tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14880142097741916692012-01-31T09:28:32.364-08:00“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.” ― Jack KerouacArian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.comBlogger811100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-72818768466379301262012-01-31T07:33:00.002-08:002012-01-31T09:27:31.071-08:00

The search for Home begins with a point of departure and a destination. In between there are poems. —Nerissa del Carmen Guevara There it starts! See that slate stonework which stands at soldier's attention, shining from that intersection? That holds the boundary— on it the town’s name inscribed, moss-grown now, but still readable, still embracing the size, and above, a signage: "Madayaw na

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-44027319014302163532011-11-20T00:26:00.000-08:002012-01-30T18:41:11.352-08:00

When closure comes to your hide, it offers keys for your hand which for a long time held nothing but only took the shape of a cold fist, and tells you, "Out there lies the world of beautiful seekers. In order to be found, you must forget hiding it—  your face, your histories. Go. Break free. Permit yourself this pass.  " -Arian Rey Tejano © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-30099073824632416452011-10-24T01:39:00.000-07:002012-01-30T20:37:48.056-08:00

To start all over is how you open your eyes once more to mirrors which have made you into what you are now, these mirrors playing semblances along, rendering the most peculiar feelings. But it is not entirely how you look through them, sometimes it's how they eat on you in some light, how they leave you to figure the blur, these questions so hard to lose or lift off your rational days. One day a

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-14768214728658464732011-10-13T10:27:00.000-07:002012-01-30T18:47:11.468-08:00

The stranger who comes to your blog and reads and knows every text, space, every other sign and symbol of you, that's me. -Arian Rey Tejano © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-80933750499693202502011-09-25T16:35:00.000-07:002012-01-31T06:32:36.419-08:00

The crow observes by your side your body cast in silhouette, rain light like fallen needles from the sky refracted, skewing down the lake water. Think of the crow there upon the wet stone as final arbiter in the dialogue, between you and the darkness. -Arian Rey Tejano © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-77354180456072188252011-09-19T03:58:00.000-07:002012-01-30T20:47:31.531-08:00

I fell asleep. In a dream I found myself in a land so familiar yet, at the same time, strange; as there, the moon was in the womb of the pale sun. To the field of thick grasses I walked where flowers opened at me, oddly like questioning eyes, and the way they sensed me was something I would feel when animals, by peripheral transient eyeing, accused me of hunting. So I proceeded in a

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-41285896391164020122011-09-12T01:24:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:28:38.107-08:00

For nearly a week now, we are weeping      in words. Somehow      he was a hero With his blog,      one of the voices for leftover bodies      and love, of what it means to be bakla  Ako. Read the tributes      before they fold and fly; by that time      you will be ignoring the tidings. He was a handsome man, a few years older      than we, his most followers, are. Real brave.      to manage

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-78560546957899604842011-08-02T07:34:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:28:05.929-08:00

In order to figure out whether or not we can go through the incoming typhoon, you fingered some ants from the dining table and hurled them to the moving fan. For that moment I watched the insects swept out of the swirl, each of them still alive and light, and you pitched them back into the current to show the possibilities again. You said the only way to survive is to know the violent core of

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-77001310322863756352011-07-26T06:41:00.000-07:002012-01-30T22:20:01.045-08:00

i woke up to her sandalled steps down the iron staircase in that windy morning from the window i watched and with me the sun too gay for days fell always she pulled her bicycle single-handedly she lifted her skirt up the knee i noticed that instant the sun was upon her head and blazing brown delightful like a peeking rapture of corn hair then the bicycle carried her coquettishly her skirt waved

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-31341591124038017432011-07-25T06:05:00.000-07:002012-01-30T21:56:27.984-08:00

When the effortful chasing ends, this is likely what you want to find out—  how you leash the feet for the first time; how you strangle and slit the throat and want the blood out; how you chop the claws resisting now while its body quivers to finality; then for the next minutes, how you’ll bathe it  with boiling water; how you notice the skin gradually turning bony white, limp unlike your

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-27452796305447502622011-07-19T07:15:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:18:17.148-08:00

This is the carnival. By carnival I mean: crowded, strange, grand, you dream of this often. "Does it really have to arrive here," you ask, "in this crowded city?" Yes it selects this kind of place. Here I am the favorite, the faces of my toys they love as they come corrupted, I mean: grotesquely elaborate. Is it too frightening for you? But this is what you came for, after all. My booth, my

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-28849640365514553162011-07-04T12:28:00.001-07:002011-12-29T07:27:07.215-08:00

Can you remember still the thin clouds that, like white herons at sunset, flew and faded slowly to faraway mountains of our memories? For no longer we visit Surigao. Now each time we look above, smog and skyscrapers suffuse the sky. And so we bring back on drawing books those childhood clouds but fail on white paper. “How about herons, the gray ones?” You say. Deeply sketching, smudging the

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-12822254966762183572011-06-27T10:43:00.002-07:002012-01-30T23:22:50.643-08:00

Once at a park you asked what it is I fear the most, though what I felt trembling down your tongue was: had we ever been honest in our ways? For the moment I wanted to ward off your presuppositions as a poet and so I planted my cigarette in your mouth and we shelved time watching those smokes distort our distance and other divides. Those were real breaths, only borrowed like time, and your

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-41953086987677931652011-06-16T10:04:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:26:35.728-08:00

In a convenience store, they passed each other in opposite directions. The reaction: for a moment, her gaze through small spaces in between pilings, his in her eyes. They shifted places, she found herself reading nutritional contents of Fit n' Right, he at a magazine rack. By next stop: lining up on their own, (the cashier's notice or the other buyers behind) she looked at her skin in case

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-40610587711107322742011-06-13T09:35:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:26:23.097-08:00

Do you know why shells still look pretty even if their insides are gone? -Arian Rey Tejano   © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-56574413197925117922011-06-07T11:12:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:23:15.711-08:00

Preying, this eye fossilizes what is out there into its ghosting pool. A hole is its heart—amber deep, curling inward, unchanged. Here at Aldevinco your presence again, stirring my very sense of place and time. I didn’t come here to bid until the Muslim collector swayed me to, saying: It's a rare Cretan flower, custom-preserved for the dead. Only seconds passed I turned to you for a nod.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-69849981234024846132011-06-01T08:32:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:25:59.097-08:00

I have watched her delicate, learned fingers float in the air like a storyteller's, reaching the bread, the cucumber slices, the mayonnaise, the bologna and other fillings so foreign to me. It's always like this: After work, I'd see her in the kitchen of the house we have rented for two years and I'd appear like a guest grown-up with eyes wandering, wondering, inquiring on her version of one

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-40554869294822055952011-05-23T08:25:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:24:45.343-08:00

In this gathering, all families arrived with big presence in clothes. Too much food was shining through their tables. I came alone with dewy-eyed curiosity and a face of parents, mine and others', who could not shell out a smile to this annual play. As acknowledgment began, unfolded, passed, tongue after tongue, some eyes tightened to those who never lifted their heads when called. About a

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-58849537365233618122011-05-18T09:14:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:25:37.057-08:00

Make maps on your skin, compass hands confuting myth: Sodom, Gomorrah. -Arian Rey Tejano   © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-49950934714943101842011-05-16T03:35:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:25:19.528-08:00

Though you are a mature cane, You are still grass. How did they mount your Pliant body With no ropes to knot you If sand dunes rather strengthen Your base node Loosely you will fall How long can Your suntanned body endure The light weight Of a ceaseless work. By now, rootless- Leafless, As you are; No more sap And soundless breath To fend This Artificial Growth. -Arian Rey Tejano © 2008

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-17787071012560098082011-05-14T06:03:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:25:11.700-08:00

In my mind there thrives You. Soft seed once, now a vine needling through my mouth. -Arian Rey Tejano © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-88272234861630352842011-05-09T09:17:00.001-07:002012-01-30T23:26:59.227-08:00

I. The world of prying minds has dulled your golden light: They claim truth by each avowed tale from your epitaph. II. This is not falling for chiseled beauty but from your memory. III. Your head tilts, ignoring the horizon or bending it lower and many lofty near as those eyes quail before us who need to remember there's heaven behind our climbing feet. IV. More we see the pair

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-57728220346963965822011-05-05T08:17:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:24:35.249-08:00

for my foster mother There is a rumor created when something turns awkward in frame. Like that hardness of us that hangs momentarily for any subtle finding of the mind; a father, perhaps, or a house.       Or maybe it is the stencil work we are asterisks compounded into an ugly-pretty painting. Beyond, only the divine artist knows it we simply belong against our different skin maps.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-16193386813640578652011-04-28T11:01:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:24:06.097-08:00

You look at me and all words are whited-out. You turn away and my mind becomes a book. Bitter, Brave and Broken play in all pages, a long hide-and-seek in the void, chasing Tenderness        that is your heart,         that is your heart. -Arian Rey Tejano © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-82580528757576949102011-04-25T03:47:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:28:39.042-08:00

The late April sun sends golden reminders to faraway mountains. This awakens the herons and other white-breasted birds that have been sleeping there since September. Here, in our farm (which I failed to visit in seven years), I've noticed that old days are dying but still, those birds arrive. They are gracing a leafless tree, their wings spreading merrily in clusters, along irrigation gutters to

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-48110319066878350982011-04-19T17:46:00.002-07:002011-12-29T07:23:45.521-08:00

"This is the room. You may start pulling out your clothes. Hang them        next to mine. You can keep some of your keepsakes. But here, you don't need palm hats and bows. Here are my books whose scribblings speak        of lonesome years, cigarettes I will be quitting soon, perhaps, and old pictures so you can discover more of me when I'm away. Here is the kitchen where I messed around for a

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-30958246400376016952011-04-11T07:13:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:23:27.475-08:00

Moments like this warm things in a glass and ferment, gradually. It's April again, the sixth time they tail their eyes into dreamscapes. Here, the radio rewinds Sea of Love, its echo aiming, perhaps, at an aeroplane that wings itself across the moonlight. Sleeve to sleeve, they trade stories; first about a fisherman who lost his teeth after eating a live turtle. They always end up with a

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-38693902868358527412011-04-10T04:12:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:23:16.501-08:00

I learned three things from folding     an umbrella-- one, every thing is built up with a lock, another it takes a big careful hand to keep loose ends together. The last I saw from the old woman who crossed the street-- her umbrella, held like a staff, kept half her weight along past the horning vehicles. I could tell she was wobbling to the streetside.  Then rain came, I wondered where all

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-74626893177457483182011-04-09T03:02:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:29:22.632-08:00

Big ballooning eye was, is, and shall be, jaundiced for chiding its twin. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-22472223547151219632011-04-04T06:47:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:22:47.246-08:00

As I witness the rain leave gradient-bellied splatters On the front window of your car, I realize How loose my soul is in its flesh silhouette. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-69731788301407251622011-03-31T17:47:00.002-07:002011-12-29T07:22:31.568-08:00

Uncurled wings to light to skirt, be a seer for seven mortal days. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-86420947577000470652011-03-28T06:50:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:32:49.427-08:00

for my aunt, Mariter You are seated up there, self-possessed, you waited and all eyes too sharp for your stare squinched at detail- loss you  delighted but not the beauty lovers as you drove them surprised beyond posture. I noticed this afternoon the woodscapes blur behind and brown remarkable -- such lightweight hem of the veil, but if I were to lasso tool them off, there's no- thing left,

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-3500057745898520212011-03-27T09:25:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:36:33.229-08:00

O how many children have shaped the shoreline into castles since those summers and how many eyes in ships pulled back from tearful goodbye, still the lug-gaged dreams of the farmer's eldest sons with love lengthened more and more in postcards are never done. Sauntering tonight against the dying alley lights of Davao, I think I'm bound to failing you, Surigao! --Arian Rey Tejano © 2011 A

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-16890351066152578962011-03-23T23:48:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:38:12.506-08:00

The Pig & The Worm Once there was a pig who spent his life roaming and digging his calloused snout into the waste of the slums. He didn't select, so seemingly he would squander pile after pile and slob whatever he felt fleshy on his way. One day he found a golden worm. As he was about to sniff it, the worm spoke, "Keep me just in your mouth and you'll grow a better tongue." The Girl & The

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-20141832541051151932011-03-20T05:25:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:41:56.881-08:00

You still call me by that endearment, even if we never saw each other for five years now, and we meet again, in this old Davao hotel, queuing in quiet songs as we mull over our lives, and we overdo so, in skittering stories, as if to remind ourselves in warm tongues that it could have been saved if our thoughts were ahead of our age, if one had influenced the other not as a lover but an outsider

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-23657741893590948422011-03-01T16:46:00.002-08:002011-12-29T07:21:30.284-08:00

I have ripened fast enough since the night you bought me in San Pedro at cheap price. If the old woman who sold me there didn't claim, "This one is fresh. And rare to find," you'd have spent your money by fuddling with those jocks. As you were taking me to your house, in your hand, I felt I was too young for your whim. Flimsy, my skin surely would peel off if you laid me on the counter top.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-67767385307125904862011-02-14T16:35:00.000-08:002011-12-29T07:20:42.220-08:00

Oldtimer goes by a child whose eyes seeks magic--- salt-preserved wonder. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-53897024955366478172011-02-09T21:35:00.000-08:002011-12-29T07:18:32.574-08:00

There's one thing about the way light displays the landscape of Bucana in this early February morning; like the way when coldness from a gloomy night wanes that, only by a little degree, it can influence wet dust to come off the wires. Sometimes one's shifted sense of seeing is enough to warm time's indifference. I look at maya birds adding color to trees, thin-skinned and leafless on the

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-6487786623829221792011-01-30T19:11:00.000-08:002011-12-29T07:18:23.061-08:00

"Do you know that the distance between here and there is a parallel course of unseeable skywires that never change even through the severest times? They are the season's timekeeper whereon herons rest at sunrise, crows upon sunset, though never have these birds met up there at one point of the day. I used to wonder if they gathered for the same story, for the same song, or it was just my hearing

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-14840153206223846612011-01-17T19:40:00.000-08:002012-01-30T23:43:57.808-08:00

I am writing tell you that I am maimed by these perilous moments of your silence. Remember the times you came up into my dark repose, looking just so cavalier about your way. And I kept answering you, asserted my being because I am older but trying to be lightheaded still. For your interest. And because you had this affecting innocence for me to re-experience. You liked it when I hurled my bleary

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-48526867043565658652011-01-08T21:32:00.000-08:002012-01-30T23:45:41.667-08:00

It is still sunset, my body slipping in. Every where there's a crack too safe for strangers like me. Midnights are harmless, shadows inch up on me but never strangle. I am learning to steal flesh without touching them my tarsus finger. Scurrying now towards the unkempt feast, I notice a fat cat clawing off food covers onto the edge, coaxing then my wings to open. "Opportunist!" With meat

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-35720843822191698932011-01-06T08:36:00.000-08:002012-01-30T23:57:53.122-08:00

Now-- the time has come for you      to fall. But not to fall      earthward. So as you arrive,      I must scoop up      clear water and receive your surrender      through my mirror-      ing palm. On such chance,      you are flowering skyward. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2011 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-80963900731508333582011-01-04T16:49:00.000-08:002011-12-29T07:17:22.025-08:00

First of January, my second decade's awakening. Clockless and cold, the day moves everyone wet-footed around the village. I walk out of the house, and greet my parents and the brooding neighbors, even the dogs that lick some leftover round the pit. It is different. Where have the herons dried their feathers? Why's the newly-planted rice field now brimmed with rain water? Every thing reeks of

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-79240901360620549552010-12-28T16:30:00.000-08:002012-01-30T23:46:25.218-08:00

They wore each other like a pair of socks. - TC Boyle Neither cold nor rain will come today, just the lulus of low-hanging, wandering clouds, white as eastern mother-of-pearl can be! He will revere such picturesque horizon however it appears through the bus window, and though this time of day passengers' stories be more entertaining than silence, even silence is impressive in a lover's

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-78893505728656833502010-12-09T17:54:00.000-08:002012-01-30T23:50:17.194-08:00

Without you I just get older and when my previous owner comes no more and I'm uncomfortably sedated, unpursued for nearly a year it feels so right to blame you for this repose so I do. Without you I become hard and the wooden self sweats brittle fear of further abandonment and this fear rusts the bone, this harder foundation I am used to hang on and now it feels so loose. Without you something

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-55662990414997343172010-12-07T18:28:00.000-08:002012-01-30T23:50:39.123-08:00

I'd like to call you my clown effervescent yet elusive in charming a hundred giddy eyes. I'd like to witness your figures of kings of hearts long dead and look intently as you repeat their tragedies in pantomimes. I'd like to remember your face of canvas distortions and feel your grace to watch the way         your bloodhound lips stetch and smile         before me. I'd like to strip those

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-7656561538208854222010-12-05T18:08:00.000-08:002012-01-30T23:50:56.154-08:00

It's obvious. You love the urge of my punctuations: how I clinch flirtatious whispers in a parenthesis that trend and turn untested truths into poetry         (just like how e.e. cumming obscures         loneliness in a falling leaf) so each story comes quaint enough, cunning enough, comma after comma, before this tempestuous period pokes disinterest at your agreement. --Arian Rey Tejano ©

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-85665163904985060472010-12-01T22:52:00.000-08:002012-01-30T22:15:21.585-08:00

She waits for him alone, always alone, in the company of presents he sent while the wind too heavy for this December bothers and flings unfastened doors open. Hers almost loose. Outside the mailbox spewing out letters unread invites her to visit places, but neighbors in fences after fences reckon the 1st glistens so gladly everyone must tread on in this equatorial morning. Maybe she is still

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-42783264801802675492010-11-24T07:24:00.000-08:002011-12-29T07:15:08.894-08:00

Fill the fridge with fancy fruits and love shall surprise upon all openings Lay them by colours and shapes with the lushest lining the front rows Let coldness collect itself and bathe them degree by degree 'til every thing will come clean, seem aquiver on their lonely hiding. For I long for that woman whose spell springs forth from her patient hands The woman who makes poems even without

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-81475842041302425832010-11-18T16:10:00.000-08:002012-01-31T00:44:45.513-08:00

for Luz The mouth of fluent madness leaks after he slit her heart with lies. Paling out, she rolled into her hide of solitude and studied tales of rocks breaking and forever breaking, of footsteps floating, cats clawing corners, needle leaves trying to hide the ground; yet for a million times she'd come out and look for his sign. One day, a god-kissed time, he came back and called her so

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-61753077452789705342010-11-17T16:32:00.000-08:002012-01-30T23:51:36.656-08:00

Yes, I wrote them—  for poetry invokes the broken, the bitter, and the brave. It has grown in me as that heart in you, growing more inclement each day. Because you refused it— love and its great, creator's hands— and just said idly, “One day it will expire, for sure what we have to leave one another will be this interminable heart-and-mind battle.” Since your words were left naked, I offered

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-34145167955671136672010-11-05T21:33:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:11:48.020-08:00

You cannot see the raft floating in the ocean but you feel the waters lapping on your feet. If your hands suffer from coldness of the breeze, just cup a handful of sand and every thing that slips from your hold will soar forth delicately to these waves where, somewhere, I am lost, sailing against the wind of my departure. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2010 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-89387841190111729502010-11-02T03:14:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:52:37.367-08:00

Days are darker in draped curtains He turns on the lights and she brings in the basket Those who urge them greater ambitions miss how they fit at home. Their room will make them young again. Now a small table accommodates biscuits and given wine; underneath it, their feet are locked on dusts and flies long dead. Neither the starving rats nor the watchful cockroaches in shadow can cease their

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-17806717038496189462010-10-27T17:22:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:11:00.278-08:00

The past inserts a finger into the slit of the present, and pulls. -Annie Dillard Do not ask me to go and stay quiet for however long Your aching nights awakened my dreaming dawns even at home. That room, self-effacing and cold, It pretended to be comfort Itself gracious on hiding history, your crumbling face. Between us, so near, There was a huge window curtained by fears Through it,

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-85168018239545377872010-10-20T17:07:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:10:48.656-08:00

(for my bestest friend, Ram) The boy who saw and loathed and talked back to you went to the city and grew his hair long. You miss him, but you tell them you don't and laugh, then forget. Now he is back, gliding his ways along glass- windowed buildings in town where you used to stop and wonder. And all his reflection wears beauty; when you speak to him though, he utters and falters in same

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-78365582490632336602010-10-14T22:59:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:10:33.561-08:00

a rope, a tight knot. Ushered out from Shangri-la,                 You unraveled me. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2010 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-44856098582411284222010-10-13T17:14:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:10:06.820-08:00

Dusts swirling into the scintillating sky - and in this afternoon we stood on our ground, our eyes fixed upon each other. You held your broom and I held mine Together we sweep today's scraps to tidy our own yards. You swing the broom and carefully gather the wastes on a pile while I hasten my moves to reach the street side where our gathered scraps will eventually meet. Only then will I, in

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-62250906139339093732010-10-11T02:04:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:09:31.707-08:00

To you I fall and it is of guided reach, gradual and returning, I yield traces of pursuit on your feebleness without spite, without regret. Sometimes beyond the margins of your given space, my impulses stretch forth like sand surrendering luster to the shoreline, wave after wave. Darling, when you look empty, I fill you, and do not fear                if we, by alteration, ought to embrace

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-78537072003809494512010-10-07T08:41:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:09:18.691-08:00

Dying is an art, like everything else. - Sylvia Plath Having plucked myself from that old tree which for awhile veined my paper-thin flesh with worldly knowing, I held all strength of falling in thin air as I swagged away from history, from such ever rooting heritage as the weight of its reach drove me downward past the blades of tall grasses into the crack of clay earth.  Settled, I shelved

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-7109815303822431312010-10-06T01:59:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:06:46.856-08:00

Meandering through the roads and seeming close to ill chances near the vehicles, as if enforcers see not a moving body to instruct traffic rules, even to whistle by. Whether vendors and pedestrian people, passengers and drivers, or crossroads and skywires and scraps that run in the air, or handkerchiefs and candywrappers and omnipresent dust, or little things that simply come along, all appear

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-47416746808431787412010-10-03T19:49:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:06:21.466-08:00

That morning, we chanced upon a clean table in this coffee shop as blurred cars and palm lines graced the glass window, undeniably surreal as we sat vis-à-vis. Those minor details othered us to what befell next-- beverage turning cold, gag switching, tales of thirst and going home, addresses of how separately far, different we are. But not the early morn like this; a silent shop fogs due

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-11514009244798329792010-09-30T06:20:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:53:53.994-08:00

The Hotlegs, a place for bored men (sometimes I think we are all bored), the almost bored, soaked streetwalkers, broke voyeurs, careful smokers, and the otherwise homeless bored! You keep reminding yourself that you have promised you’d never visit the place again, but there you are talking about domestic issues and your domineering wife and daughter to a bigmouth waitress, and soon you’ll share

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-84549818919750455472010-09-18T23:19:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:55:58.582-08:00

He woke up to the Pacific wind piercing the smell of dry weeds. From the cobalt blue sky, a nondescript feather falls and glistens in the yard. Holding his head in a certain old way, he said to himself, "Yes, mating season." He eyed the distant ocean. For however long has it been abandoned? Only kept feathers can tell. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2010 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-88814379180599529302010-09-16T07:03:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:54:49.732-08:00

form borrowed from Dan Behlm You have been dancing farther while I work and stay, dancing faster breaking your shoes somewhere down the Cotabato highway you said when we were together and now I can not see or hear you, you are becoming gone, closing your show, becoming alone imagining of nothing, gazing, going through simultaneous days of rain or storms or sun or do you think of me for that is

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-52343270567082383212010-09-15T22:49:00.000-07:002012-01-31T00:23:54.062-08:00

(a poem for Grandpa) Outside I can hear solid rain cascading slowly, gathering on to a pool in this amber-slicked close of day. Here in this kept wooden house, which I visit only once each year, I grow up hearing him say, "Any minute now is all right. The work is finished." --Arian Rey Tejano © 2010 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-21301865739456533852010-09-09T07:15:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:03:42.057-08:00

It is like a kiss of a stranger from a faraway time constantly questioned for its worth yet forever felt. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2010 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-23441169865763348762010-09-02T07:12:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:03:12.431-08:00

I have no acrid scent to offend you. Enured by opportune exposure in sun and morning air, you can easily break this delicate roundness into two open flesh. Filthy fingertips cocking up my iridescent cutis, you squeeze some pearly white essence in a hasty chomp. With the walls of your mouth arresting the coarseness of my being, let me sow the seed of bitterness in your tongue drooling

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-16473175003754260472010-08-26T06:27:00.000-07:002011-09-21T23:50:22.618-07:00

Imagine the paint of our love house has finally dried out and it flakes and flies and perches on skirting flowerless trees; the color that once turned our recluse grand- now desiccated in the forest's chokehold. Remember the secret bond we promised to preserve, sugarcoated seeds of lies you sowed that I thought fair upon their spring; the illusion of perpetual waiting foundered thoroughly for

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-26836406085416619042010-08-23T06:33:00.000-07:002012-01-30T22:45:09.918-08:00

"i can do it" she said past the doorway as I ran the water the way she prefers it, straight from the hot-water top. it had been awhile since we bathed together. piece by piece she removed her layers of underclothes I witnessed how she withdrew her life held together by safety pins. she was small and naked and now bent in the bathroom, the skin of her buttocks loose, drooping in a fold.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-13265378837251704172010-08-09T11:17:00.000-07:002012-01-12T07:45:12.362-08:00

Awaken love,       the moon breathes itself       through the curtains       and wall papers       its lights tail and sweep down. Awaken love,       outside a constellation       of fireflies accents the trees       eminent enough       to replace the stars. Awaken love,       the river gleams, a ride       rolling the riddles of season       lapping and swooshing cradlesongs       for rain

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-19471371301728918632010-08-06T01:13:00.000-07:002012-01-30T22:39:12.189-08:00

Once on a freckled ledge, to the sun's ossifying grace, a huge lavender bucket stood kept unkempt. But behind its existence lay the cannibal garden- flowers feeding on shrubs, weeds strangling flowers, shrubs writhing weeds- where the feast went on in circles, in shadows. Through the bloodshed years only the bucket thrived most noticed, accenting the century-old fight. And as the garden

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-29174973177320506782010-07-30T22:35:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:13:08.600-08:00

--I cannot tell you how unbearably lowering my head was sustained how pointless and profitless your smiles seemed when I read this morning quickly a nine-lined poem and beneath it, written in brave strokes- by a wicked boy, I could tell, whom you'd never see- "Pardon my coldness, but I have pursued someone else." --Arian Rey Tejano © 2010 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-53965043900935756632010-07-22T12:36:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:02:19.880-08:00

On the first night, I saw my father inside my mother’s bedroom holding pencil and paper. On the second night, I glanced at him from the window sketching the outline of my mother’s body. On the third night I peeked at him through the partway open door smudging the thickness of his strokes to her center. On the fourth night I peeped through a crack in the wall and found him tracing tenaciously

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-35678590874127426352010-07-21T06:31:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:01:12.579-08:00

You cease to write and think of a firefly fawning on your palm. Roused by the flickering light You shelter the warmth by closing that hand and lift the other to seize a pen. Now, over the empty sheet, two hands are affixed- each confines a thing so highly prized to create Art. Careless which hand to move first, you stretch the one with folded fingers open, thinking you’ve tamed the fly. But

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-73786003922464217012010-07-19T05:56:00.000-07:002012-01-30T23:47:51.812-08:00

You supposed it essential to freeze before the door or lock your eyes to the key hole that in and of itself should tell you. I have bronzy doorknobs rusty, unreflecting unlike the glassy ones that you could fancy in the night light. Down the hallway I keep entrance closed rooms occupied you say I stink good. That is necessary when eyes restrain darkness under the lids. I say just eat what is

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-12119665463362034602010-07-08T14:50:00.000-07:002012-01-30T22:33:26.817-08:00

You weigh your life down the lonely vineyard, splitting a little of yourself on one side. I see your meat; your wholeness drips a mix of scarlet and yellow in high afternoon heat. You always talk to that bathing bug. I should harvest you soon. Your scent reminds peasants and kings of Demeter's orchard. Beyond all views of fluttering birds and mating bees, you awaken the fertile world. Amidst

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-43601817465924838052010-07-01T06:30:00.000-07:002012-01-30T22:30:58.364-08:00

Once I had a friend who loved to make gardens. He'd plot the soil, pull out the weeds and then leave for lunch at almost ten. One day to my surprise, a rose, so white, greeted upon my sight. He smiled at me, inviting to watch his flower wait for a bee. I asked my mother if I could go, but instead of her "yes" I got her left lifted brow. So by the window I sat waving my mother's "no". He made a

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-76065153895707913102010-06-24T12:15:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:00:47.597-08:00

That night, your father and I slept like two little pins carefully kept inside a white napkin. In rattling tones from our throats and cold mouths, heat trailed along our taut bodies. Sweats were swept got stuck on our lips, got strung together 'til the burning bed broke, clothes turning into neat curls. He heaved, I sighed. Folding movements yawned apart and the string that weaved our night

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-45620476631207572582010-06-17T12:35:00.000-07:002011-12-29T07:00:36.667-08:00

Suicide is one cinematic ending of things. It's sound and spectacle with all other requisites for human exhibit- striking staging and timing past knife's point where each metronome of heartbeats is given instrumental breaks slow fade, shy tears, and shadowy glances as the curtain of past recall falls. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2010 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-15387993063024917612010-06-15T06:36:00.001-07:002011-12-29T07:00:10.928-08:00

is but a weakness of beauty rooted in all things like a bonfire, emanating rainbow light in still night. Everything around awaits to be occupied. But they are doomed for when the soughing wind from ancient trees comes and swirls around such brightness, all souls faint and go with the wind’s subtle flight. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2010 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1488014209774191669.post-34449851311437446082010-06-12T05:44:00.000-07:002011-12-29T06:57:45.710-08:00

Let the pen become a branch of the fingers        'til it grows a flesh leaf. --Arian Rey Tejano © 2010 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved.

Arian Tejanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06622926164829991853noreply@blogger.com13