Musings on Gender Prejudice

She ached for children;
He desired a son.
Five years into their wedlock,
They still had none.

"What good is a woman
Who's barren?"  They said.
"Clearly, she's useless;
Might as well be dead."

Through the years, she was accused,
But of the man, none thought ill.
(Yet she had been fertile since her youth
And unknown to them, he was sterile.)

Each time they tried,
Disappointment loomed in sight.
Until her visitor came three days late
One fateful December night.

The whole town rejoiced.
Her honor was restored...
She gave him bloodstained sheets
And he gave her a divorce.

-Nocturnal Scribe

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© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014

Musing's on God's Goodness

I am an asphyxiated scream
Lodged in a stale trachea,
All but bursting at the seam,
Unable to contain this mania.

I am 21 years of unworthy,
Undeserving of grace and mercy;
But blessed, blessed, blessed
More than words can ever express.

I am proof of God's love and grace.
He cleared my windpipes, gave me air.
And I will praise Him all my days
Because the beauty of grace
Is that it makes life not fair.

-Nocturnal Scribe

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© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014

Musings on a Silhouetted Existence

She, the oddity; a new, old face.
She, the museum artifact:
        They look, but don't touch.
Quiet scrutiny; sham praise.
        It's all just an act;
        It's all just too much.

-Nocturnal Scribe

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None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014

Musings on Romantic Gestures

He gave me a single, short-stemmed rose today:

a plastic one—but a rose all the same.

The fabric petals were discolored red;

frayed at the corners, with several loose threads.

The plastic green stem was crooked and old;

the dusty, veined leaves resembled mold.

It was a pitiful sight—obviously cheap:

something you could easily buy at the street.

But being the poet that I am,

and being the poet that he is,

I was hoping for a poetic explanation for this.

Perchance something along the lines of:

“When this withers, so will my love.”

But instead, all he said (which cannot be ignored)

was, “Darling, forgive me. This is all I could afford.”

-Nocturnal Scribe

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© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014

Musings on How You Affect My Tastebuds

You are the
chili
   chocolate
        ice
           cream
I tasted at Gelatissimo
three days ago:
sweet
   rich
      creamy
at first bite
(was it love at first sight?)

but
  surprisingly
      lethal
all the rest of the way
(i don't think I'll ever be okay.)

You packed a punch with a
tangle
   of
      flavors
(each one I savored.)

And knocked the breath
right
   out
      of
         me
(right. out. of. me.)

leaving me wishing
that I hadn't tasted it in
the
   first
      place
(but by then I was a lost case.)

and also wishing
that I could taste it
for
   the
      first
         time
all over again
(and again, and again.)

-Nocturnal Scribe

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None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014

Musings on How You Affect My Breathing

You are the emergency inhaler
I keep with me at all times
to remind me that even though
my lungs suck at being lungs,
and even when the air fails me,
you are always, always there
to breathe life back into me.

-Nocturnal Scribe

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None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014

Musings on Moving On

Nine months ago
I was pregnant
with words
for you.
But
now
I realize
it was just
hot air all along
and our child is stillborn.

-Nocturnal Scribe

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None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014

Musings on a Communication Breakdown

We have long since
d
  i
   s
    c
     o
      n
       n
        e
          c
            t
             e
               d
                          -... ...- -
I'm willing to learn
Morse Code
if you are.

-Nocturnal Scribe

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None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014

Musings on Mixed Emotions

This is the longest I've gone
without feeling the sun
and I do and don't want
for this to go on.

-Nocturnal Scribe

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© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014

Musings on a Certain Prissy Quidnunc

Tell everyone but her
because she is Echo
and I wouldn't want
everyone to know.

-Nocturnal Scribe

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© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014

Musings on How It Used to Be

Every time I
look at you I
see a shadow of
what once was.
                          and
Every time you
glance at me you
remember what
had once been us.

-Nocturnal Scribe

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None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014

Musings on a Dream

“Leave.”

Your tone, resentful;

      acrid on your tongue.

Your face, torn

      in between anger

      and anguish.

“Leave.”

Your breath, ragged.

Your lips, chapped;

      hungry, forceful petals

      sending butterfly rebels.

“Leave.”

Your hand around my wrist

     holding me in place.

Your eyes imploring,

     entreating me to stay.

-Nocturnal Scribe

This blog is protected by the Philippine Copyright Law, Republic Act 8293.

None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2014