Irony

IRONY

Darkness is luminous:

It bends as light.

Day is over:

It rises with night.

A clock is a statue;

A desert, a lake.

Sorrow is joy;

A festival, a wake.

The moon is the sun;

The universe, a box;

Truth, appearance;

Reality, paradox.

Originally posted on All Poetry (June 20, 2014) at http://allpoetry.com/poem/11539048-Irony-by-Gonzalinho

Ceci n'est pas une pipe

Silence

SILENCE

I’ve begun to realize that you can listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all its own.—Chaim Potok, The Chosen

Two o’clock in the morning.

How silent is the room…

Just before a motorcycle roars,

Chopping the air into jagged chips of din

Thrown round and round a flywheel,

Spiraling into the orifice of the outer ear,

Noisy swirling water inside a gurgling drain,

Bowling ball rolling heavily down wooden planks…

Then it fades...

Sawdust bursting in air,

Settling, a fine layer of manna,

Powdery film on the workshop floor.

You cannot hear anything again.

Silence is thick bread—

It lies on a plate and makes a crusty whisper

Only if perturbed by buttering.

Solid door of heavy beams tightly riveted by iron knobs,

Slammed shut and bolted,

Sealed even in its tiniest crevices,

Stands guard at the portal to the strange habitation of another world.

Originally published in Boston Poetry Magazine (September 4, 2014)

White 2 (2009) by Jeffrey Collins

Silence

SILENCE

I am quieted

when you are near

and I hear you speak

in the mouth of the wind blowing

soft incessant rain

scorpion hiddenly escaping in the grass

sprung branch suddenly letting go of fruit

rasping of iron on stone

transforming in prickly sunshine

and chill moonlight          

when I delicately understand

iridescent

your inner heart.

Translation by Gonzalinho da Costa, January 25, 2013, originally published in New Asian Writing (July 20, 2014) at http://www.new-asian-writing.com/silence-by-gonzalinho-da-costa/

New Asian Writing is an online literary community dedicated to publishing quality fiction and non-fiction with an Asian theme.

TAHIMIK

Mananahimik ako

nang makapiling kita

at marinig ang iyong salita

sa hihip ng hangin

tikatik ng ulan

talilis ng alakdan sa damo

igkas ng sangang binitiwan ng bunga

ingit ng bakal sa kumikiskis na bato

maging sa hapdi ng sikat ng araw

at lamig ng sinag ng buwan

nang mahiwatigan ko

mabanaag

ang loob mo.

Rofel G. Brion (born 1953)

Originally published in Antig, Issue No. 14 (December 2012), Philippines: Center for Ignatian Spirituality

White Paintings (1951) by Robert Rauschenberg

How dark the sky...

How dark the sky,

Bright the water

When silver fish

Reflect the moon.

Originally posted on Abbey of the Arts: Transformative living through contemplative and expressive arts on October 29, 2011

Moonlight on Yellowstone Lake (1977) by J. Schmidt

Our Lady of the Philippines

OUR LADY OF THE PHILIPPINES

Trappist Abbey

When the moon climbs the cloudless sky and stillness pours into valleys pooling waters of silence, I rise from sleep to dress, shuffling off loose dreams like a sack.

Stepping outside, I inhale brisk air like snuff—suddenly, I am wakeful, a clock about to spring. I toss out bags of sand to rise more quickly.

In the early chill the mountains stand as guardian shadows and night gleams like dragonfly wings.

I am eager for the work of God beckoning at the end of a solitary path just beyond a row of trees bristling at wind snapping like a flag.

Bits of gravel bite at my soles as turning the corner, I lift up my heart at the sight of light spilling gently from the entrance to the church.

Stepping inside, I am greeted by the bright echo of kneelers knocking the stone floor, and softly rustling pages of stapled paper hymnals.

Gradually, ethereal plainchant rises like a river, gathers itself, solidly transforming into one long sonorous brilliant golden bell.

Originally published in Magis: Official Publication of the Magis Deo Community (July 2014), page 15

View of the cloister, Our Lady of the Philippines Trappist Abbey

Batanes

BATANES

I am a traveler

In my heart

To a place of sky and sea—

A sky so pure,

Deepest blue,

Sea, same color

As the sky—

Not so distant

As the farthest reaches

Of the earth or so

Inaccessible, yet

Sufficiently remote

So that solitude

Is a lone bird

Hovering

And silence

Is the expanse

Between two gray islands

Barely visible

As you stand

Atop a cliff

Dropping steeply

Down to shore.

Breakers whisper

As I breathe in sweet air.

Inhaling to my fill,

I lose all appetite

And dine on the wind.

No longer corporeal,

I am a subsistent soul.

Originally published in Magis: Official Publication of the Magis Deo Community (July 2014), page 12

Batan island, view overlooking the West Philippine Sea