Charlene Delfin's Blog, page 3

Ava: Session 8

 

They shut me upLike a little girl, they put me in a box.Because they liked me.Really?!If they could have had my mind,They would have knownHow stupid that sounded. He himself will,And easy as a starLooks down upon captivity,And laugh,No more have I.

Calm

PondReflectingSky.
Tiny ripplesRolling on the water,Wrinkling the reflectionOf the sky.Caused byGentle breezes.
Cool,FreshScentOf new leaves.
SilenceAll around.

Potterites All Over the Information Age

 

Last Tuesday, archaeologistsHad unearthed what appeared to be,Among other items in lists,A wand that we have yet to see.It was one foot long and wooden.A discovery so sudden.
"People always believed witchesExisted before all medievalTimes and days in caves and ditches,But it appears there's a revivalOf the idea of magicIn the Computer Age. It's tragic."
Archaeologist Barbara SmithSaid to Reuters at the summitOf the Millennial Mount Commit.
"We thought that civilizationAdvanced in 2023,But today's realizationReveals recent humans usingWands amidst modern technology.Why did they try using magic?"

Batman and the Crying Child

Darkness around some light,It's a doorway so bright.Pointy ears add more height,A towering figure.
He's looking down on me.Face hidden, shadowy.No emotion to see.He's a big, quiet bat.
Light fading in the mist,Like smoke with every twistBy the demonic beast.Why so still and silent?
What if I see his eyes?What if they aren't nice?Won't wait for my demise;Quietly, I will flee!
Before he turns to me,While he still doesn't see,I will sneak so deftlyAnd run faster than my soul!

Hello, Elliot

 

Zero feelings in the vast outer space.You are alone, how awesome the freedom!Xerxes said, "Demons shall not be worshipped!"What peace there is away from the humans!Viewing life itself from a distant place.Uncaring about pain, love, everything.Taking the longest second to wake up,Seeing only what you still want to see,Riding slowly back to the busy world,Questioning if you should be going back,Praying to the black void of nothingness,Ordering your demons to leave and die,Noting down every escape route outside,Memorizing every hole, every crack,Loving memories of the good old times,Knowing they're only small parts of a whole,Jumping awake with a violent jolt!Instincts kicking in, o you wanna run.Hiding from the truth and failing badly,Going in tears and sobs over the pain,Fighting the desire to escape again,Earning your hope, your strength, your awareness,Doing whatever it takes to fix this,Considering every single option,Believing you can overcome this thing,Accepting your existence forever.

With or Without Rice

 

Standing taller than the balcony,Thick, brownish wood and thick, deep green leaves.We open the door of the sala.We're sitting next to the balcony,Viewing all of the heart-shaped mangoes.I was six-years-old, but I was small.
Our big tree is fat with mangoes;Green, huge, and peering from between leaves.We take down all that we could take downAnd gave them to the next-door neighbors,To the kids at the basketball courtOf the little white Mormon chapel.
And the leftovers we cut so small,They are like green and nutritious chips,Piled up on a huge, glass see-through plate.Then we pour soy sauce on a glass cupFor a dip for the green mango/chips.Like junk food, but truly nutritious.
Sitting beside a cool, shaded pondIn the old Nayong Pilipino.Buying lunch from a mango vendor,Though on an extremely tight budget.But they ran out of bagoong.I was eleven, but I was thin.
So they put lots of white, grainy saltOn my huge, green half of a mango.It is acidic and burns my lips,But I love the taste of this new find.(And loved mango with salt ever since.)
I wish I could stay in this countryUntil my very final, last breath.Having cherished the local cuisines:The bitter, the spicy, the salty.Green, yellow, or somewhere in between,Timeless mangoes, with or without rice.

Hephaestus

 

It doesn't blind in the darkness.It doesn't eat away on things.It doesn't sound like a devilWho is just secretely kackling.It doesn't hurt your fingertips.It isn't too hot for a life.It doesn't send black smoke around.It doesn't suffocate your lungs,Or cover your nose with charcoal.It doesn't make your hair frizzy.It doesn't turn your two eyeballsInto one hot, running egg white.It doesn't feed on your dry clothes,Sticking to them and growing big,Until you cannot put it out.Screaming helplessly to neighbors.And when neighbors hear about you,They grab their kids, their pets, their things.And run on a great big stampede,Racing in terror, moving out,Moving to the streets, staying out,Sleeping under the evening stars,Heads beside the roads, all night long.It doesn't force you to stay outOf your own house for fear of death.

Holier-than-thou

 

Mi-mi has the best husband, thank you very much.He is the highest, sharpest, and greatest example of a man.He loves Mi-mi so much, and he has eyes only for Mi-mi.She bathes him, washes his clothes, and feeds himBecause he is her god.They work so hard togetherSo that they can buy the most expensive,The biggest boxOf the most famous baby formula for Little Mi-mi.Oh, stay tuned in for more super interesting news, universe:Mi-mi is the greatest mother in history!How she toils all night for Little Mi-mi,How she divides all her tasks for the baby,How she is a worn out, overstressed, and caring mother,Doing the work of Little Mi-mi's real mother!Look, everyone! Here comes the perfect family,Raising their child to fear their god!Oh, and about their god.They're so holy, they pray on Facebook all day.Live on Sundays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and whenever,Worshipping and dancing to their god.There, he speaks the good news! There, her husband!He's really made after the image of a god!Everyone, let's join their church!Everyone, let's buy from their store!Let us live like this earth-based divinity!How blessed us lowly sinners are because of their holiness!Women, drop thy books, banish thy knowledge,And worship this god like Mi-mi!

Baa! Baa!

 

A passable poem,Typed out on a blank page,Using the words, "emblem","Gem", "them", "go", "lie", and "age".It is just an excuse.It's trying to confuse.
So I could get awayAnd proceed to FarmVille,The good game of the day.But there lies the evil,There, the need to escapeWith my mask and my cape.
But comic superheroesHave powers no one knowsAnd mine only echoes.
Poor words strung together,Haphazardly holding,Trying not to bother,Trying to be nothing,But they are still breathing.

I Am Not Funny

She says her name's DavidWith the funny accent.Like Oscar the livid,Don't know where her thoughts went.Despite every offer,I don't even know her.
She reads me way betterThan I read my writing.She's never a quitterWhen it comes to reading.But I should pay the price:She's planning my demise.
O she's stuck in her head.She wishes I was dead.She hates what I just said.
How I wish she could beMy confidant, my friend,And my neighbor-to-be.All the things I could lend.Make her laugh herself skinny,But I am not funny.