Poesias,

[Eduardo]

French Indochina while in America was growing from another generation of Asian emigres. The war was to claim so many lives and the seeds in your eyes, have seen.

To many, the soulless origins of their discontent were in the light of their perspectives. It was time for healing and tangent steps were taken by a gentle Spirit-soul.

She sat at a table next to me, in focused study, next to me she was.

As the music progressed, the evening was young and, she iced focused.

Intermitent pauses were taken to talk and break the focused routine, with her friends.

Adjacent to the evening was the music, and the rhyming to her almond eyes.

She continued her readings and the heat of the evening was warming the table, and all surroundings.

The pen felt, from a distance, her heart beats. Ink had to be given to a blank sheet of paper. Her reflections from a mirror had given another view of her soul.

To a picture denied, an impression of the soul, while present, had to be drawn. The exchange in a silent language was continually in mind. As the pen drew the night to a close, work continued, mine and hers.

Shirt came off, laying bare her back, and seducing the night was her physique.

Revealing an Asian goddess in fair complexion and smiles,

this pen was left to wonder

if the night had just started or,

the dawn on Mandarin heaven had just began...

Leaving nothing to chance,

shared the same heavens we sat under,

while in a coffeehouse,

in America,

and leaving nothing to chance,

She knew...

Copyright, Monday, May 30th, 2005

Eduardo A. Cong,

Poet and playwright, San Diego, CA; USA.

Thanks for the gift, of your gentle Spirit-soul, Ms. Q. T. French Indochina/Vietnam.

[Eduardo]

Seaman for thirty years? Transform that feeling, my friend.

In each dancing waves, see your little girls eyes, their smiles, in the sunrise and sunset, of each horizon, their hearts shine upon your thoughts, and a smile upon the memories shared besides them...They're precious and this journey, you will not be doing it over, again!.

MAKE THE BEST OF IT;

leave footprints on the sands of time!!!

Eduardo

[Eduardo]

Circle of Love. . .

Create a circle of love for the children who speak not,

for they know only to play and love.

Create a greater circe of love, for those children who have found themselves in the midst of grown up problems. Unable to articulate the lost, yet feel it and know nor what it is all about.

There is this feeling Mama that you're lost for words to explain this conspicuous absence.

Suddenly, an infant is drawn into another world, and your face becomes that of a stranger?

It is the "sikat nang araw" upon these waves, dancing on the sparkling gold hues of those waves. Behind me was Remedios Circle, almost vacant, leading me back home.

A jeepney ride away from Mabini and Remedios Street,

as th rising of the sun, echoes your voice. . .

No longer away,

and

Joy returns in the presence of you,

ready to play, once again,

your love emerges from distant shores.

In a greater circle of love,

it returns,

reminding me,

that you were always there. . .

Copyright, May 30th, 2005.

Eduardo A. Cong

Poet and playwright,

Plaza Boulevard, National City, CA

[Eduardo]

In One Picture Frame, All.

For Humberto.

From the shadow of childhood comes your memory.

Distant to some

and to others,

it came numbed.

By the choices made, the news came of your demise. Was it timely?

While the withered leaves of memories danced on the mind's eyes,

The jokes you played, while yet a teenager and the consequences of grown actions, too late to advise, or even warn of its consequences.

Distance was never an excuse, given the electronic world we live in. Just different lives lead, and the choices we made. Would you had heard me, even if I screamed across the room of the risks taken.

Remembered two years ago, gums shown in laughter, that replaced the shining ivory of teeth's you had. The advises given on the streets we had grown on, and played together.

"Be careful" was the word.

Destiny reflected in the temple you lived in, the excesses you had inflicted on the fragile house of the soul. Though young, you lived one hundred lives. Still yet, the continuing laughter filled that tropical air in my lungs we shared, as if to numb the pain you lived in.

We talked and recollected the days of our childhood. Each relative in a different world from the one you lived in, the open theater of life. The others, in sheltered caves, secure and protected from the social predators you dealt with on a daily basis. Not one, ever questioning your survival skills, and you continued to live on, day after day. . .

Finally, the risks you took and the choices you made, had taken its tolls. The apocalypse horse rider had arrived. Silently, in the dusk of your sleep, you mounted that horse. The tremors from the galloping horse never woke you, or even scared you.

The pain seen and felt,

all in one picture frame,

as you continuously struggled in selling your cigarettes on the street corners, of many social outcast lives. From a mere pack of cigarette, you were able to extract a livelihood. Where was this pen to find another long lost relative, within reach of your consciousness.

The system had taken its tolls by the choices you made.

Now, all in one picture frame,

seen and remembered were the laughter we shared.

Leaves,

withered leaves danced in the memory of your absence,

and blown in a tropical moisture, am asked to offer a thought,

while all in one picture frame it returns. . .

Finally, free again,

to remember the journey, your goal.

For "in nature," and we are all children of nature,

"nothing is lost; nothing is gained, merely transformed."

Eduardo A. Cong

Poet and playwright. San Diego, CA; USA.

The conclusion was quoted from Antoine Laviosier's notes, a renaissance French Chemist

Postscriptum: A. Camus was killed in a car accident while driving to Paris. He was with his friend and publisher, Michel Gallimard, in January 1960. His quote, concluding my entries, was taken from l'invincible Ete,<<< The Invincible Summer. After Rudyard Kilpling, Albert Camus was the youngest recipient of the Nobel prize for literature.

[Eduardo]

Celestine Fire.

For Lenora, NY.

Snow never came, though very cold,
and the underground roar of that silver dragon
belched its heat
from each stop.

Entering and exiting the subways
were the trails layered with steps
from commuters
racing against time.
The snow had not the time
or place to sit on,
as the devouring dragon consumed each rider,
as well as the snowflakes before departing the clouds.

It was a transforming fire
upon each dancing crystals of hydrogen and oxygen
long before its descent on the concrete jungle.
Amazingly enough,
the weather did not halter the predators or, prey?s survival skills.
The festive mood was prevalent all through Manhattan?s face and joining the crowd was a stranger in paradise.

Dressed in all black attire was the elusive stranger,
As if giving time a new meaning in a city that never sleeps
by walking slowly.

Steps were barely noticeable from its full length black coat worn. Its continuing motion contrasted with the commuters rushing by through its shadowed silhouette.

Simultaneously,
at North General Hospital,
speechless,
his guest?s voice was completely void from the years of smoking.
She wittingly waited, as she was rushed from intensive care, into a general room. Any prayer aloud was silenced by the effects of the consumption of far too many charcoals born from nicotine.
Charcoals that stood defiantly along the respiratory track,
strangling thousands of living cells,
of life . . .

Though the inevitable were yet to come to many relatives and friends;
the stranger kept focused and walking towards his destiny.
Greenwich Village was littered with people,
and quite a distance from the destined meeting place.

A couple of a thousand of miles away,
before an ultimatum had been given, and finalized. The firmament stood still in principle of physics.
She asked: ?When is your vacation??
From that moment on, a series of events became unleashed.
The stranger in paradise recessed the journey, subject to the principles of cause and effect . . .

Light began to shine, on the periphery of each cell,
an implosion,
at the molecular,
cellular level . . .

Quantum Physics began its manifestation,
in the very source of all life,
energy within another traveler?s soul took on its role.
Some call it faith,
others know it as light,
Initiates have always known it as the Celestine fire . . .



Copyright December 16, 2005
Eduardo A. Cong.
Poet and playwright.
New York, N.Y. USA.

[Eduardo]

Celestine Fire II

Another winter in New York City,

as seasons from the sun, defined a region.

La Guardia seemed so different this time,

as she anticipated a traveler?s arrival.

This journey was never new.

It had been done in nano seconds of her echo, ?when is your vacation??

The soul traveled then as now, in dimensions unknown to the common mind.

Wherein distance,

time

and regions are all the same.

The Initiate arrival recessed destiny of the Apocalypse rider . . .

Reciprocal respect was in place for this cause and effect relationship.

The circle was complete.

Copyright, December 30, 2005

Eduardo A. Cong.

Poet and playwright.

New York. N. Y. USA.