Why I gave up on poetry

My conciousness fades
as I curl up beside you.
But before I surrender to
my dreams,
I look at you,
and I am content.

Through the ether
crackles the sound
of your voice.
I laugh. My joy
flies through the air
to where you are,
cradling the receiver.

Beads of sweat
on your brow.
On your face,
that expression
which says,
“what sweet pain.”

Is it a wonder, then.
why I derive so much
from the fire that burns
when you are in the throes
of ecstasy?

Two souls:
how different they are.
Two lives:
intersecting at o
whereupon they become
But the souls,
they remain distinct.
For how else would they
recognize the pleasure
of intimacy?

The smell of her
on my sheets.
The moistness on them
when she woke up.
Like the warmth that lingered
after she had arisen:
such a comfort.
Like the security of resting
on her slender spine.

Are you truly happy,
she asked.
And I shook my head;
Even though in me
a lifetime’s worth
of melancholy.
Which was dissipated
as she held my

Eyebrows meeting
over an arched nose:
Why do your eyes
question me
Even when you are

A question, you say,
just before you open up
(once more)
your heart.
An answer, I say,
just before I jump in
and drown
with pleasure.

It glides over the paper
trailing burgundy words;
leaving behind
a momentary moistness
like drying tears.

Auras I have never seen.
But when I am near you,
my soul is drawn
toward something
by a power I cannot

Opium bed
On it, long ago,
a Mandarin reclined.
His thoughts, transported,
carried on the tail of a dragon
breathing sickly-sweet
smelling smoke.
On it, here and now,
we lie.
My thoughts are far off,
exiled to the same lands
where long-dead dreams
And the joy-
it may be just as ephemeral
as that long-dissipated smoke.

Dripping, you stand,
in your striped robe.
Trembling, I look at you.
Such must be the feeling
of the butterfly
as he prepares to dine
on nectar.

only by its light do I dare
to be wholly free.
Only by its light can I abandon myself
to let the waves of music wash over me.
Bringing me closer
to the abyss.

Heart pulsing,
sending life
gushing through my veins;
feeding the insatiable flames
of anticipation.

The bat clicks,
navigating the darkness.
Crickets chirp,
predicting rain.
The silence is deafening
without the sound
of your breathing.

Manuel L. Quezon III.

9 thoughts on “Why I gave up on poetry

  1. MLQ3, your verses are so concrete you should switch to masonry. Keep off trite phrases such as deafening silence and life gushing as these tend to distract your serious readers. I appreciate your incisive insights in your columns though and keep on writing.

  2. i thought u’ve just met The One. either the poems are bad or I’m such a bad poetry reader, hehe

  3. wow…hirap naman pala kapag ikaw ang editor/critic, it’s bad poetry when for us it is already good. 🙂

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