Poesias,

[Eduardo]

Piel Canela

Para Lisa S.

"Tunay Kayumangin Kaligatan."

En tu Piel Canela,

canto al tr?pico de las Filipinas,

y aunque a una distancia de ella,

me llen?ste la pluma

de tinta.

Al f?n,

pude escribir esa tarde.

Y,

porque fuiste la tinta,

pude yo,

escribir. . .

Las palomas callejeras del centro de Manila

ten?an que cederte el paso,

y

yo,

crearte

un pasaje. . .

Tu sonrisa, casi celestial,

vest?a una noche llena de estrellas luminosamente placenteras.

A?nque en c?rculos ajenos a tu voluntad,

te prohibieron hablar,

y de peor,

estar con el poeta, ?ang makata.?

Como las estrellas,

que despiertan en el oscuro vientre de la noche;

quise que despertaras.

Entre los comentarios est?riles, el desierto de ?amistades,?

que llen? tus o?dos.

Decidir,

entre luz y oscuridad,

luz en existencia por necesidad de la otra,

siendo partes de la misma energ?a

Llevar?an a tus puertas,

la plena conciencia de luz.

Y el poeta, ?ang makata,?

simplemente

esperar,

en fantasia . . .

Copyright, August 15, 2005.

Eduardo A. Cong.

Poet and playwright,

Balboa Park, San Diego, CA; USA.

[Eduardo]

"After we have mastered the waves, tides and gravity, we shall harness for god, the energies of love. Then, for the second time in the history of mankind, we would have discovered fire."

Dr. Pierre Teilhard deChardin, Jesuit priest, Physical Anthropologist, Poet, Theologian, Philosopher, etc.

For the readers, thanks!

Am continually humbled in the interests given these thoughts, wings. As soon as time permits, will have an active website.

Victor, my UK/Philippines' best kaibigan has beeen more than generous in allowing these expressions, in all of its flaws.

Thanks, Merci, Gracias, Salamat, Xie_xie!

Eduardo A. Cong.

Poet and playwright.

[Eduardo]

My Lai, March 16, 1968.

This is written posthumously for
Hugh Thompson,
Lawrence Colburn
And Glenn Andreotta.


Thundering from below
and drowning the blades of the silver bird spiraling wing above was the sound of bullets.

From above,
the view of elders, women and children,
all civilians, fleeing in desperation.
As the carnage of bullets kept tumbling down human lives, into the field below.
Aflame were the straw huts spewing black smoke to the skies,
and to a camouflaged silver bird,
it was sign for help.

So much smoke filling the lungs,
just like the twin towers which were symbolic targets with our loved ones
completely unawares,
at home,
of the external bridges
our bureaucrats had burned
to ashes.

Darkness wore so many faces, then and now . . .

Then,
therein short distances from the rice patties were those heat-seeking missiles pointing at obvious noncombatants,
similar to the infernal fire that had devoured those towers in cincture
with volcanic heat,
at obvious innocent lives.

Darkness wore so many faces, then and now . . .

We knew better.
We had been trained in higher standards.
Military Conduct, Geneva Convention, and treatment of prisoners had protocols in documents.


In light of the above,
one courageous soldier lead.
In so doing, restored dignity to our troops during Indochina .

In view of this scene, the silver bird momentarily kept silent, as if to give sounds to the voices of mothers and children screaming from their ground zero.

Spiraling wings slowed down, the silver bird descent in the midst of the fire. It was not bullet proof, but conscience proof of the lives at risk on the other side of her. Instinctually, the effort was to protect, shelter against humanity callousness, and the ensuing carnage.

The silver bird gunner pointing his higher power with enough arsenals to light the dawn, and halt the continuing slaughter.

One humble giant, single-handedly went to light the way.

Man, the creator of the most astonishing mechanical accomplishment of the century was unable to harness, that kindled flame burning in all life,
its love . . .

Complete obscurity, one and the same, My Lai and New York City, touching thousands of lives, for generations to come of so many friends . . .

New York City's ground zero memoirs may have invoked the lines, but it was My Lai's hero passing, a torch of those times, a hero's courage that shone,
and shaped these thoughts . . .

During My Lai, it was not, a symbolic target destruction.

It was as real as the keys of this notebook, with each keystroke, its touching motion creating the symbols of communications, the field was catching the lives tumbled by the arsenal. Just as the concrete pavement was catching those who took flight, from below the 101st floor of the Twin Towers . . .

In flight,
so many souls were released during My Lai and the Twin Towers . . .



Copyright, January 9, 2006
Eduardo A. Cong
Poet and playwright,
San Diego, CA. USA

As a student of history, cognizant of French and USA incursion in Vietnam, and the recent passing of Hugh Thompson, this was written . . .

[smb]

^ Thank you for sharing that very moving piece of prose with us.

"Awesome" is a highly over-used word these days but I can't find a better one to describe your work...

[Eduardo]

Costa del Sol.

Marbella,

Rinconcillo y

Estepona,

sobre tus orillas y playas camin?.

Cu?n hermosa

eran tus distantes arenas.

Sentado sobre una roca

al pies del Mediterr?neo,

bajo una noche llena de estrellas,

la memoria de tu sonrisa en una flor llev?.

En esa ausencia,

tu palpitantemente presencia,

llen? esta noche de tu silencio

tan permanente como estas arenas de Marbella.

Dando hogar al vac?o en estas playas del

Mediterr?neo,

tus labios

y tu voz.

Cada vez,

que a su alrededor paseaba,

en t? pensaba.

Aunque me llenas de memorias

en cada grano de arena,

En t?,

poesia ve?a.

Si por casualidad hall? una flor

entre lo oscuro de tu cabellera,

y tus orejas,

es porque de tus labios,

tu sonrisas,

llenaron mi noche de la fragrancia tuya

como una flor.

Copyright, Monday, October 27, 2003

Eduardo A. Cong, Poet and playwright,

Algeciras, Spain.

[Eduardo]

Coreograf?a en el Cielo.

For Lisa S.

Tunay Kayumangin Kaligatan,

Her feet were as light as the clouds in heavens,

and if eagles were in soaring flight,

she seemed to have danced upon more than a surface of a tree,

perhaps, its leaves.

The music, with its percussions beats,

rhythmically shared steps of heartfelt beats.

Senza catene, in her dance,

as the waves, combing through the sands of Palawan beaches.

Puerto Princesa was just a short distance away

and still yet,

she remained silent to the keys of these thoughts.

Upon a notebook,

as an island,

she remained, unwittingly or is it witting, silent?

She was in her silence,

as the pen soared in flight,

focused and drawn solemnly to the sounds of heartfelt beats,

percussively above the waves

she appears, magically, to have been walking on.

Culture being the blue print for behavior,

lighting needed to lead for the percussions of the thunder.

Intermittent thoughts conceived was seen and heard while walking between worlds,

yet wings needed to rise above the oceans of the world,

and for the initiate?s soaring to be complete,

Wind and Oceans meet . . .

Copyright, January 21, 2006.

Eduardo A. Cong

Poet and playwright,

San Diego, CA. USA.