He is the sunrise over the black hills
He is the feeling from which my soul spills

He is the beating of my heart
He is the pain of being apart

He is my song
He is where I belong

He is amica mea

To my innocence, naivety, and viridity
Childish ways, high school days.
A mere three weeks, I say good bye
With a cry, a tear, a sigh.

To blue slacks, and a polo
Black shoes and white socks
To my pink skirt, and white blouse,
Pleated, soon to be folded.

To the OHS rooms of our first and second years:
The broken windows, and tantrum-kicked chairs,
The broom box behind the spider webbed chalkboard,
Messages on the wall hand printed in red and green.

The broken doorknobs, and broken floorboards,
Carved armchairs, and eaten chalks,
Missing brooms and dustpans and garbage cans and rugs
That show up in who knows where
Stolen by jani- we know who.

The witnesses and victims
To our random laughter (from some Chinese-looking girl’s corny joke).
Our random tears.
Our not so random learnings.
The pillars of our memories.

To the PF rooms of our third year:
The storage room turned gigantic garbage can and dressing room (maybe because ours keep being stolen)
The exploding socket causing sparks to fly (and us to fly away from it), and
The amazing “alambre” lock; who knows who installed (as if that could keep us away).
The earthquake resistant rooms would be missed.

To the New High School Building of our last years:
The kicked door (not our fault!), and cancerous blinds (like hairs falling after chemo),
The jigsaw floor (not sure if better than broken floorboards),
The “Halayan 2012”, and
The mind-boggling “no key needed” lockers.


The UTMT with its fair share of mango sentences,
The old guidance office now turned “tambayan”, and
The Computer lab with its fragile yellow chairs and bruised bums.

To Ibong Adarna plays, and the half cooked uncooked Teriyaki,
Generation X (and Generation NOW! and Generation Facebook),
Jai ** dances, and cheerleading,
Kalagon Kamo Namon,
And Mickey Mickey Mouse Kabit-bintana memories.

To the NikJep Tandem,
Kanlaon Boys Behind the Flowers,
D.H.A.I.N.G. (not sure if they remember this),
Fred vs Gino version
And DewBheRhieTart.

Keep the volcanoes of memories burning.

To blue paint, and blue shirts,
And Geometry teaching us
“There are a lot of solutions to a problem.
We just have to find one that suits us.”

To saying “***”,
And cooking imbutido.
And wearing (for some designing) reduced,
Reused, recycled clothing.
And dissecting.
And parrot-Filipino teachers (she gave me P30 for load though).

Keep the river of rumination flowing.

To being scared of one whole sheet of paper,
Two becoming one,
Party rocking to make up for the tears,
And knowing we should have won.

To the hand sanitizer girls,
The Cream-o-holics,
The Canterbury Crusaders,
The Valenciana eaters.

May our tree of friendship continue growing.

To our winnings!

The glow in the dark madness,
The Lakan at Mutya clutch-heart-moments,
The Sports Fest *******,
Basketball girls’ coronation!

To the fieldtrips and failed trips,
To air conditioned crammings,
And space and time bending
To comparing notes (and sometimes other things)
Copying notes, sometimes photocopying
(Not Xeroxing)
Sharing words, phrases, sentences
And giving pictures (via Bluetooth).

May you keep walking on the right direction,

To the expectations achived,
Broken, overtaken.
All the skepticism,
Constructive criticism.

All of it.

The in-your-face-we-did-it-baby-
We-are-awesome-you-can’t-bring-us-do­wn-
Coz-we-rise-back-up-attitude.

To Arielle
And Mhae

To Amica
Marie
Narzcisa
Cyan
Fred
Theo
Alvinson
Anthony
Faith
Karmil­la
Matt
Jeffson
Lourince

To Carolyn

To Makayla

To the thirty-five castaways in this room
The thirty-five castaways who struggled
The thirty-five castaways who persevered
The thirty-five castaways who fought, cried, made up, laughed, shared, gave, back-stabbed, and front-stabbed, celebrated, suffered, passed
Thirty-five
Thirty-five castaways who loved,
Thirty-five

Thirty-five castaways who made it, who did it.

To Nikki
Hazel
Alyssa
Gef
Veni
Alex
Jaykee
Bernard
Myra
Vince
Chanta­lle
Josen
Jerian
Shaira
J
Uriah
Ihra
Renz
Bless
Steffany
Angel
Fl­orey
Bernadine
Antonette
Rency
Owen
Majah
Gino
Marcelo
Ney
Keith
­Joselle
And Jessa,

We did it guys.
We really did.

Coccinella, mia amica


Κάποτε έσμιξαν για λίγες μέρες,
δυο πασχαλίτσες.

Τυχαία,
πάνω σε ένα ανθισμένο λουλούδι,
που μόλις είχε στεγνώσει τα πέταλά του,
απ’ την ανοιξιάτικη βροχούλα.

Αφέθηκαν εκεί.
Και έτσι πέρασαν στην αιωνιότητα.

Μαρία Πανούτσου
Ρεμβάζοντας

i.

mahal ko
No matter how long it shalt taketh to meet;
I wilt wait an eternal span.

ii.

amica mea
I shalt be in long-suffering;
To kiss thine feet, on mine knee's and hand's.

iii.

Mo grá
Through ourn waiting;
I shalt taketh thine incise, and warm thee with fire taking thy ice.

iv.

mon amour
Mine spirit is thy window;
Mine soul is open to thee alway's as thy door.

v.

agápi̱ mou
I loveth thee, forever mine queen;
Just sayest that thou loveth me to, forever we shalt be.



©Brandon Nagley
©Earl jane Nagley dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Les longs rideaux de blanche mousseline

Que la lueur pâle de la veilleuse

Fait fluer comme une vague opaline

Dans l'ombre mollement mystérieuse,


Les grands rideaux du grand lit d'Adeline

Ont entendu, Claire, ta voix rieuse,

Ta douce voix argentine et câline

Qu'une autre voix enlace, furieuse.


« Aimons, aimons ! » disaient vos voix mêlées,

Claire, Adeline, adorables victimes

Du noble vœu de vos âmes sublimes.


Aimez, aimez ! ô chères Esseulées,

Puisqu'en ces jours de malheur, vous encore,

Le glorieux Stigmate vous décore.

amemini,
semper amandus,
te amica mea,
ego sum amator,
est ductor noctor,
et quod suus 'peregrinos,
in hoc itinere vivendi,

siete amati,
sarai sempre,
amato tu sei il mio amore,
io sono il tuo amante,
l'amore è la nostra guida,
e noi che di pellegrini,
in questo nostro cammino
di vita.

*you are loved,
you will always be loved
you are my love
i  am your lover
love is our guide
and we it's pilgrims
on this our journey of life

Che speri, che ti riprometti, amica,
se torni per così cupo viaggio
fin qua dove nel sole le burrasche
hanno una voce altissima abbrunata,
di gelsomino odorano e di frane?

Mi trovo qui a questa età che sai,
né giovane né vecchio, attendo, guardo
questa vicissitudine sospesa;
non so più quel che volli o mi fu imposto,
entri nei miei pensieri e n'esci illesa.

Tutto l'altro che deve essere è ancora,
il fiume scorre, la campagna varia,
grandina, spiove, qualche cane latra
esce la luna, niente si riscuote,
niente dal lungo sonno avventuroso.

Je te chante
A toute heure
Religieusement
Les très grandes moultes belles et riches heures de Ma Dame

Je te les chante en latin à matines  
Ave Maria Plena Gratia
Je te les chante à laudes
Tota pulchra es amica
Je te chante en latin les petites heures, les heures de pucelle
Je te les chante à prime
Regina caeli letare
Je te les chante à tierce
Benedicta es tu filia
Je te les chante à sexte
Obsecro te domina sancta Maria, Mater dei, pietate plenissima
Je te les chante à none
O intemerata et in eternum benedicta

Je te chante en latin les grandes heures, les donzelles
Je te les chante à vêpres
Alleluia Hosanna Musa Benedicta tu in Musis
Je te les chante à complies
Salve Regina Mater misericordiae vita dulcedo et spes nostra salve

Et dans le silence de ma cellule
Noire et blanche
Je te renouvelle
Après l'office des complies
Sans antiphonaire et sans graduel
Mes voeux d'humilité, de pauvreté et chasteté
Ecoute la prière grégorienne
De ton moine cistercien, ton baryton orthodoxe,
Ton serviteur, ton esclave, ton Musc
Nu et sincère sans habit et sans scapulaire
Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae

i missed the Mythril age of high school
when Shadows graced our halls
and beautiful Boys were hailed
with every step that falls

these Boys with Angelic beauty
were Demonic in their strength
their Wit sharper than any sword
of human make or length

'twas a warrior King who led them
and others (almost) as fine
He was much revered by his people
and will be loved 'til the end of Time

a great Battle once he led
much remembered and retold
to defend the Hill of revelry
once the stronghold of the Bold

his Fighters were formed and eager
both male and Female in their Ranks
just the sight of them made most lose heart-
flee with their tails between their flanks

too soon his reign came to and end-
through the iron Gates he passed-
to his Brothers, Sisters, Lovers, Friends
He left his Legacy at the last

i missed the Mythril age of high school
of the Quiet and the Elvenfair
the Artists, Writers, Singers, Dancers-
reams of Talent esoteric and rare

i came on the edge of a transition
from the Old age to the new
i live in the age of tarnished Silver
a less forgiving hue

i was honored to be with the last of Them
before their time was done
first a willowy Queen and Princesses-
of their silver Harem i was one

our Revels we held within our Hall
for the Hill was never ours
it was held by the pitiful dregs
of the revered King's old warriors

the second Queen i was blessed to serve
was an Artist without peer
She ruled with fairness and a ready laugh
sang with a Voice so crystal clear

the Mythril few, and fewer still,
were the Silver in our Hall
there were young ones of crude Iron
to whom the majority did fall

the willow Queen's leaving had scattered
the silver Harem, far and wide
some to new schools, Mates, heart-Children-
but i stayed, for the final Mythril tide

i missed the Mythril age of high school
but found friends in those remaining
the mythril Princess i love most of all
who banished my tears without complaining

Warrior, Writer, and Dancer is She,
Healer and Songstress as well
above all, Pure and loving Friend-
and gifted with a Siren's spell

others have their own place in this tale
new heart-Brothers through Her i met
long-grad Guardians to defend Her
from whatever harm beset

all those who were my Garnet-
heart-Family, strong and true
defended, loved and gave me
a taste of Freedom's brew

now i embrace Her, the final mythril Queen
Silent Siren, Rose of Night
mea Cara, mea Regina
lady of the crimson Twilight

heart-Sister of the warrior King
alas, this realm is shorn
the Hill claimed by junkies and tramps
that blow the rutting horn

for summer's End, Autumn's breadth,
and winter's Birth she'll rule
then the iron Gates will beckon
and she , too, will leave the school

at Her side sits a beautiful Boy
last Prince of the mythril Line
my beloved Queen's heart-Brother
who'll rule for three Years' time

from Fade of winter, to fevered Spring,
'til Spark of summer-my Eighteenth year-
for Him i'll sit as Regent-queen
Failure-only one of many fears

i am but Silver and heart-Child;
umbra and amica to our Queen
He is Scion and Prodigy
on whom our simple hopes must lean

i missed the Mythril age of high school
from which this young Prince springs
perhaps He'll do what We cannot
so Mythril bells again will ring

In search of Australian women who love love as love, they love the Supreme Court in the sense that Islam belongs to Tyustusen, which contains, for example, women from the United States of America and tourism. sing in the music As for the United Nations, the United States changes rocks, pebbles, trees and gloves or kangaroo skin at 1pm and in Australia. The best way to understand the city. Then he asked me to drink something in this city. The Jews fight against the American public sector. In the USA. Kenya, dogs and cats, like day and night. First, the intensity of the energy equipment. Eric, all in cotton, which is red or pink, red or green. There are four branches, like a company bakery. Iran is too complicated, but the situation is different, but not too big in Latin America. And tells stories of bullying. The woman's hat is a black, yellow fish, a dog, which protects the love work that comes from the bride and groom, all idea of ​​notions is to conquer the shadow of simple men, he swears saying, to the light of the world that the whole world after the world in the dream of lifestyle and strength that came close to John what I mean. The talents to give me the flock and the flock of violence 1, 1 Giuseppe realizing that they were looking at the LAKE again, the big famous animals will change their effort, linen, silk, cotton according to the conditions established for the future rejuvenation of Merica, Johnny Black Film Night Canada Asia, three great British and European stars. Big Italian stars face to face with the hot blood of John South Africa, the young foot George Thomas naked, yellow dog, the true melody of each American history 1, Australia Greek war of reduction Amica Monetali, Christian Sun sky blue sky live sky Germany francs Russians the poorest prostitutes, the French way of English is the queen Problem meat of York Home Russian poet Julian child born kneeling to kiss the hands of the beautiful goddess born Gogol, the old man thinking of Kenya's Children's Day and in the of Kenya, the parents, the dream, the world call, the song, the park, the glass bead Juji Fruits of Christ was the true position of the robot on the east side: Robus Ta Dance Vera Poetry Ig, or voice of the people; USRD is the word baby with difficult skills, a happy heart and a difficult language expressed by many people in China. In front of the entrance of the stone that Star King writes, Bob German is Waiting for the fight of the vitamins of a Chinese poet unknown to the church of The worms of Einstein? Fairy tale blind computer assistance; Museum of attention; Mariana thought ***** smoke chooses mountains, good memory region memories memories farmland easy family's Crazy dreams European exchange of bread craft secret Spain walk William Rose stories fall feeling warm ****** England leaves vehicle, mothers in the woods dark of our times read the race sitting to sleep with the glass that sprouts or kisses your lips of Paul Prophet Company, hear the word of Satan, society and the collapse of the natural movements of the gods of six stockings and pregnant girls of Barbie or the football statue In the same way, he wrote his ears: B. Homosexual angel hours; drink the waters of the first night of the transformation of the first night. The planetary weapon kills wild drunk women!