Archive for the ‘Prose and Poetry’ Category
Tuesday, March 6th, 2007 | 3,398 Views
Cold beer. That’s what it was. Nothing like a cold beer to end a long day. Back in the old days, he was a record holder for downing the most bottles of beer in 10 minutes! When it came to drinking marathons, he was always the last man standing. When they went out clubbing, his tab always had the most number of digits because he drank too much. It was just his fourth bottle and he was starting to feel a bit full.
He started drinking when he was sixteen. By the time he turned nineteen, he was a Beer Drinking Title Holder. He found it weird that at 26, he was having difficulty handling his drink. He laughed. Maybe I peaked to early, he thought as he drank the entire contents of the bottle in just one swig. He signalled the bartender for another bottle while chewing thoughtfully on some peanuts. (more…)
Popularity: 10%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Short Stories | 11 Comments »
Sunday, October 15th, 2006 | 484 Views
He woke up in a room he did not recognize. His head was throbbing with pain from his hangover.
Did I drink that much, he asked himself.
Slowly, he took in the details of the room. The wall adjacent to him was full of posters and photographs. Floor to ceiling windows were to his left, white curtains billowing, the cold morning breeze bringing goose bumps to his skin. The concave ceiling was painted with a scene from Dante’s Inferno. He had read that book. He found it kind of disturbing, but the way it was depicted in the painting wasn’t so bad. It was probably because the painting was faded. He imagined it in full color and detail and shuddered. He shifted to his right side. He noticed that there was a big mirror flanking the windows. It encompassed the whole wall, including the door. In the corner close to the bed was a bar, filled with different kinds of liquor. (more…)
Popularity: 9%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Short Stories, Inspiration | No Comments »
Sunday, October 1st, 2006 | 694 Views
It was a race against time as he rushed to the mall to meet her. The sweltering heat did not bother him. It was the moment he had been waiting for.
It all began on September 21. That was the date when he first met her. It had been in a bar along the highway. One of her favorite bands were playing that night. To him, it was the night of all nights. From the moment he met her, up until this very moment, he couldn’t get her off his mind. He wanted more of her, to get to know her better, to spend time with her. He wanted yet again to catch a glimpse of her sweet, sweet smile, enough to take away all the weariness of the past few days, enough to take away all the physical pain brought about by war games, enough to satiate even the greatest of all yearnings. That was the magic of it. The sparks, almost all of it, packaged in a neat, alluring, sumptuous smile. (more…)
Popularity: 11%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Short Stories | 9 Comments »
Monday, September 25th, 2006 | 1,129 Views
Past
- Pablo Neruda
We have to discard the past
and, as one builds
floor by floor, window by window,
and the building rises,
so do we go on throwing down
first, broken tiles,
then pompous doors,
until out of the past
dust rises
as if to crash
against the floor,
smoke rises
as if to catch fire,
and each new day
it gleams
like an empty
plate. (more…)
Popularity: 9%
Posted in Prose and Poetry | 13 Comments »
Saturday, September 23rd, 2006 | 739 Views
Droplets of rain were beginning to spatter on the streets as he made his way to the agreed meeting place. He was reluctant to go primarily because he wasn’t crazy about the band that was playing that night, but, he wanted to meet her. He had waited two long weeks just to be able to meet her.
As he approached the entrance of the venue, he saw that the place wasn’t really that big. He had an impression that the place was spacious since he’d pass by it once a day when he lived in the north. He stood in front of the entrance and assessed the place. It was in an odd location, situated beside a river, right under a gigantic billboard space for advertisements. There wasn’t enough space for a parking area since it was right beside the highway. The place was mostly made of wood and glass, but it was air-conditioned to protect the occupants from the dust and the pollution of everyday traffic. He gingerly stepped in line so that he could purchase tickets for the event. (more…)
Popularity: 10%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Short Stories | 11 Comments »
Tuesday, August 29th, 2006 | 632 Views
As the remnants of the night fade away, as the stars give off their last twinkle, as the moon bids farewell to yet another eventful night, I hold your hand and let out a sigh. I feel it’s warmth both physically and emotionally. My heart beats faster as I turn my gaze on you, eyes glistening, staring at the sky. I will the sun to sink back down, for in darkness we had our moment, our kairos so defty planned and reheased in my mind, while you think that everything was a coincidence. A small smile breaks my lips as I smooth the tangles on your hair. You look at me and smile back, gently squeezing my hand to acknowledge the affection. You lay your head on my shoulder and point at the morning star, stubbornly twinkling and battling the sunrise. I put my arms around you as we get comfy, sitting on the grass, leaning on the lone tree. I look at you again as you stare at sunrise, spilling its glow over the darkened sky, and feel, for the first time in my life, satisfied.
Popularity: 11%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Short Stories, Inspiration | 14 Comments »
Monday, August 28th, 2006 | 945 Views
the willing well holds deep and true
deep murky waters in the dark
chains clinking in the soft breeze
covering the sky with sparks (more…)
Popularity: 8%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Inspiration | 5 Comments »
Sunday, August 27th, 2006 | 1,049 Views
The air reeked of body odor, the floor littered with cigarette butts and crumpled beer cans. In the semi-darkness of the corners in the place, lovers were talking, kissing, groping each other, oblivious to the masses of the stinking, sweaty crowd uncontrollably banging their heads to the incessant beat of the dark, Goth song “Lost Souls in the Hallway.�
In the far end of the room, to his left, a discernible queue of teenagers were slowly moving towards a small bathroom. Their faces held the look of delusion, while some had the look of contempt, and then some had the look of apathy. The faint yellow light coming from the bathroom cast an eerie glow on the faces of the people. From where he was standing, the whole scene looked like a shtick from George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead. It gave him goose bumps just thinking about it.
(more…)
Popularity: 8%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Short Stories | 16 Comments »
Monday, August 14th, 2006 | 1,397 Views
At that time of the day, it was as if the shadows were playing with it. It had certain angles when it looked threatening and eerie, and iIf you changed positions, it would look hilarious.
A view from the top right corner would make it look solitary and sad, as if it were left by it’s mess. The angle at which I view it makes the shadows long and narrow, as if it were standing on a lone desert dune watching the sun, its only companion in its soliloquy, set in the horizon.
The sadness which the shadows project on it makes me want to shed tears, but again shifting positions draws out terror in my heart for when I bring it at eye-level, it is suddenly looks imposing and dominating, as if Genghis Khan were standing right in front of me, waving his sword about.
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Popularity: 11%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Short Stories, Blogging | 26 Comments »
Sunday, August 13th, 2006 | 1,789 Views
In the bright lights of the restaurant, he eyed couples with contempt as they smiled, held hands, flirted, or just had dinner. He was getting tired of watching these people. He had been sitting in the L’Enoteca Fuori Porta for a little over an hour, waiting for the blind date that his friend setup for him.
He had already absorbed the posh bedecking in the Italian restaurant where they were to meet. It was located near the upper class wharf, just five minutes away from the Palm Villas. There was a light, blowing breeze as he looked around the place. He could taste the salt in the air as he eyed the little round tables covered with simple white table cloths, napkin, plate, glass and silverware neatly arranged on top. The tables were set as if only couples favored the place. In fact, as he looked around, he only saw couples seated close to each other whispering as if the wind carried their conversations about. He stared at the floor, richly decorated with paintings of Dryads, and Naiads, some frolicking about, some bathing in the stream, while others were just looking up to the sky. “The owner must be a fanatic of nymphs,” he muttered to himself, and shoved the thought away.
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Popularity: 11%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Short Stories, Blogging | 18 Comments »
Tuesday, July 25th, 2006 | 513 Views
He was on the brink of losing consiousness as he looked at her with affectionate eyes. In the faint gleam of the night, he beheld her simple yet attractive beauty. Her lustrous hair was long and straight, almost luminous in the gloomy night. Her expressive eyes sparkled the same way it did whenever she thought of an idea. Her pale skin was soft and sweet smelling. He shivered as he felt their skin make contact as he handed over his lighter. She blushed when she observed that he was studying her hands. She had beautiful hands, he noticed. Her fingers were long and delicate. Her nails were of the perfect shape. Above all, he loved the texture of her hands. They were soft and silky to the touch, and most of the time, cold, due to the temperature in the office. He didn’t mind since he felt himself drawn to her with each minute they were together, each moment his eyes wandered to her, each conversation they had, and each cigarette break they shared. To him, being with her was just pure bliss!
(more…)
Popularity: 7%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Short Stories, Blogging | 6 Comments »
Monday, July 3rd, 2006 | 812 Views
He couldn’t stop looking at her. There was something with the fluidity of her movements, the intensity of her gaze, the nada-care attiture the she exuded. He found her interesting and quite attractive. For some reason, her expressive eyes seemed to suck him into a state of dreamlike stasis that he couldn’t get out, or move, or hear, or feel. The graceful curve of her eyebrows intrigued him. Her lips looked as if they were beckoning him to kiss them. Her hands, oh God, her hands were the most beautiful hands he had ever seen. They were not doll-like, like he used to see in the malls, hands owned by rich socialites. They were hands that could do anything. Her nails were not too big and not too small, not too long and not too short. They were just right. Whenever his eyes wandered to her hands, he felt almost possessed enough to hold them in his, to feel the warmth emanating from it, to feel the roughness and the softness of it, to experience the sensation of holding an exquisite hand in his.
He imagined them, together, in a tub. Her back to him, her elbows on his knees, while he pours warm, bubbly water on her back. He could almost feel her soft skin against his hard lean body, while he gently soaps her back. His soft hands kneading the muscles on her back, while she sips some wine and listens to Bob Marley’s lithe voice sing the lines of Turn Your Lights Down Low. Ahhh! Perfect for the moment. The room was dimly lit with several beeswax candles, emitting a fragrance that could only mean desire. (more…)
Popularity: 5%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Short Stories | 22 Comments »
Wednesday, June 21st, 2006 | 584 Views
Fall
Megan McCafferty, Sloppy Firsts
We
are Adam and Eve
born out of chaos called
creation
Ribbing me gave you life
yet you forget
there will always be a part of me in you
yes
I taunted and I tempted
you
with my forbidden fruit
does that make me
me
the serpent too?
Believe what you will
but if I am exiled
alone
I know we will be
together again someday
naked
without shame
in paradise
My thanks to you
for being in on my
sin
Got this from Monique. 
Popularity: 3%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Blogging | 5 Comments »
Wednesday, May 17th, 2006 | 416 Views
Sonnet XI
by: Pablo Neruda
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
*sigh*
Popularity: 2%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Blogging | 2 Comments »
Wednesday, May 10th, 2006 | 377 Views
I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair
by: Pablo Neruda
Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because –
because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Don’t leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don’t leave me for a second, my dearest,
because in that moment you’ll have gone so far
I’ll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
Popularity: 2%
Posted in Prose and Poetry, Blogging | No Comments »
