QUILLING SPREE

QUILLING SPREE
By Wilson Ninofranco Guntang

Caught in seasons of unchanging vision
To hunt the words from a misty mind
Flashes of anonymity I continually pursue
To divulge what was already known

I tried waiting patiently for the exact lexis I need
And put baits around so easier it will be for me
Minutes turned into hours unnoticed
It seems that my shooting quill will start to rusts

Time became irrelevant at the moment
But concerned I am to my shaking hands
I just can’t pull the trigger
To where I suppose to begin

Rubbles of thought is bafflingly arranging
And the mist began exposing
Then my heart jumps into excitement
Like an invitation to scribe what I’m about to witness

Snap! Snap! Snap! I heard repeatedly
My baits appeared to be working
Without hesitation I rush into stroke
Capturing each word I longed for

Stop! In a sudden my consciousness flicked
While floating words I just ignored
My quill squeaks unsatisfied
From the stunning appeal of what I wrote

The forest whispered to my surprise
That fleeting beauty cannot be trusted
Even the expression I stained on the pad
Can’t be compared to what he’s telling

Clearly I meditate on the silent noise
As a great Lion mightily staring
Serenity taught me the significance of this chase
As I wrote for things I cannot see

I bear in mind to propagate the message of life I learned
Startled watching myself vanishing
Then all of a sudden…Awake! Just a dream it was
Now the hunt is on, not for words anymore but for the Message of Life to get to you

Silver-tongued poet

07.08.08

AMNESIAC BARD

AMNESIAC BARD
By Wilson Niñofranco Guntang

Lyrics, rhymes and mind’s empty spaces
Like a rhythm blown away from song’s perpetual melody
Numb from neurotic impulses scribbling the quill
Or no thoughts of profound simplicity ever comes to him

Quill, paper, ink and uncharted stokes
Never thinking the visitation of a loss to compose
Muttered complexity of bursting frustration
Yet none was started out from the forsaken symphony

Déjà vu, identity and life’s puzzle pieces
A tour to the past to unveil the mysterious person’s ability
Then riddle me this, what is full of hole but can hold water?
The enigma of gathering the portions of the whole memory

Remember, rekindle and forgiveness to the cause
In figuring that there’s no mental lapse occurred
It’s all coming back that it was the bard who abandoned the quest
A diversified life that heist the eloquent advocacy of a magnum opus

But where to embark on? The question is
Now that the dismembered memory returned for a writing fervor
Ah! Inspiration! The rationale for a composition
The unsung figure of a melodramatic lyricist

Then the quill writes to forever
And there it is again, a smile on each stroked letter
A beginning from the deserted experience started the line
To learn by heart the incident happened to this author


The Silver-tongued Poet
01.07.2008

THE CARPENTER'S WOOD

THE CARPENTER’S WOOD
By Wilson Ninofranco Guntang

I once stood on this earth
Where my feet formerly embracing its fertility
Cut-off for the reason I don’t know why
As if I was being prepared for a great feast

Clusters of questions but no answer would dare to appear
Piled with my own kind, my dying body has now been reserved
Alas, my long wait is over and they had already chosen me
I was then turned-over to a man whose clothes were stained red

Going to a destination I do not know where
While journeying with my agonizing Master
A man from Cyrene was forced to help my Owner’s burden
Still startled by the eyes that has been staring

And now, our venture was over
I was for a while separated from my Master
I laid my torso on a place called the Skull
To be united once more with the Man of such endurance

Battering hammer on each piercing nails
He swallowed the extreme pain of the flesh-penetrating torment
Intimacy bonded us with nails and blood
Humiliated and mocked by the surrounding which I cannot understand

With a loud cry, my beloved Master breathed last
In a sudden, nature groans like a fallen satellite
Then heaven curtains it’s sympathy over the earth
And the earth rumbles in distress for the death of a loved One

It was over, or so I thought it was
In death comes life like a flower that blooms in spring time
Atonement has now come, and ripples of merriment has been restored
And for those who groaned, hope has appeared from the grave on the third day

I’m just an instrument of this prophetic fulfillment
To usher reason for those soul-seeking purpose
A piece of wood I am slowly drifted by time
To tell the greatest story of love and the redemption of our crime


Silver-tongued Poet
04.04

A POET WHO FORGETS TO WRITE

A POET WHO FORGETS TO WRITE
By: Wilson Niñofranco Guntang

There is a poet and his poems were very good
When love penetrates to his soul, writing was his mood.
As this happens he gets a paper and picks a pen,
Then he strokes for eternity for his poems have no end.

A valley of colors for each poem which to other might be worthless,
But for him it's all precious jewels - a treasure that is priceless.
He thought all colors were good and never anticipated
That a certain color would visit him that leads him to be frustrated.

On the day when he was starting to write,
There was no sign of inspiration he could find.
Then sadness covered him and blue on his face,
This was the color that came without a trace.

It came to pass and for years writing he has forgotten,
Like a buried treasure that the pirates had stolen.
Frustrated to write again but his poems he can't complete,
Yes, it's true and sometimes he forgets to eat.

Who is this man whose heart wasn't free?
And to be a poet again is all he wanted to be.
It might be confusing but I hope you see
That this poet was no other man but me. -- author

Silver-tongued Poet
07.03

UTMOST FEAR

UTMOST FEAR

By Wilson Ninofranco Guntang

The wake of zephyr that touches my skin

Signaled my hand to compose

A transparent truth to a dying reality

Needs to be unveiled in the eloquence of life

It is more than the existence of the Grim Ripper

And more than the authenticity of the death,

The unfathomed road of the after life

That was thrown into the Oblivion of the human mind

We trudge a world we claim we know

But our arrogance leads is to the ditch of a decaying highway

Still, the road map of life left unopened

And those who show us the path were mistreated

Afraid to lose what? Life? Possessions? Loved ones?

Or frightened by the reality that it will all come to pass?

Fear lurks in the shadow of uncertainty

And if it ever cripples us, escape goat becomes an answer to this phenomenon

Callosity denies the presence of fear

That enables us to embrace the lust of living,

A dead man walking at the canyon’s edge

Just waiting for his epidermis to be rotten

Soon the Sandman himself will wake you up from your sleep

It will be too late for you to recognize the smell of burning flesh in sulfur

Wailing of thousands upon thousands is audible, where evil never sleeps

Like a nightmare you wish never existed

Ironically, still no one dares to ask how to avoid the trench

Then they will build up their confidence to what they called temporal heaven,

Eternity is a mystery that has already been unfolded

A prosperous promise rejected by the system of the deaf

My pen yields to this so that you may hear

That a complex life can still be simplified,

And there is a kind of fear probably uncommon to man

But such fear is a way of living known as reverence

Faith is the key, believing is the door, and to step in is to obey

Life has only one chance to offer, so, better not lose it

The silver-tongued poet has nothing more to scribble here

But to put our faith to that Someone who conquered our utmost fear

Silver-tongued Poet 06.30.05

ENTOMBED

ENTOMBED
By Wilson Niñofranco Guntang

Let your grave rise like a mirror in front of you,
And reminds you the inescapable stage of life
How long have you been trying to ignore it exist?
For certain is our lives that comes like a mist

Go! Indulge yourself to what the world sees right,
Like walking on the path of the sinking sand
You wanted to feel young and look young even
But you cannot deny the fact that you are going to die

You said you are still young but you are not getting any younger
Even young people will die and that’s for certain
How fool are the young who plays with fire and blade,
And amaze themselves to the deception it gave

So what life has to offer if it is going to end anyway?
And what’s the point of the quest to survive everyday?
The admission of a Creator would give you meaning,
Like an invention would only know from his inventor the purpose of his being

Life is not get wealthy, get healthy, have a family, fulfill your ambitions and die
There is more to it than spending the luxury of your time
It’s been too long since you have been the captain of your soul
Who navigates the uncharted seas never knowing where you’re going at all

Eternity was carved in every human soul
And the path you choose determines where you will go
Death will be our door to eternity
And two eternal doors are waiting for the afterlife

One door is left opened that leads to a soul-incinerating room
Many has entered this and yet no one ever found their way out
While the door that is mysteriously shut is being kept locked
So only by then the true citizen of the room could be the only one to enter

For it is the death of your spirit leads you to that open door
When you ignore the chance for the rebirth of your spirit and soul
We only breathe one life to exist
Until such mortality expires to its decay

Yet one death is a key to the door that is lock
And only the wise will follow the One who is called
The Well-Spring of Life Dead to your fleshly body yet alive in spirit the instruction is
The Elixir of life who poured out his blood for many

Only then by a death of a tiny seed that another life could be given birth
And a great life waits after a death on such burial
Death is not much to be feared as we were thought before
For such death by then fulfills the promised hope

To know what is to come, is to wait beyond our grave
But the assurance was given from the resurrection that saves
Search the Key for He is waiting to be found
And don’t defer in procrastination a life which is eternally bound


Silver-tongued Poet / 08.18.05