Sonnet (Tree)

‘Tis not merely a man’s selfish desires
That compel him to break ground for loose soil;
When in the morn he wakes to light his fire—
The fuel he consumes each day spent in toil;
When he plants a tree, he envisions which
One of shade, its height, or stability?
Short of time, life itself to him will teach
Branches won’t hold him in adversity;
But then he sees blossoms, and later fruits
As he wipes sweat off his forehead come eve;
Some leaves to make himself a decent suit,
And wood to build a cozy place to sleep.

For what then is man’s trouble in sowing worth;
If not for love that nurtures his tree’s growth?

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete

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Espresso

made to blossom—
the ground beans
brewed to perfection
what strength means
when bitterness settles
leaving a mark
from nose to mouth
to the last gulp
good, as one hears
the heart throbs
smooth and rough
sharp start
eyes popping
muscles loosening
pupils dilating
cheeks flushing
rush of adrenaline
then zzzz
captive in time and space

just a thought…
pour some ice
to make it cold
will it show less of being bold?
adding creamer
makes it softer
will power have a weaker hold?
sprinkled sugar
masks the flavor
will it remove the charm of old?

do dreams make less of what is real?
no preferences here
the time of day will make it clear

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete


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Slice of Life

dawdling away
from the minute signs,
the constant movement
hidden behind unfiltered
smoke of uncertainty,
uneven coating,
rugged edges
hard to chew
choking on burnt pieces,
it used to be appetizing—
the charred surfaces
now bitter,
watching it wasted like
skin clinging to the metal
now too lazy to clean up
walls that are over-stained,
thinking about it before
that unsettling bell rings

a trifle of confusion
distinct aroma pulling me back
as the knife slices
a morsel of goodness,
last to be picked,
left among the remnants
as one finds the truth
that not everything’s lost,
after thoroughly stirring
what would be the sauce
to match the best portion;
it keeps one living
with these insanities
of tenderness,
and well-done edges
rarer towards the center,
prime cut, indeed
oh, and that perfect core
still warm,
forget all the first bites
this will linger through time

nose awake
sniffing the burn
but the tongue remembers
the sweet aftertaste
and it’s worth the wait

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete


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Twilight

the sunset speaks to me
I hear its voice
a cry in the daylight
about to be enshrouded
by the fears of the night

the sorrows knock
leaving footmarks
at the porch

screams of a monster
unformed
no world would have it
its name known
its place is nowhere
near my home

light breaks in
scattering oranges
on a backdrop of crimson
painting yellow
on wet canvas

time is no friend
the sun leaves
time is no foe
moonlight begins

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete


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Spoken

words came
like fallen leaves
and it’s taking its time
to cover the ground
I wait
under the trees
gorgeous branches
crisscrossing
gracefully swaying
shaking their palms
each rustle a song
hum, hum
birds joining in
adding rhythm, tone
each flutter a line,
light and shadow mosaic
intent laid down
on golden beddings
soft and sweet
each shape unique
like a signature
go on, go on
I’m listening

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete


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Arbitrary

like little candles in the air
the discreet whispers,
the silent stares

like broken lines of a song
the peaceful slumber,
the hidden groans

like midnight fairies on a visit
the repeating play,
the mourned decay

like beams of sunlight each dawn
the held hands,
the rehearsed monologues

like dew drops on a flower
the lost promises,
the misplaced notes

like the swaying branches of trees
the assuring smile,
the missing piece

like the poet’s perceived world
the lover’s wish
the muse’s kiss

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete


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A Little Love

What love is—I still have to figure that out.
What love is not—some details I still lack;
But there’s a certainty whenever love is talked about—
That is, I just want you to keep coming back.

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete


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