Thursday, September 25, 2014

I am a Poet

I am a poet.
My hands shake in ecstasy
upon the sight of
pens and blank sheets scattered
about carelessly on my desk.

I am a poet.
My forehead in its wrinkled
state impress wealth
of reflection, inspired by
the magnificence of nature.

I am a poet.
My blood streams passion in
every heartbeat;
words flow in my thoughts like a
river finding its way to the sea.

I am a poet.
My adrenaline rush through
raptured veins as my
senses amuse themselves with
the lavish colors of my hurt.

I am a poet.
My creative archetype
groove with festive thumps
as silence bounce about in
rhythmic union with my laughter.

I am a poet…
by virtue of who I am
and what I feel as
I seek of an avenue,
I write my life space with faith
and ardor of a craftsman
that indeed I am

 ©Marjo Josue

Saturday, September 20, 2014

His Purity in Hell

Ice cream fudge

girl licks sweetly
not realizing
an anticipating wolf.

Skipping rope

girl hops about
of a scheming marauder.

Candies and pops

girl holds tight
clinging hopelessly
when she noticed
how the man across
the street looks at her

Bears and stuff

girl holds tight
never wanting to let go
when she discerned at last
how the man walked
through her

Ice cream fudge

fell on the ground,
skipping rope
haphazardly scattered,
candies and pops
sloppily dropped,
bears and stuff
in a slapdash.

Nobody heard her scream

kids went on playing
as they please,
that behind
the gargantuan church bell
lies a scorned childhood,
shattered dreams.

Nobody heard her scream

people went along their business
as they too need quarts
to live a decent life
but who would care
when a lamb so pure
had taken her line
among innocence astray.

As the man screamed

in ecstasy,
a silenced plea
escaped the girl’s larynx
gone with the wind
and the only witness
are her tears
sprinkled on the manicured grass
and the empty clanging
of the old church bell.

She thought to herself

this will be over
I can wash away his scent,
tomorrow will be a new day
I can go back playing
buy some fudge
skip rope with friends
get some candies and pops
in my granny’s jar
tug along my bears and stuff.

Poor girl

she woke up
the day after… smiling
thinking what a beautiful day
it was… it’s Sunday
she whispered to herself,
got to put on my best dress
will hear the mass with Mom
and they went ahead.

Sitting on the first row
she knelt before God
fervently praying
when alas!

She screamed
like there was no end
exploding her lungs,
breaking her aorta
into bits and pieces of hope
because there was the man
standing on the altar
in his untarnished white cloak.

Friday, September 19, 2014


Four walls
with the absence of
four doors
and four windows.

Four choices
with the absence of
the will to choose.

Be asleep
stay awake
be fuckin’ bored
or be dead.
Either of those ways
you still have to be confined.

They let the knowledge stream
without letting you
question it.

They let the music be heard
without letting you
dance to its beat
or dare sing
to its melody.

They let the love radiate
without letting you
feel it
or savor it.

And after a while
you get used to the
four walls.
And you stop searching for
the four doors and windows.
And you stop searching for answers
though you still exemplify the
faculties of the existing.
You breathe, you eat
you seemingly smile;
You bite your tongue
you poke your eyes.
But pain becomes
a stranger
to the senses.

And it is at this time
you would realize
you are dead
and confined.

©Marjo Josue

Happiness In Love... Found

Daylight penetrated
my shadowy life;
Rays of hope
came like prophets,
Angels descended for the good news
proclaiming love … found!

But doubt hovered
My heart filled with fear
for the doomed value of my youth
and the principles I broke;
for the love found for eternity
that shed light to this
abandoned spirit.

I may have bridged over sorrow
and crossed the darkness of tunnels,
I may have fought the inevitable
and lost the stupid game they call love;
But then again, I hoped
and my prayer was granted,
He accepted this scorned soul
and embraced the beleaguered woman in me.

Then vows were made
But hey! Were they from Heaven?
Do I deserve happiness?
Do I deserve love?
Do I deserve him?
He may be the one.
He has to be the one.
Deep in this wounded heart
stream a music that was searching
for the right note to be struck,
so love would radiate
from the unknown crypt
where I once hid
from the selfishness of my prey.

Now the chains were broken,
the burden was lifted up;
The love I was once just yearning for
conquered the fear that blinded me
and has brought me home
from that of which I thought
was my sarcophagus
of no return.

And now I have known
what real happiness is.
Yes! It’s in the arms of my husband.
It’s in the warmth of his embrace.
It’s in the song of his silence.
It’s in the melody of his voice.
It’s in the solitude I have found in his gaze.
It’s in the music of his laughter.
It’s in the joy of his love.
Yes! It’s in this man
that I have found happiness in love
at last.

©Marjo Josue

Happiness in Love

Darkness, caves,
Light, valleys and plains;
Where does this road lead me?
Rain poured, unexpectedly,
flood came, drowning my soul;
my heart pounding
eyes blurred with tears.
My mind traveling
way back…

Am I wrong?
Meeting love.
Meeting hatred.
Yet, chose to love again?
I came across sorrow in happiness,
I felt pain in love,
But I never learned!

Now, I wallow in misery… again.
Was it I?
Was it you?
Wasn’t it right for us?
I tried to understand
I know you gave your best, too.
Perhaps it was love.
Perhaps it wasn’t.
Or still, time wasn’t right
that you and I would be.

Wandering… I came to a stop,
“Do I love you?”
I listened…
“I’m no longer sure
as I was before.”
Was it because of pride?
I don’t know.
Then I let go.

Disguising myself,
I smile.
I laugh.
Oh! We really would never be!

Asking myself:
When would happiness
be real happiness
not pain clothe in joy;
When will love
be endless and true love?
Only heaven knows!

Hoping. Wishing.
praying hard, too.
That in the right time
in a right place
with the right person
I’ll find happiness in love.

©Marjo Josue

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Looking Through the Throes of Death

Slowly, I unlocked my steps
pressing my sores to the murky ground
pain becomes almost unbearable
will there be nails and thorns
a hole ready to engulf me
or a shroud trying to cover an unbreathing spirit?

Slowly, I shut my ears to hear nothing
including the raspy tremble of my fear
unwilling that I am close to a whisper
I said, “Am I Job’s reincarnation?”
my thoughts muttered underneath its breath,
“No. God isn’t that so hard.”

Slowly, I blocked my senses with a mantra,
“I would die an honorable woman.”
Then I fancied the oat cells scramble through my veins
like rebel troupes killing every innocent soul
leaving bomb shells that will detonateanytime soon.

Slowly, I began to dread the silence
I was waiting for my soles to be pricked
or a thick cloud of darkness to embrace me
angry mavericks extricating my last ounce of oxygen
my thoughts dwindle in stupor for an explosion
but there was none.

“Am I still alive?”
My lungs inhaled the pollution of this city
then I exhaled a rant, “Off the hook!”
That’s when I realized I am inside a bus home
slept over half-way reading about Death by Jagad Guru
Siddhaswarupananda Paramahamsa.

Cancer killed my mother. I fear that the same oat cells would bring me to my grave. Ah, death!