The Web Poetry Corner
The Web Poetry Corner
Cabanatuan City, Nueva Ecija, Philippines
If you have comments or suggestions for Mel Adriano, you can contact this author at:
firstname.lastname@example.org (Mel Adriano)
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...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities
With but a glimpse_
Through blasted plains and across shifting sands
There's an oasis with a desert rose.
An unlikely find on such desolate lands
And despite this the blossom grows.
Many drifters pass by and one is rapt,
Nay, enthralled by this comely flower.
To hold it in his hands he thought was apt
But the prickly thorns did make him cower.
Deterred, yes but never forgetting,
He pressed on filled with much sorrow.
Haunted is he with dreams unrelenting.
Perhaps with luck itíll fade on the morrow.
In time, his mind, may fail to render
With but a glimpse he will remember_
I dread the coming of the dreamless night
As I float aimlessly on this dead sea.
In my fantasies I keep land in sight
With an albatross hovering above me
Perhaps soon I will live a pauper's dream
With much treasure earned from my voyaging.
But it cannot hold together my seam
And thus I find myself unraveling.
With foggy night beckoning me onward
I pray for sunlight, I pray for a guide;
For I'm stalled, on a spiral, downward;
Utterly lost, soon, life will be denied
O' great bird grant me hope, erase my doubt
You are now the breath I can't live without
The House on Fortune Street
Across from Wayward and on Fortune street
Stands a gay but empty house with three floors.
Weathered but with a base of concrete
It could look new if with repainted doors.
A few have warmed the house with their grace
And much fewer still have warmed its bed.
Even though many would give the house praise
And its owners eyed by quite envious heads.
I know as years go by its time will pass.
No longer will it stand out from its peers
The masonry will fail, sadly, alas,
Its demise will be met with little tears.
Truly sympathy does in my heart beat;
For this gayínd empty house on Fortune street.
The Battle of esSex
The dawn was greeted by the trumpet's call.
Drawing closer is the opposition.
Rising to the occasion I stand tall,
Most willing to perform without question.
With my gun grasped by two sweaty hands
It seems to grow more rigid with evíry stroke.
Slowly I march to their forested lands
As I ready myself to spill bravery's yolk.
Charging the gap with my musket raised,
I thrust my weapon deep into the field.
Trading quickening blows, Iím unfazed.
The pressure rises, I must not yet yield.
Soon the foeís routed by my last volley
T'was then I slacken'd. At last...Victory!!!