Efren Petalver Carranza
Biography of Efren Petalver Carranza
I am a believer of “A good friend is a connection to life, a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in totally insane world.” [Lois Wyse, Author]. And, if I have another friend to claim for, it is my invisible friend: my cyber-world friend who told me that, “writing is an exercise of the mind, ” in this insane world. Therefore, my writings and poetry are not educational matters; these are something that I like to do to keep my mind active. “It doesn’t matter how it is criticized or who criticizes it, ” she said. I know my poetry is not that great, and I know that my grammars are not right at times either, and if my poems are floating around in the space of nowhere, and if someone stops by and finishes reading them, I must have done right to attract their attention. So, to my invisible friend out there, I thank you for your good advices and influential wisdom. You are my “road to the future, ” and my “key to sanity, ” and with life to connect: it is what it is; we are what are.
To be laughed at, ridiculed or mocked, to be disdained and or to be liked, believed, and to be praised, we own ourselves. We are the masters of our own wellbeing, and all the rights and wrongs we seemed to know it all; as a result, we become stubborn or too stubborn to be dictated, directed, or redirected. Thus, the insights of our dreams are roads we follow – either we stumble or fall, but God has given us the strength to rise and move on.
To be your own self: create your own character, devise your own language, have your own philosophy and find your own path; in that way, you are alone but unique to meet many.
Efren Petalver Carranza Poems
Love Is My Money
Love or Money raises a question in mind But I’d be a fool to give up money for love For I was born in the center of love by poor Whom to pay back only my love not money
Life Is A Journey Of Ups And Downs
The Farmer And His Carabao
Sitting on a saddle-like mounted stones, Watching the river runs gently yonder, Wondrous, countless, tiny whirlpools, Sublimely caught his eyes to ponder;
Kids! Kids! Kids!
You're once a sperm that your father didn't waste, Dove to your mother's egg and gave her a positive test, Became a fetus and made her crave for nuts and coke, In nine months pain and joy; she's quite of a joke.
The Beauty Of A Mother
The beauty of a woman starts When her womb begins to grow The child that she'll give birth Soon will call her, “my mother”
I Am Perfect
I am perfect And no one can do anything about it Show me the difference between right and wrong And I will forgive you for not loving me
Love comes like a rose-vine clinging upward Grasping for that first cool breeze of spring air With a kiss of sunrise to its beauty’s reward Fragrance burst out from its eminent bud’s lair.
My Old Hometown
Long before it became a city-like, The chirps of the crickets at night, And the crows of the roosters at dawn, Sunrise, mid-sun, sunset,
The Secret Leaves Of My Notebook
Page after page, I wrote your name in my journal, With flowers and bees drawn in rhythm of blue; “I love you” I said in calligraphy of black and red, But no page was ever torn to hand them to you.
It’s….. Like a group of words In mythical poem When it’s hummed
[To my Father, I Love You] Under the heat of the sun or heavy rain, I watched you plow and toil the ground,
The Seasons Of Giving
“I Wanna Be A Billionaire, ” And so I wish - Bruno Mars Tell me about this Seasons of Giving When you have nothing
Life And Friendship
To be laughed at, ridiculed or mocked, to be disdained and or to be liked, believed, and to be praised, we own ourselves.
Every Question Has An Answer
When wings of birds can no longer spread To fly high to their greatest flights May differ an old man who can hardly head Up and down the stairs with all his plights
Our Journey To The Sea
I need no label, tag, or some kind of tattoo
Engraved on my skin
Just call me friend or best as I prefer
To carry you on to our journey
Glide my hands now to strum the river to sing with
The birds and winds whistling through… and through
The branches of trees that leaves no notes to follow
Far and beyond the majestic call of the sea