Norman F. Santos

Untainted bliss
Infinite ebullience
There are no words
To convey happiness
...

Incongruous creeper of star crossed fate
Muted dreamer with a living to tolerate
Swanking too compensate the lack of luster
A sycophantic wish delivering a note of disaster
...

Time is bound in a spell tongue-tied
Prance and wince like the ocean’s tide
And ebb back into the waterfront
At the time you’re eschewed most
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Honesty begets honesty
It is equivocatingly disparaging
Because honesty is an esoteric riddle
And a riddle begets a riddle
...

The muzzy gloaming watched
Two lovers gliding past
The old serpentine road
Catching the last streaks of fire
...

If I can ride the cardboard box again
Like a spurious old red Volkswagen
Reckoning when I was child escaping the interstate
Of the buoyed city in my bed that undulates
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A plenitude of ten days can cradle the impasse
And the drudgery of the smothering blasé
For in the times where the jocund days revel
Without sparing a single seat despite your grovels,
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The black squirming beads
Confine the groveling quietus
Beneath the strands of my canopy
And it cradles a somnolence
...

You are thunderstorms
And I am the faint drizzle
Pouring to moor by little
In colossal fragments
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Come to me without parachutes
Oh, temporal days!
And stuff my famished mouth
With the virulent petals
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Incessantly deteriorating
In a reckless capitulate
But never coming to the final grains
As I lay half-awake in my funeral
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This perfect night
I clenched my jaws
From the cinch defeat
Until eternity extended
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Every night, in the ubiquity of baleful shadows
I would muse on the latencies of the latticing windows
Where the svelte prisms from silver lines fashion a show
Scintillated by the frangible cradle of sorrows
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And he was a man with revealing sylvan eyes.
Sad, wandering, eager-eyes swathed with sagacity.
Coy he was, like an eagle in the wild; avert but suspicious.
He is not a child, but he is less than a man.
...

Cold tiles mock my motionlessness
And the lashing ambers wavering in tempo.
Frost mourn crawls up with the misery
Knocking me tarnished a vacant chasm.
...

For every query, a sedative truth
Supercilious codes downhill the roots
Surreptitious cards no eyes can muse
Of one gambit too bare for this ruse-
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Once upon a time.
A picturesque blur of line
An etude cradling every night
Laced in the line of silver light
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Calm tranquil blue
The shade of my slumber
Feelings of perfect brew
Smiles from deep somber.
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His voice –a hissing warmth in the atmosphere
A violent warmth searing with a covert scheme
His eyes –thick and black like oil, combustible
Piercing with stern vigilance, probing with scrutiny
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Under a rubber tree and her spangling hair
Beneath her canopy and the aberrant flair
A cavalcade of lambent orbs in an aerial parade
The Mardi Gras drifted shambling in a masquerade
...