Flipped Serendipity

finding peace

Designed with WordPress

Category: sonnets

  • Watch a Movie With Me

    by

    , 
    The line was short, and the wait soon over. Not many
    still watch in cinemas, but I like the big screen. I knew
    which film to watch, and which seats I want: just slightly
    midway up the theater, in the center, and have it all in view.

    The snackbar took longer with people indecisive, and food
    takes longer to prep and to serve than clerks printing tickets
    for people who knew what they wanted before they queued
    and that when seats are not available just decide to wing it.

    When they let you in the theater, it's fast, easy, nothing
    to worry about. You walk up aisles, find your seat, take it,
    and make yourself comfortable. Next is simply watching
    through promises for the future: trailers, teasers, you know it.

    Then what you--me--have been waiting for plays: the movie,
    the drama, romance, comedy, thriller, whatever... finally.
    Author’s note

  • change of vantage

    by

    , 
    There are absolutes between true and false
    that you can’t see between lies and truths.
    They are simpler whereas lies are twisted
    and truths might be parts of another—faceted.

    You can make true and false into many things,
    and fabricate just as many that makes lying
    just patchworks of facts and otherwise,
    and truths as puzzles—visible and not—to the eyes.

    It’s simpler to speak in ones and zeroes—absolutes—
    than in pages and paragraphs, in alphabets
    and tongues. Logic is just simpler than reason;
    following formulas is easier than comprehension.

    For one cannot equal zero, but words
    change as throats dry and pages yellow.

  • Empty Spaces

    by

    The sky seems grey even with clear weather
    and the sun screaming its perfect day.
    The clouds drifts past fast but the air
    seems stale having lost its way.

    Deaf-tone birds sing monotone tunes
    in jagged rhythm while trees tower
    leafless in endless ordered columns.
    Droning about after every hour.

    Motionless still, what is there left for us
    if there is even any that’s left of me,
    or of you, or of anyone not yet dust?
    Where do lost souls go to be free?

    Caught between prisons, we hone in on
    empty spaces inside each other as home.

  • A String and Two Cups

    by

    , 
    We throw our feelings around like whispers
    along a string and two cups; in garbled sound,
    we sing of sweet nothings and swerve around
    what loud troubles and traumas we hold dear.

    We’ll play pretend as rattling cups become calls
    to whomever we find willing to lend an ear;
    but we’ll lie and make our hell seem much better 
    than the journey that’s now like an endless fall.

    With hope—or rather the lack thereof—we pull the string
    and wait for a pull from the other end. With hope,
    we put a dismal cup to our crying ear to cope
    for the emptiness we find absurdly suffocating.

    And even with the string taut, there’s deafening
    silence between two lost souls simply waiting.

  • It’s the Fool who moves things forward

    by

    , 
    Come what may, the fool soldiers on.
    Refusing to learn, a foot after the other.

    They say to learn from failures
    but not learning when to give up.

    Giving up means holding your steps—
    turning back and trying elsewhere.

    After all there are other paths to take,
    and similar endings to reach for.

    Such endings are similar, not the same;
    what you want is simply what you want.

    A goal that doesn’t get what you want
    is only denying yourself and your falls. 

    Denying when you keep failing;
    come what may, the fool soldiers on.
    Na/GloPoWriMo Prompt

  • Between the lines

    by

    , 
    When the writing is jolly but the message is wrenching,
    the tides pull back creeping to the ocean.
    With a skipping rhythm and humming tone,
    the waves return like vengeance coming.

    With letters and words written in glitter
    and letters in envelopes in darkened blood,
    both angel and devil on your shoulders nod;
    unharmed when stabbed, a retracting dagger.

    A harmless egg come a venomous serpent,
    an untouched mine aged to a dud.
    A book by its cover judged then repent.
    Author’s Note

  • That One Play

    by

    , , 
    Put that thing back where it came from
    or so help me! You’ll break it and tear it to
    pieces. I’ll heal a new one in time but I’d
    rather I keep it whole as it is too.

    Put that thing back where it came from
    or so help me. You stole it and I belatedly
    noticed when I saw you with it. I don’t know
    how long nor when; for now it’s yours only.

    Put that thing back where it came from
    or so help me—I’ve gone and lost so many.
    How will this end and after, what shall come?
    Na/GloPoWriMo Prompt

  • Ceremony of Clouds

    by

    , , 
    Clouds gather in billows; in pure white wedded,
    in grey received, in dark celebrated—by confetti
    of rain, in cheers of gales, trumpeted by thunder.

    In reversal of roles, the audience by rice buffeted;
    cakes of mud and pools of rain decorate the party
    of mortals and not—all bear witness in storms and showers.

    In their wake, the grey disperse after the dark lighten;
    then come the big ball of fire and the cerulean tapestry
    adorned in salute by seven bows, of seven colors.
    A bout of passion, of matrimony in hues enshrined
    forever more.
    Na/GloPoWriMo Prompt

  • Saving Distance

    by

    , , 
    How great the distance between us and the sun
    yet we bathe in its warmth. The joy of a clear day
    that pushes you to your feet and take the step
    forward comes from millions of miles away.

    It inspires; it motivates. It keeps a smile that
    dazzles in its light. Its warm embrace covers
    the world. Distance means nothing when you
    mean the world, and they become the center

    of yours. Yet maybe distance is saving you;
    a great divide uncrossable, not by will but design.
    If their warmth cozies at this distance, will you not
    char in proximity? Will their light not blind?

    Their beauty from afar belies their passion;
    like moths to the flame, your demise in juxtaposition.
    Na/GloPoWriMo Prompt

  • Sirens and Coffee

    by

    , , 
    By the nearshore, amidst rocks by the ocean, is a cafe
    manned by seals and volunteers from the foreshore.
    They'd welcome surfers and beachgoers, whoever
    can reach their store.

    And who else can be regulars other than folks
    of the sea, the mermaids and mermen who
    surface for coffee and tea,
    and maybe pastries too.

    They'd swim up from the deep seas
    singing as sirens for their orders heard
    while they by caffeine and sweets are lured.

    No plastic cups nor straws, all paper--
    all that dissolve in saltwater--
    found beside foam by the setting sun.
    Na/GloPoWriMo Prompt
Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started