I never had that recipe of philosophy for a lifetime, i never formulated a fine one. Just that, only now have i realised how a happy smile can lift me up. 

Thinking a lot.

(I have been in deep thought these days. Matters seem to lay their selves in front of me, stimulating my judgement and my frontal lobe. As i browse through the unpublished posts in my blogger dashboard, I read these unfinished lines of my poem. I don't know how it made  mevery lonely. I thought so that it was because of the abuse of neglect i did, and the supposed theme of the piece isn't as whole as my mindset before my momentum stopped.)

I might decide to publish this in its unfinished state, So to remind my self that no matter how I started with full enthusiasm , I still struggle on how to finish my work.


'we stare at endless height
though darkness dominates the skies
and the moon stands the only light
to draw the glistening orbs in your eyes

your words sing music to my ears
your touch is warm, dilating my pores
and then breeze began to offer tears
to the grasses of earthly floors

the wind blows to kiss your darling
as i whistle to keep them blowing
how long will you have me waiting
to kiss your lips as they stood watching

dont cover your face with your delicate hair
i wish to see your smile and the lines up there.
But the happy sounds i hear seem to fade away
stay will you and never part by day

tears are flowing from your face
while dew drops fill in little pace
you were lonely, i never knew
tired of love you doubted to be true.


I cuddle, hugged and braced you
in my arms i offer comfort
and counter 


The Bold letters are my new attempts, and I know my poetic sense is deteriorating. 

Papa's Day

My father. The Man of the House. 

in here my Papa dances, i think he's listening to an old song,or some Avril Lavigne single. Taken when I was 16. My brothers were small, they had transformed quite immense. 

      My father is a history fanatic. I can still remember the days where he used to tell stories about cradles of civilization. I must admit, I have taken a liking on them. They contributed greatly to my interests. With the easy access to internet in our house, my papa makes a time of his life researching for nuggets of information for his lectures and reconnect new trends in history than skimming on obsolete and dusty old-fashion books in the library. 

     I think I'm having a flashback... *ripples*

  Back when I was a dog, ^*&#@* I mean a child, our parents quarrel all the time. I don't remember why, i think its given that I can't recall them at all. Yet for some reason I thought that they're breaking apart, and my mama jokingly asks me if to whom shall I go with if it happens. I chose my papa. I'm happy it never happened. It turns out my parents were attached to strings of a normal married life. I was young then, and I never figured it out that way. My mama's weakness is a notorious amount of cuddles and kisses from my papa, and I don't know what goes beyond that.

I love my parents! and my siblings! And this cheesy family. 

Diana by Princess feat. Nene

 These videos were taken long time ago just before I entered college. The time when we were so obsessed with the gadgets our mom brought from Taiwan. My sister Princess Guenever is a fan of  Diana by Paul Anka, and my fourth brother Mark Frederick "Nene" couldn't get the spotlight though knowing the lyrics of the song, so he settled being the back-up dancer. I love my siblings. 

My sister Guenever is an aspiring singer and we leave her to her business. In here she sings Two Voices One Song from Barbie & the Diamong Castle. Having no choice because she dominates the television quite often , I am forced to watch the film. Incidently, I like it, the songs especially.

As a matter of fact.

Guenever Isoude Celestial, those names are from royalties in English history and literature, just like her names suggest, she actually acts like one at home. Not doing any household chores and all.  

Boy they're so so big now. Nene in high school, and Princess entering high school too, in K-12 next year.

Accent it.

This is well awesum. knoo what. because, ever since i've sin every 'arry potta film in weege the actors practically spek in british accent, I became well interested in mimicken 'oo they phonate their words. noo this terrific geezer in the video does his chops in 24 accents. woah! it also buggles me why the'er am raspy ones an' sum am fluently delivered with tones revolten frum upper class loike the teachers an' officials. the varitoys in british accents moy yav happened fer the same reason as 'oo filipinos developed different intonations in speaken english an' nativ' tagalog language. the'er am sorts frum upperclass, the ones liven in the farm, the sae side, west, eus, suthe, etc! it fascinates me. accentology. the'er should be a that field of science:) oh! the'er is. I googled it! 


Translation Below. . . . 


This is very awesome. Know what. Because, ever since I saw Harry Potter films in which the actors practically speak in British accent, i became very interested in mimicking how they phonate their words. Now this terrific man in the video does his thing in 24 accents. Woah!
It also buggles me why there are raspy ones and some are fluently delivered with tones revolting from upper class like the teachers and officials.
The varities in British accents may have happened for the same reason as how Filipinos developed different intonations in speaking English and native Tagalog language. There are sorts from upperclass, the ones living in the farm, the sea side, west, east, south, etc!
It fascinates me. Accentology. There should be a that field of science:) oh! there is. I Googled it!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Accentology


Try British Accent Translator, Here, Enjoy! http://www.whoohoo.co.uk/

A Poem for the Aging

(Its funny that my brother pronounced it as a-ging! )

 

Morning was it when sleepy heads stand on both feet.

And Mother birds come from an all night seek.

The sun spreading light above the mountain peak.

To signal the morning life beat.

I face the mirror bewildered in crooked brows.

Seeing my reflection marked with little roads.

18 years have passed and more years to blame.

How they stole away the fresh porcelain.

The Fountain they say was never true,

Nor the falls that flow as mountain dew.

To bring back the youth that once was mine.

Slowly it fades, with the sands of time.

The smile, the eyes, the lips the moist of skin.

Outnumbered by the dryness of the cells within.

The Heart, it pumps seem an endless task.

My hungry Brain, a lot questions have asked.

We grew tall, lanky and

tired.

Jobless, old and beauty

denied.

Rotten, hag with gauzy

hair.

Trapped, and swimming

in depths of despair.

The little roads are lines of many smiles expressed.

In 18 years to counter moments of depress.

In everyday we lived, and are called mature.

The world breathes, as we become the sweetest manure.

           I had myself as inspiration for this poem, for I noticed the gradual aging process in my body, my soul and mind. I thought about Mother Gothel from Tangled, where she can adamantly restore her youthful appearance through Rapunzel's crowning glory, which is blonde.      Although enough verbal evidence told me already that I look younger for a college student, I still long to go back to the times where I play in the neighborhood and climb trees (all sorts of trees). *sigh