Category: literary,inspiration

Could you be my Valentine?

by : Bacardi Gold
11/feb/2021


as i sit alone on my bed
thinking about the days that passed
it’s been three days after we’ve met
felt like three years have already gone past

since the day i asked for your name
your smile was just unforgettable
Angel as you are called by friends
the feeling was just unexplainable

our parting words then, “see you in a week”
but i had hoped it could be sooner and quick
feeling a bit romantic here on my bed
i kissed your number in my CP where i kept

tomorrow is the day for us to meet
ready to go with some cash saved in my pocket
i practiced the lines the way i will greet
should i embrace, shake hands, or offer you a seat

i’ve marked the calendar, Sunday the fourteenth
i’m twenty-one and you’re young at nineteen
can you be my date, please don’t decline
it’s the Day of Hearts, “Could you be my Valentine?”

____________________________________________




I was wrong to think…

by : Bacardi Gold
08/Dec/2020

Photo by Becerra Govea on Pexels.com


You changed the days into happy ones
The strange ways of looking up the sun
You blew the clouds away from the murky sky
To clear the things up and resist a goodbye

You played your cards so well
Those aces you matched without a yell
You laid them like you’re a topnotch player
Hiding nothing in winter’s cold and in the hot summer

All the while, everybody knows you’re tired of me
The reasons are there for you to believe and see
I thought the love I’ve shown you is enough to love me
I thought you’ve wished a summer breakup and be free

But I was wrong to think that you’re leaving
To let everyone to know that I will be grieving
Yet I’m happy I must admit deep in my heart
You asked me to try again and have a brand new start




Let Time Decides…

Photo by Spencer Davis on Pexels.com


bits of chronicled garbage
pile of filthy trash
scattered all around the area
hills and mounds of unborn agenda
feel like sweeping it all clean
burning them all, where do i begin

dried leaves of an abandoned great summers
messy crumpled and unused bonds of papers
electric fans’ blades resting at the far corner
diplomas of heroes hanging in a lazy cluster

litters of menthol cold candy wrappers
empty boxes of bath soaps used by actors
immaculate run-down panty shields under the bed
damaged and forsaken biscuit boxes left for dead

golden counts of unused tooth brushes smudged by time
under the kitchen cabinet hiding from a crime
carved cockroach bite on destitute boxes of English pasta
dozens old magazines fossilized by a forgotten era

now a fallen iron these rusty guns on the floor
these might have killed a thousand and a lot more
these killing bullets of yore should have exploded then
so nothing from the past could be used for the present

these olden things of ancient times, these stuffs and belongings
garbage for others, a memory for some, a treasure for the keepers
stories behind them were not known to many
let time decides their future, their saga, their continuing story…




I close my eyes

Photo by Keegan Houser on Pexels.com
when i close my eyes
i see a lot
what i hear
what i dream
what i discern

more than i could figure out
the candle light in the dark
is Hope seeking to be pursued
more than anyone could feel
seeing behind the walls
the matters of the troubled past...

when i close my eyes
the right path appears
the footprints that i follow
the shadow that i chase
are the blessed route to trail...

when i close my eyes
the truth comes adrift
what's in my heart
are treasures that i keep
are goodness that i outreach...

closing my eyes
things are seen and noticed
when to draw conclusions
weigh a lot of doubts
decisions are folded...

when i close my eyes
i'm opening a book
an experience appearing to my mind
vividly,exploring the world
scouring the sea and sky
in a quest that will come to be...

I was a child…

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
I knocked at your door
I heard a voice
I knocked once more
'Till the voice flee

Outside the house
A playful young crowd
To be with them
They called me

Playing was a child's hour
With fellow children 
With the neighborhood
An hour became forgetting

I remembered you
You were sick in bed
Not able to get up
But I can't go inside

The door was locked
The key I can't find
Knocked, knocked, I did
The silence listened

Neighbors lend a hand
'Till the you no more
Angels lifted you
I was a child...

I cried for you
'Till today, Mama
Missing our yester years
I was a child...

And today, I raised
A loving family
Right virtues you taught
Kept them with me

Now, a man of today
Treading the path you've learned
The right one for me, since
I was a child...

For us to weave…

Photo by Elina Sazonova on Pexels.com

i don't care what it is aptly called
a muscular organ and it certainly beats 
one hundred thousand times in a day
pumping blood throughout the whole body

roughly the size of a large fist
four chambers, two lower, two upper
right atrium and right ventricle
same with the left,to many, it's a puzzle

why the throbbing is so terribly fast
when i hear your lovely stupid name
it beats  horribly in full speed
same surname as yours as i read

when i hear laughter thinking it's yours
giggling is too much when it surprisingly occurs 
your face i see when i thought of a similar smile 
swiftly it goes to neutral and hopefully mild

your anger makes this heart palpitate
shortness of breath and the struggle is so great
need to be calm to drive this heart at peace
stress and anxiety need to be freed and released

this heart needs love and someone to care  
to brighten up the night and jubilation to share
i only have a heart and honesty to give 
you have truth and honor for us to weave...

Will You Marry Me?…

Photo by Kamille Sampaio on Pexels.com

something is obscure i know not what
some kind of learning believed to be a fact
buried and concealed like a hermit almost unseen
like a naked body in view but the soul is hidden     

pages of events  of the olden past
secrets unrevealed that's touted to last
in the cupboards of heralded beats of shouts
quivering truth silenced by fear not to let it out

but when is the right time to betray the wraps
peel the cover don't let the time to lapse
what has been tightened has to be unlocked
and let the whole world rejoice, clap,clap,clap

let me kneel my love in front of you
and deliver this message while it's not due
it's been a long time that i wanted this to be free
i love you my love, i ask, "Will you marry me?"

I Heard Music, A Different kind…

Photo by Julia M Cameron on Pexels.com


My fingers kept tapping the keys
I would begin, stop, begin again
My mind would dictate what I write
The sentences would not be right
But I continued to tap the keys 
And I heard slow music escaping 
the sharpness of my consciousness
The sleepy me, now tapping the keys
With one finger like dipping into a sauce
'Till I dropped my head on the table
losing consciousness but, I heard music
A different kind, but soft........
So soft I got drowned into it until a hand
Tapped my back and a voice got into my ear,

"You're in Heaven My son. You had
a heart attack and didn't survived."
I didn't survive? How come? But I heard you
talking to me. We're talking to each other.
Besides, I'm too young to... to be attacked 
by a....heart attack? But I'm not bulging fat, 
I'm so thin and too young to be dead!
"My son, wake up! You're late!" Late, what?
"It's your funeral, wake up and get yourself
ready.You'll have to be in your coffin in an
hour.The priest is coming." 

How would I end this story? I'm so sleepy.
I better transfer to my bed than here at the
table. Hhmmm. I can sleep soundly on my bed.
I better go to sleep now. I'll dream
the ending of my dream...story..... BBzzzzz!

STREAMING lines in bed…






Philippine sunset at the Visayan Sea





at the verge of early sleeping
it always rains
minding will cut a breath
unattached naked wings flying... 

golden droplets on the sleepy ground
bouncing sideways up and down
feathered hippos defining a chance
marching backwards with wooden guns...

sounds antiquated  newer trumpets
biting tongues  butterflies twisted
heavy bodies can't make a gentle stand
paper and pens behaved like sleepy drunks...

shaking fingers damaged brain
orange and green ink lightly stained
flying alphabets in colored prism
worn-out nets catching words in pain...

nails and cannons as fighting pairs
convincing precision shooting without fear
gallantly fighting like old tortoises
written words are placed in exact places...

columns and lines are deadly ready
marching on to a much needed victory
pasted thoughts are now on snowy paper
sunrise will hear the final chapter...

lazy bodies sitting on the bed
awakened thoughts are rich not dead 
clear beautiful lines are instead written 
not to fade away not easily forgotten...

            --o0o--