of everyone that happened to be around
and brought

shivers to the weak
spines inhabiting the land.

I became the sole
witness when the precious
china came crashing
into the ground.

Broken into a hundred slivers,

I weep for the loss of my only link to the golden past.

photo credit: Melody's Portrait

Aviva

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 03:07:00 +0000

She sat there in the cubicle,

with eyes closed

trying to

drown out the cries

of tortured souls that still rang in her ears

and

the pungent odor of billows of smoke

that screened the crimson haze of gray vision that

numbed her senses as she tried to forget the painful reminder

of Dachau,

now reduced to a neurotic museum of tears.

In her mind, where footsteps are stationary

and the labored sound of hoarse breathing echoed

in the silent passageways,

the faded pictures

breezed through her memory.

Their voices were now

silent and the curtains drawn to hide

the reflections

in the mirror

of her eyes that belied

the mourning of her heart.

photo credit: dachauscrapbook

CocoNuts

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Fri, 20 Apr 2012 02:51:00 +0000

The charbroiled
kamote is
picked up from
the glowing embers
by dirty
trembling hands
Its charred
skin akin
to the one
now holding it --
dark,
baked
by the intense heat
Blowing
cool air
into the hot
smoking fruit
of the fertile
loam soil
of Bicolandia
Making
beautiful thoughts
of the fare that
would relieve the
gnawing pangs
of an empty stomach.
Justiniano,
a diminutive
worker
harvesting Copra
in the middle
of the vast
Coconut plantation
in Albay
owned by the swaggering
descendants of the
Colonizers
of yore
His face dripping
with sweat
while his hands
continue to work with
machine-like precision,
unmindful of the singing of the
Balinsayaws
that dance from tree to tree
His thoughts
wondering why
he has to toil
under the hot sun
while his supposed
Masters
had their ice-cold
lemonades and biscuits
in the shade.
A sad reality
that more than
a hundred years after
our so-called independence
We are still
nothing
but slaves
in our own
country.

the paradox of love

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 03:41:00 +0000

Two people
met
and they
held each other's gaze
kissed sensuously
locked in warm embrace
moved in unison
burnt with passion.

Perfect,
it seemed to be.

Two hearts
will never meet-
a heart that loves
and
a heart that refuses to love...

Be a Man, my son!

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 04:47:00 +0000

Here's actor Harvey Keitel reciting an excerpt of Rudyard Kipling's famous --

If....

Harvey Keitel: If by Rudyard Kipling by leafantine

*UBS TV Commercial series 'Poems 1997'

Goodnight Girl

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 01:28:00 +0000

soft music, slow dancing,

sweet wine, mind games
brown eyes, blue eyes
masked emotions, repressed passion.

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Fri, 14 May 2010 01:38:00 +0000

a night

of quiet

solitude

spent alone

lying

half- naked

on a beach

in Cozumel

feeling the sand

against my skin

- cold, sharp but soothing.

my gaze

drifted

into the night sky

as my mind

wandered

into the cool

night air…

somewhere

along

the coast

off

Playa del Carmen

in a cottage

by the sea

a lovely

señorita

with stars

in her eyes

is playing

her old guitar.

the sad

strains

pricking

my weary

heart

stirring

old feelings

to crawl

deep

into my

being

making my

spirit

weak

lulling

my tired

eyes

to sleep

from

the unexplained

power of the

sweet

haunting

lullaby.

the deceptive

peace

was broken

by the shrieks of

the night birds

flying

over

from their

lofty

sanctuary

nearby

as if

reminding me

not to

fall

under

her spell

again.

her music

is drowned

by the howling

of the wind,

her face

slowly fading

into the darkness

my illusions

trampled

by the waves

crashing

into the

battered shore.

a night of quiet solitude…

...

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 05:32:00 +0000

dark, cold, quiet
night
mesmerized
by
snow flurries...
like
little
white flowers
cast by the wind, floating on air
flirting
with
my
window pane

photo credit: npthompson/google images

Out of the night...

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 06:46:00 +0000

been lazy for eons now. too rotten to write. blame it on the winter blues. but spring is on the horizon. the fields will be green and full of blooms soon...

The late Sir Alan Arthur Bates, CBE reciting one of my favorite poems-- William Ernest Henley's Invictus in this old UBS commercial reignited my appreciation of the beauty of poetry.

Sir Allan Bates performs Invictus by William Ernest Henley... by leafantine

Rebecca

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Fri, 31 Mar 2006 05:20:00 +0000

Tears could not wash the pain inside of me

I stand in silence

While you lay in your bed

So pale

So weak

So battered

So fragile

Hope springs eternal they say

But you’ve given up the fight

a long time ago

I know

You’ve accepted your fate with

Dignity

I thought I died more than once

While standing alone inside that

Cold cold quiet room

As you close your eyes

And took your last breath

Goodbye, dear friend.
#
020206

Autumn

noreply@blogger.com (Mitsuru) — Fri, 15 Oct 2004 05:20:00 +0000

It’s the best time of the year, they say.
Far different from the tropics where I used to play
And it is just a matter of time before I will finally
Realize the beauty that will unfold before my eyes.

They say that it is the time of year that I will remember forever
Where the birds will fly carefree in the azure sky
And warm my heart with their haunting lullabies.

They say that summer is good but fall is better
The weather’s fine and the colors are amazing
And my life will be a-ok and I will be happy

Deep in my mind,
I almost believed them
Had it not been for one lingering question-

Why does my heart feel blue
In Autumn
When the leaves are turning bright red, orange and yellow?