AngularPigeon measuring my gaze from the electric wire. Curiosity mirrored, my eyes holding the bird’s gaze. Warmth glows from my pineal gland. Yellow waft flashes mangoes in my mind. The sky has spread its light blue carpet. As I walk on, I wonder if the bird remains on the right side. I turn and it’s gone. About to jog I look at the lamppost, remembering - light curving, the post aglow like a sleepy eye. ForesightIt happens in my mind before it happens in real time. Smelling beefsteak, I know I’m cooking beefsteak. I see ants in my mind - where they touch foam trays with leftover food I leave on the floor later for ants - diligent workers stocking for days still to come, wise with anticipation. I hear moonlight before it streams in. Outside, I pry curled leaves, my mind a greenery hosting aphids Like it crossed my mind, males fly, nymphs staying nested. Turning my gaze to the sky, I name the three stars in Orion’s belt as I pour, pour, pour: Water, Water, Water. Leafy lives nourished with flows from care. PersistenceBlueberry. Imagination’s simile for the dawn, white bush flowers taking the trumpet’s shape. The tree holds absence. I will the pink-necked green pigeon into existence. Hearing bleats, I wonder why I don’t see sheep. No sun for illusion, nor wind for abstraction, forest awake to my ears. In my mind’s wilderness, I recreate the place as I want it to be - deep green, with life’s sounds. StormMy mind a tree shifting winds bare. Spinning wheel of water from the horizon, graying sky. Pinecone between my brain’s hemispheres flashing, pineal gland lightning. No gale, no howls, desire a wolf to an absent moon. Stars have hidden light in my skull, thunderbolt a bone to frisson. Deluge reciting sestina of leaves, echoes the line’s words. Loudening rainfall, petrichor moving me. I long to be drenched, immerse in the long, dark night of spirit, bringing chills to the table, my pen a branch from the tree. I root and regrow stories. LightningI’d return to my mind’s village, the sofa my storyboard, my temple on grandma’s lap. I listened to her singing voice, soft pats on my butt lulling me to sleep. I watched scenes on the wooden backrest, tracing paint cracks with small fingers, chipped maroon paint shaping nipa huts, dogs, gamefowls, carpenters and farmers. My imagination a beautiful place. I fell asleep, my third eye a precocious storm. Decades later I chase the story, light that tears skies, my skull thunder’s dome, pointillist pin pricks in my head electricity to my spine. I bring lines to life, my body a lake that reflects. ElectricityBright lucidity. Streams sluice through my anatomy, sibilant. My body grows leaves, imprint of a tree in my closed eyes. Like a heliotrope, I turn to light. A salamander ascends my spine, phlogiston in my pineal gland. Energy centers me. I pleasure in epileptic fits, my brain’s hemispheres lit, hearing the sound parting grasses, current slither. The storm brings me psalms, plumes in my mind’s deep space. I smell the forest, lightning’s trysts with rainfall. My heart mushrooms, air humming echoes. My magnetism hums, echoes. Jonel Abellanosa lives in Cebu City, The Philippines. His poetry and fiction are forthcoming in The Cape Rock, Woodcrest Magazine and Poetry Salzburg Review, and have appeared in hundreds of magazines and anthologies, including Chiron Review, Invisible City, Thin Air, The Lyric, The McNeese Review, and The Anglican Theological Review. His poetry collections include, “Songs from My Mind’s Tree” and “Multiverse” (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, New York), “50 Acrostic Poems,” (Cyberwit, India), “In the Donald’s Time” (Poetic Justice Books and Art, Florida), and “Pan’s Saxophone” (Weasel Press, Texas). He is a nature lover, with three companion dogs, and three other beloved dogs who have passed on beyond the rainbow bridge. He loves all animals.
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