Quotes about haul, page 9
The Collective: The Ripening Apple
Suspended in the lovely bough
It enchants in a pallid gossamer
The streak of sun gives an effulgent glow
A veil to deem the sun less warmer
Inveigling with a dreamy-saccharine tow
Is the resilience for any hunger
Up, the heaven is more supreme
Below, the gazes fell shorter
But when it ripens in time and vim;
An escalation to fall and crash in slivers
Nevertheless, the ripening should be prim
If down yonder is a patient lover
Succulence it brew and serenity too
For season taught the fair barter
Fair to the nursing land it grew
Is the long haul for the apple pickers
And the righteous one may have a chew
Of the modest bliss it can shower
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poem by Norman Santos
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South Eastern Sea of Mekong Delta
The company sent our cargo afloat;
nautilus stand on the rigging, aloft;
it is the dusk time ghosts visit oft,
tearing silences alongside the boat.
Sea roils upon the superstructure,
streaming forecastle to breakwater,
tide hits bullward as a loose cotter,
forces our suspicion for a fracture.
Water entered through the hatch;
-turn ten degrees to haul the wind,
rhythmic heave and a flashing glint,
with a swelling head-sea mismatch.
Winds Beaufort fast on evil squeal,
Iron-like gusts, we bellow the horn;
hulls down, hollers a signal to warn,
of the suffered damage on the keel.
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poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Mindanao: The Catacomb of Peace
take me where the ingredients of lewd peace
live, fun me to the shore of sweet embrace
for nothing left with me, but pain and
aspiration to remember the past of excitement
the abundance of milk and honey, capture the
challenge of culture imprison each desire
to the quest of destiny, haul only with faded
hope emptied by sporadic clashes of fear and
discouragement to settle in the light of
discontentment and failure
oh! wealth of many faces, gain and live by
leaches of the politician, help me find my
feet, while the tongue wait to find the
little hand that the brain focus, has install
the courage to wake the deep close eyes that
seldom glimpse of hunger
alas! the dawn finds and settles down each dye
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poem by Antonio Liao
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Intriguing Creations
Canvas sails of the windmill, secured to their whips,
Circle around on slow orbital trips.
No hurrying to speed the day’s hours away,
The winds hold them captive, they have to obey.
The blades catch the currents that travel along,
Turning continuously, powerful and strong.
Moving the mechanism of sprockets rotating,
Crushing the corn and then flour creating.
What a joy when you see one, they stand proud and tall.
A relic of times when the miller would haul
Jute sacks full of wheat, which he would then kibble,
In that dusty old place, where the mice came to nibble.
The Smock Mill, the Post Mill and the Tower Mill well knew,
The procedure of grinding the grain fine and true.
But these intriguing creations are now hard to find,
As the old time traditions are now left far behind.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Grave of Her Secrets
The night fell upon you
Like a dead cold starlight
Flickering in daunted sputters
Your love found its heart: fear
And you are saddled again
In the cradle of your eternal burden
But do not let the night
Be the thief of your beautiful life
In spite of your apprehension
His arms never grew tired
This is the long haul and you
Will never perish in our dreams
Sybella: the lady of secrets,
You are yourself an enigma -
A bewilderment that shall be freed
With hopes of the future
Step into the light, dance.
Let the bones knit themselves
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poem by Norman Santos
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The Travesty That Engulfs The Truth
I pray for stillness
Like the serrated grass
underneath my burning feet
always running away
from the toppling monoliths
I scream for quietude
underneath my mechanistic tirade
and haul out my splintered bones
immersed in the fusillade
If I burn the ivories
would I be coaxed to stop?
If I purge my bountiful dreams
will I dream in white?
I hide from the haunting,
and scamper through ravines
and in their camouflage
my heart is a quagmire
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poem by Norman Santos
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The Revolution Began....
the revolution began this morning...
the trains and buses stopped running,
long haul truckers shut down their rigs.
miners came up out of the mines,
gulping air free and clear.
migrant workers left the fields,
farmers got off their tractors,
and walked for the house.
teachers put down their papers,
and locked the doors.
nurses and aides left the hospitals.
minimum wage slaves left stores,
restaurants, and trash trucks.
while bankers bolted the doors,
and sat in suicidal silence...
and Wall Street went deadly black.
armed troops deployed to guard assets,
laid down their weapons and walked away.
the wealthy shuddered in sudden panic,
as the tables were finally turned over!
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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One Small Voice...Billions Amplified World Wide!
Oh self liberation!
...one small voice...
...A faint echo...
...Billions World Wide!
Backing the amplified anthem of the age!
So small am I …
– All the easier to lose myself in the common call!
Joining in numbers:
Neighbors... Friends...Family... –
All lovers in union with the universal cause!
Communal hands outstretched..
muscles flexed in full embrace...
heels dug in as one...
ascending the uphill haul
of social healing!
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poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Lali
While the summer day is hot
You and I will loaf awhile,
Lolling in a leafy spot,
Lali of the cunning smile.
You and I have little care
How the “precious moments” pass
While we snuff the drowsy air
Rich in fragrance of the grass.
Stupid people boom or squeal
Lessons drawn from daily strife;
“Time,” they cry, “is on the wheel;
Death puts out the gas of life.
Imitate the prudent ant,
Labour like the busy bee.”
O the everlasting cant!
Loafing's good for you and me.
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poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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As I Watche'd The Ploughman Ploughing
that hoeing on the earth
his signature onto world pad
that supreme thought
it gets marked onto the earth
only to be picked up
five thousand years from now
by a similar homo sapien
that ploughs the vast tracts of his mind
each haul a synergy between his mind
and the one five thousand years ago
inspiration that gets the world hooked
on each other the mental waves
left in soil, wind, trees
they live on to nourish future minds
as i watched the ploughman ploughing
i know the world would advance
with all its force to get to the truth
the way he turns the earth with his plough
As I Watche'd The Ploughman Ploughing
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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