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Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Andrew's College Poetry

(Introductory Note: In rummaging through my files and other stuff this morning, I happened to see the following. They're my son's. He wrote them in 2008 when he was in college at UVA. I remember encouraging him to submit them for publication in a poetry anthology and the then Port Folio Weekly in Hampton Roads. He agreed. He e-mailed them to me and I did the submission electronically. Two* of them appeared in Skipping Stones (2009) Vol. VI. With his permission, I'd like to share them all with you. Enjoy!)

Scylla's Lament*

We see you from our rock alcove
You who should be mine
Stirring the blood
Your perfection shining
In the water
We cannot bear
Ourselves landlocked.

We see you
Baring fresh flesh flowers
Voluptuous fragrance
Lasting but an hour.
I dwell upon your
Taste. In beauty
No one rivals you.

Rested and relaxed, I never am.
Deception---fruit of my labors
A dirty task, one that must be done.
To prolong the magic.

When we are all one
We gaze upon your diadems---
Plunder from ill-gotten gains
Of the matter.

Hear you me, it won't matter
drowning the sorrow
Until waterlogged.
A price must be paid!
A rock, a hard place
A pound of flesh
To feed the fires---
A sacrifice.

Never forget us in the alcove
Gaze upon us then
Our collective visage-
Tissues and membranes-
Instinctual id.
We the monster within.
(c) by Andrew Fernando Espanto Quilpa


in dreams
of eternal springtime,
crystal liquid light washes
off her breast, rocking steady
as she goes


with a handout meal---
Not much else, but
glad to have it.

Chill enters through
cracks in the roof.
She sits,
looking for a spark

In the windows---people passing never stopping never looking
back. alone inside, she
can't but look
back. Outside

Onion domes shine in the light fantastic.
Scarlet towers rise---everlasting memories to torch-bearers of ages past. Firebrands
guarantee victory against the bourgeoisie.
A single spark---fuels

A barrage 
of oratory from the soapboxing Bearded Man and promises
AK-47's For Everyone!
She heeds him, enthralled by eloquence.

try to quell the insurrection. Blood
shed in the name of citizenry leads alabaster purity to dark zealotry,
a kinder, gentler smoke-
grenade-gun hand.

Across the sea, men from distant shores arrive
to make war, maintain the status
quo against the Crimson Crusade---
"Win hearts and minds," they say,
Not unlike ghouls
Hungering human fuels.
at the bottom
of the sea-red tide sweeps
their chariots.


She sips tea, satisfied
with the work of her sons---
'til death

Did they depart
Songs and speeches in their honor
soothe the living in their sorrow---
tomorrow, when their names will be forgotten (save but for a brief Memorial) by
the new blood-born
(c) by Andrew Fernando Espanto Quilpa

One Cup*

All I need's a cigarette and I'll be Bohemian
Gotta get the gritty look, all the chicks dig it.
Seventeen years blare from minispeakers
I'm not half-tired and never will be.

Got me a trench coat all dark and smoky
A nice collared shirt
Tie and slacks to boot.
My hat's all crumpled, it's yesterday's paper
Never did catch the evening news.

One for every AM just to see it flowing
I swear I won't drink but
I've never kept promises.
Gettysburg's a battlefield
But it's also sweet music
We should be there
In that infinite war.

I picked wrong numbers, there's no denying
Can't stop this shaking I
Tried my best. It's
In me now
Dull crescendos.

Need no aspirin but this room is spinning.
I might've had just one too many.
swore I wouldn't drink but
I've never kept my promises.
Just a single cup
Never hurt anyone.
(c) by Andrew Fernando Espanto Quilpa


Crap. late as usual. We should have paid more attention. No "next time," not this time.
We discuss monetary problems like it's the end of the world. Apocalypse now? Maybe
late. Remember getting together at that Chinese place downtown? A scooby gang of
geeks and jocks and hipster doofuses. It was the breakfast club at supper, a situational
comedy of recurring characters, some guest appearances, and a self-provided 8-track
laugh track. Live audiences are creepy. Rifles at the ready, some fought over the Ukraine
and laughed at cussing Colorado kids, the rest of us crooned drunken lullabies of dildos
and bohemia. Shoulda danced on the tables! Agents from a modern Bogart film, we
found our maltese falcons, but had to let go. We wouldn't have had the gauntlets to use
'em anyway. Night waning and eyes watering, we raise our glasses and put on the ritz.
Here's lookin' at you, kids!
(c) by Andrew Frenando Espanto Quilpa

Confessions of Technophilia in the Villain-elle Style
(How We Learned to Stop Worrying and Just Give Up Our Humanity!)

We can offer you no apology,
For years of stress and anger and doubt
Just thank the magic of technology!

Out of the box, as you can plainly see
Are millions of wires, tons to sort out.

We can offer you no apology!

Tech support---though it may be free
-Will manage to bill you through another route
Just thank the magic of technology!

Translational troubles lead to misogyny,
You understand little from the technician's mouth
Though she's giving you now an apology! (In Hindi)

Your hatred increases toward Silicon Valley
After automated talks from corporate sponsors about
Their exploits in the Land of Technology!

Won't be long now 'til you relinquish humanity
It's really quite simple, there's no need to shout!
there's no need to offer us an apology,
Submit to the L337-ness of technology!
(c) by Andrew Fernando Espanto Quilpa

P.S. Thanks a lot for sharing us your talents and your artistry, Andrew. I love reading them, you know. I'm proud of you, son! Keep up the good work. And, to all of you, my friends, thank you for reading. Until next time around. Have a nice day, everyone!-chris a. quilpa, 17Jan2012

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