Author: AinaBalagtas

I am an essayist, a news correspondent, a poet, a big fan of language and words; an ardent lover of arts and imagination-- I am a writer.
Haiku · Love · Writing True

Happy Valentine’s Day

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. . . can skip the dinner,

. . . can skip the Pandora too;

But not the flowers.

. . . can skip the buffet,

. . . can skip anything from Kay,

. . . not the chocolates.

. . . can skip the flowers

and the chocolates . . . but don’t

Forget the kisses.

Love is in the air—

May it stays there—and in our

Hearts through lifetime.

YouTube/Frank Sinatra/L.O.V.E.

Writing True

Season Come; Season Go II

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Seasons come; seasons go:

You and I are slaves of time–

Don’t you know?

You should so.

 

Seasons come; Season go–

And so are worries and woes–

Why we hoard them so?

There’s an art and wisdom in letting go.

 

Seasons come; Seasons go–

Nature speaks in silence:

Hi, hello, bye, hang on, shalom–

good to know.

Creative · Writing True

Winter, Oh Winter

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Revised 02/13/24, 6:04 (HST)

Snowman is not a hero;

He is just on call from December’til December.

But the snows keep filing up in several feet—never

Say never.

The brave dares a number of times in the shower,

Would it make a difference? I wonder.

While the weak catches flu, needing a steamer,

“Rip off,” says the old lady to the heater.

Jackets and sweaters are life savers,

Add bonnets and gloves to make it warmer.

The thin and thinner

Are your greatest nayers.

Winter, Oh Winter

Not to be mean, but you shouldn’t stay much longer.

Should be at most,

begone when fireworks are over.

Poems · Writing True

Kindness

AinaBalagtas2 Comments

It does not need a pantry;

just each day,

a little room for everybody

is okay.

 

It’s folly

to measure it by any currency.

Bitcoins are not accepted—

We all share the legacy.

 

Our grounded feet,

our flexible arms,

our open minds,

the earnest attitude

of our grateful hearts. . .

. . . willing to spread

a noble act

in every way we can. . .

 
 

For love is winged;

and kindness is the wind

that carries it through

from heart to heart,

to heart to heart. . .

 

And a soft melody plays in Heaven

each time a heart

makes it through

another heart,

and yet another heart.

 

Oh, how great Thou art!

Writing True

“XIV

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“There is a flower that bees prefer,

And butterflies desire;

To gain the purple democrat

The humming-birds aspire.

And whatsoever insect pass,

A honey bears away

Proportioned to his several dearth

And her capacity.

Her face is rounder than the moon,

And ruddier than the gown

Of orchis in the pasture,

Or rhododendron worn.

She doth not wait for June;

Before the world is green

Her sturdy little countenance

Against the wind is seen,

Contending with the grass,

Near kinsman to herself,

For privilege of sod and sun,

Sweet litigants for life.

And when the hills are full,

And newer fashions blow,

Doth not retract a single spice

For pang of jealousy.

Her public is the noon,

Her providence the sun,

Her progress by the bee proclaime

In sovereign, swerveless tune.

The bravest of the host,

Surrendering the last,

Nor even of defeat aware

When cancelled by the frost.”

Excerpts From
The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson

Creative · Poems

This Spring Lover

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I’m not into summer;

I rather spring linger,

When all flowers bloom

With kisses from dews

and so as the shrooms.

I’m not into summer;

I rather spring linger,

When grasses are groomed

Those tiny greens

On which feet are o’er the moon.

I’m not into summer;

I rather spring linger,

When nature dispense its perfume

And time’s up

for snow and gloom.

I’m not into summer;

I rather spring linger,

For the thought of an old love brings gloom

Though in sad face,

I pray for healing to come soon.

If Kitty won’t love me enough;

If he won’t hold the fort enough—

Perhaps summer should be in the freezer,

To make spring linger,

And hope hold the scepter a little bit longer.

YouTube/Regine Velasquez/No Walls, No Ceilings, No Floors

Creative · Haiku

Her at the Desert

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@Lyrics, Sentiments and Me, February 9, 2024

Updated: February 9, 2024, 16:18 HST

She sailed the desert

Where the sunset’s yellow and

Her heartbeat echoes.

Writing True

Beauty

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There’s a problem in the old wisdom

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

What if the beholder is blind?

Or cockeyed?

Now, we’re thinking.

What I know of beauty,

Is that we all have it

Only in different angles

Or views—

Whatever, light always has a say.

It fades;

It wilts;

It withers;

It wrinkles—

Poor thing is timed.

And the only one

the defies all odds—

Is truth—

and nothing but the truth.

Beautiful truth!