Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Rookie (April 28,1992 / Philippines)

Gambits - Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Dear Flint,
I remember, you used to write legibly
With a taut on a pen and you adamantly
Stroked the thin body of the paper with
Lewd inscriptions and it’s as if you’ve painted
My whole body red when we made love
To the sound of the sirens in the distance
Under the roof beams of some cheap hotel.
You were frenzied in your rummaging age of
24 but you were ripe at that age.
Your burly stature was of all the odds, exuberant
But I never liked you when you said that the
Daffodils only pry when the drizzle pulls closer
To their petals of lavish flambeau.
I don’t know what got into you when you wrote,
“Drink the rain water from that plant.”
I didn’t know what you meant with that,
And I never wanted to engage in such an asinine
Travail - I do not know if the world was crazy
Enough to notice that you were losing a semblance
Of reality, or maybe, just maybe, like a book,
You were none I could comprehend.
Love always,
Martha.



Dear Martha,
I am meaninglessly stroking the back
Of Salley, the insidious cat I gave you
But you returned her to me because you said
That the stench of cats reminded you
Of the putrefaction of words wrapped in a
Murky piece of veneer.
The harlequin you said, as we were atop a balcony,
With hands laced reminded me of how the streets
Were empty and you wished to fill them
But we are nothing more but lost, nameless
Figments in a whole sea of terse and crisp wind.
Your miasma lingered
And I ended up chasing women with the same perfume
As yours because I thought I could call them
With the sobriquet that I called you.
I called you, Ms. Enigma because at times
I do not understand your idiosyncrasies and your
Obscured penchants, but I went with them but
You thought they weren’t enough, and so,
One day, when we were walking down the
Bleak streets of a capitol, I saw a daffodil impaled
To the ground, with its roots enmeshed to the world.
It was raining and I let you sheathe yourself using my
Jacket that reeked of your putrid finicky state.
I told you, “Martha. Drink the rain water from that plant.”
And you said, “What? ”

I stopped when you asked me that.
It was like watching orphaned children
Get hit by lightning one by one.

I never told you why.
Perhaps because you lacked the grit.
I never told you,
“This pointlessness needs some more speculation.”
Please stop,
Flint.


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Poem Submitted: Saturday, December 17, 2011



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