A list poem to promote a blog contest of one of my good friends online. Please make sure to click on the links to see the actual post.

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It’s been a while, I wonder why,
No follow backs on my twitter profile.
Could it be that I failed to read
10 reasons twitter thinks I’m a twit?

It’s been a while, I wonder why,
I haven’t written so many rhymes.
Only snippets of abstract thoughts,
that sink and float inside my mind.

It’s been a while, I wonder why,
When I last saw my friends online.
Could it be that I consumed,
the last bit of inspiration this time?

It’s been a while, I wonder why,
140 characters are hard to come by.
Every word that I have sought,
gets no answer, no replies.

It’s been a while, I wonder why,
the fun in words are out of tune.
Feeling like a twit in a world, assumed
a role of the unpopular fool.

It’s been a while, I wonder why,
the shout outs and links were out of line.
Forgetting social graces,
manners and courtesy displaced.

Through the hour glass

shaped wire

I make out a figure

of a woman.

In her form,

I can see the universe.

All the colors and shapes

that form

the space

around us are present

in her outline.

In the curves

I can make out each planet,

each cell,

and each subatomic particle.

She is the universe,

she is life!

- Poetry by Frank Cunha III

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Silence sits into the night,

of ephemeral company.

Fire spits taunting delights,

hungry for lustful symphony.

Spheres arrive in controlled flight,

illuminating dark soliloquy.

Dance and spiral eager sights,

of rectitude and solemnity.

Beyond the yearning remains,

ever so physical and haunting.

A child in a dreamful restraint,

awoke with cautious foreboding.

Even the night could refrain,

from a surreptitious calling.

Tranquil voices soothe disdain,

and sits into a night of longing.

Image Rights to Zorlone

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Light and shadow in a path,

across a bridge that builds a gap.

Fighting a long forsaken wrath,

unseen from a traveler’s map.

Engaged with words and swords,

battle with brute and mental force.

To sweat and bleed such fate abhorred,

then face this final, inevitable course.

Battle within a determined heart,

with the strength to resist temptations ruse.

To feed the licking flames rampart-

inspired by a faithful muse.

Of rage in doubt within a reach,

to foresee vast sorrow beneath.

There lies the end of the bridge

a finish line an end to this.

Image rights to Karen Glosser

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High 50s, sunny, and trees in bloom,

milkweed floating thru the air,

birds singing -

it’s spring.

But snow is on the ground!

Melodies of la la la-

float in a torrid dance,

the animals of the season play

with their offsprings.

But snow in on the ground!

Chilly water, green leaves, later sunsets,

gossamer tangled cotton candies,

girls with seedpods in their hairs

running and giggling.

But snow is on the ground.

Watch it as it melts through the day,

draining into the roots of the earth,

I smell the warmth of midday,

the season is changing.

The snow melted from the ground.

Image rights to Frank Cunha III

Image rights to Karen Glosser and Frank Cunha III taken with iphone 4/4s

Thank you Karen for the inspiration and the first stanza

Image rights to Karen Glosser

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As the colors of the day melt into darkness,

like curtains flapping from a gentle breeze,

the daily routine molds into canvass,

floating and fleeting through air with ease.

As the colors of the day melt into darkness,

sleep comes easy, like water on a stream,

playing with dreams that intertwine us,

blowing a whisper as we wake to the sun’s gleam.

Image rights to Karen Glosser thank you for the inspirational picture

Image Rights to Frank Cunha III

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Letters fall

like droplets of ink

from scribbles

and bold forms.

Each letter fornicates

with each other

agglutinating words -

hurtful or loving.

These offsprings

of the pen

make war or peace

assassinate or

build character.

At last,

these doodles

become intense

with emotions

falling like a waterfall

at the bottom of the page.

Drowning every line

with the smell of ink

loitering the nostrils

and a reminder of

powerful allusions

unfair and unmindful

of the spilled ink.

Poetry by Zorlone and Image by Frank Cunha III

Image from Zorlone edited by Frank Cunha III

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As one thing falls,

another grows,

From North,

this brave wind blows,

Ever gently

in the breeze,

It chose this day

to seize,

Follow not,

unless you are led,

Go forth and prosper,

it said.

If it’s proper,

don’t hesitate or wait,

In this, a frustrated,

scarlet state,

You must live

a life filled with faith,

But if you should choose,

just live it straight.

Co-written poem with Frank Cunha III

Image rights to Zorlone edited by Frank Cunha III

Image Rights to Michael Salonga

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White morning shroud,

cast a misty shadow upon the lake.

Masking the tranquil fluid,

with a freshness of a moments haste.

Shades of blue afloat,

an upside down universe.

Reflection of a place – remote

enigmatic and diverse.

Guided by surface tension

we push on the water and stride.

Gliding across the turbid lake

to rest a bit and just admire.

One whiff of the sulfur tinted air

from the Taal Volcano yonder.

A piece of limbo on barrels and wood,

drift as our spirits ponder.

Image rights to Michael Salonga

Taal Volcano is famous for having an island in a lake on an island in a lake on an island in the Pacific Ocean