Petals

Where are these petals taking me?
I could smell each piece
Sharp as shattered mirror
Splinters on my skin
Drowning in crimson
Clothed in purplish silk
All in oblivion
For night knows no color
But the void of itself

The petals go back
To the tree of nostalgia
Flowers under the shade
Aren’t eager to be picked
So they wither over years
In the harsh winter days
Reddish, golden, brown
Like the sunset rays

The petals fall
Because they’re weary
They lose their hold
And their beds await their rest
As many have flown
Carried by the breeze
I caught their scent
And held them in my fist
Again, I ask
Where are these petals taking me?

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete


This is the #potd #poem of the day.

I would love to write a poem for you. See how.

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Flotsam

Glasses clink
Overheard from the old wooden boat;
Empty bottles of wine
Replaced the brine
As the board stops rocking
Against the thinning foam;
The waves no longer roar,
The stern is yet to stir
On cruise
After the storm

I keep you in here
Where waters touch me not
Till the shore appears;
Little droplets vanish
As they join the sea
Carrying each word,
Each lyric of melancholy,
Subtle melodies
Swimming to a distant isle
Where all my seashells gather,
Where all shattered pieces be

They glisten under the dusk horizon
Till I glimpsed the last
of the waning moon at dawn
Joining with the stars,
My little gems,
I watch them twinkling in the dark;
One cannot hide a diamond
From a trained eye,
That’s the promise
Between you and I.

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete


This is the #potd #poem of the day.

I would love to write a poem for you. See how.

Between the Lines

It’s the in-between
The read of unseen things
The breath sounds and rhythm
Distinct smell and feelings

It’s not always in words
But one may put words in them

The roughness of a scar
The smoothness of hair
The twinkle in the eye
The hidden grin at the corner

It is often unsaid
Ordinary, but not forgotten

The finger tap
The nose crinkle
The furrowed brows
The bitten lower lip

It is a story of its own
Told and not authored

That is why
The presence is as important
As the conversation,
The gesture is as expressive
As the touch,
The familiar is as meaningful
As the favorites;

Love is measured as a whole
In line, out of line,
and often,
Between the lines-
The hows and whys-
Otherwise, it’s lukewarm,
Bland, bleak;
It’s incomplete

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete


This is the #potd poem of the day.

I would love to write a poem for you. See how.

Everything

the streak of sunlight 
behind those clouds,
ah, the crunch of dried leaves,
the dancing shadows 
of slender trees,
the silhouette 
of birds flying past
the rainbow,
all the hidden voices,
the diminished sounds,
the penetralia 
of written words
and painted art,
oh, the poignant smell of old, 
preserved petals—
far from fresh
but meaningful, 
sentimental
in a sense
an indulgence,
an acquired taste,
reminiscent 
of the first laugh,
the first touch
and all this insanity,
a dream I cannot wake up from
where I am lost, compelled
to do something new
before everything becomes
you, you, you

Evelyn Dumag-Gabinete


This is the #potd poem of the day.

I would love to write a poem for you. See how.