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  • georgepalaganas
  • (802 posts)
Lowly Coffee Trees and Vine
Expires from poetry contest on: October 23, 2009
6 days 23 hours 50 minutes 43 seconds

Lowly Coffee Trees and Vine
by Cool Dela Peña

Dry and dusty road scamper my solidified embraces
of morning awakenings in summer liasons
Dandelions and wild berries race for spaces
Equestrian pipes locates this side.

Cupcakes in butter and pancakes with rye
The smell of brilliant breakfast is a sillified supine
Remember when mulberries are mulberries
rather than artificial beet crushed in pine.

Lowly coffee trees and vine, engulfs my desire
Orchard of beauty like grapevines entwined
Parched discipline in a sequence of charm
Ever creates a dainty incline.

Lowly Coffee trees and vine, makes a lazy magic divine
Growing sentiments of nurtured silence
Heaped grace and superior design
ever restores this homegrown ensign.

The Rhubarbs Of Hail Lavander
Expires from poetry contest on: October 23, 2009
6 days 23 hours 42 minutes 22 seconds

The Rhubarbs Of Hail Lavander

by Cool Dela Peña

Time reflects in the eyes of the man
Rainbows and clouds gather around
Like mountain dew that frosts at night time
Bringing solace and peace in this timid land.

Willows and pines basks in brightness
Salmons and bald eagles cling to life
bring same providence in the shadow of time
Like mulberry rose branches turned into wand.

Shifting murmurs from cuddly to rustic
The cold wind that blows is what I found
Giant leaves wave at their might
Same prominence from a distance all over the sand.

Time there was when colors changes hue
Orange, yellow, magenta and red,
No greater display a sight to behold
The Rhubarbs of Hail Lavander is green all the time.

10/16/2009 5:47:13 AM

  • georgepalaganas
  • (802 posts)
Subject: Re: A Christmas CAROL




A Christmas Carol
Expires from poetry contest on: October 24, 2009
3 days 23 hours 36 minutes 55 seconds

A Christmas Carol
by Cool Dela Peña a.k.a. George C. Palaganas
A Christmas Carol on the trail
Ride on the sleigh and share your prize
Earwhilst for the child and scene till lights
Bid her kiss and hand her the throbe.
Run goes the donkey on the trail
Throbe on the sleigh and run goes she 
Beanier freighter and next time you write
With wildberry shoes she sealed the road.
The asbestos roof is heavy with frost
With plank on both hands she let a shriek
Obliging child leaves a hoovering owl behind
Doors now bolted shut for the solstice chills.
A Christmas Carol of the past
Brings memories now soon to last
Next year who'll fit in
A Christmas Carol here.

10/19/2009 11:26:10 PM

  • georgepalaganas
  • (802 posts)
Subject: Re: THE Siwash ROCK by George C. Palaganas(a.k.a. Cool Dela Peña) Hail to the guard of the Stanley peninsula! Bring all their might in the fairness of Hudson Sailors,oilmen and freighters adore all the splendor of this valley. Hail to the monument of the Self-less god! Ring all their vows in the beauty of the Frazer Runners,bikers and walkers speak of its majesty as they pass this alley. Behold the embrace of a nearby Lion's Gate And listen to the sound of waves beneath wake-up the hustle and bustle of the whole Victoria Island pack. Behold the grace of a lonesome rock a recluse for pelicans and seagulls alike Nothing more and nothing will be is so enkindling as the Siwash ROCK.

10/23/2009 9:15:15 PM

  • georgepalaganas
  • (802 posts)
Subject: Re: Under The Burrard Bridge by George C. Palaganas a.k.a. Cool Dela Peña I have seen it only on a movie the first time on Forget Paris claiming this is the bridge of another classic called An American in Paris for I didn't know it, until upclose I behold it. Glide under the balance of serenity get drowned in passion of illuminated desire hold all inequities on the palm of your hand like a drop of time in the stillness of the hourglass. Capture the silence of numerous rendezvous of smiling thespians and charlatans in the show romance at night time glancing on its apogee reminds you of contours, of buns supine. Lips can be sealed, theirs of admiration unmindful of the chill, a path of commendation to sit on the benches in exhilirated jubilation for under the Burrard Bridge, a joy of inclinations.

10/28/2009 10:44:31 PM

  • georgepalaganas
  • (802 posts)
Subject: Re: Robsontrasse by George C. Palaganas a.k.a. Cool Dela Peña It came upon a mist on a rare remedy heightened paramours so chaste in its glory a place so charmed and ubiquitously marvelled for talents in clusters abound. Beauty spoken by a gait a smiling perfection moribund in fecundity sharp, demure, a remarkable expression for delightfully secure in its bossom. Artists of the highest degree and calibre mingle and barter their secrets of the trade a cache of recorded passion, captured in media of something magnetic or in canvass to be gripped. A feeling of serendipity, humongous and equipped respect on adulation in their command has zipped gamed innocence for tomorrow's edifice of embroidered duty with intricacy of a keep. Ardour in exuberance, so wide in deliverance steep in the penalties of consumed ignominy not from afar was a caisoned laryngoscopy a new breed of songs that's so insightful so to speak. God has never made a place so familiar where people are people, where they want to be while-away in bars, stride and strive, never to be hindered of a struggle in fashion. A soulful rendition, a skillful stroke, the artist in voice or the artist by hands meet in a perfect tee in a place like no other a street so famed in cognizance of a lather. A star has risen! A star is born! jump on a fast track, stare on a cradle, come and be filled with joy, on a tin-pan alley called Robsontrasse.

10/28/2009 10:45:55 PM

  • friendsten
  • (2 posts)
Subject: Re: A Fun On A Summer Where
A Fun On A Summer Where by George C. Palaganas a.k.a. Cool Dela Peña It happened one summer with a piece of junk dusty and full of cobwebs on the corner all it need is to see the light of day out from the garage for its two wheels to startle. It started on the empty streets around the neighborhood but none was there to notice except kids selling Kool-Aid of lemon and from the kitchen came-out a bagful of sandwiches for a longer trek, hug all sleep to dismantle. Coming upon a tiny house near a dead railroad and before arriving to an old theater in Dunbar a hump to avoid, a downslope to throttle on freehands till downtown I scramble. Stopping by the roadside overlooking the English Bay next to a girl busy with a paperback a munch of bread, a look at the shoreline for on the ship in large letters, Symphony of Fire it was written. Passing by Kitsilano's Malone restaurant and earnest sunbathers reclining on turfs and green off I go to nearby Jericho a trailer by the sea is all that I find. The slopes at UBC is a real hard climb but the view of Wreck Beach from the top is a breath-taker scattered floating timbers, the steepest cliff and on your thought, a wrecked ship! from the Galeons of old time. It was not for long before a pack of sports riders pass before me oblivious of silence off they go, laughing, boisterously talking knowing at downhill, it will be all a free-wheel drive. Then the moment has come for me to be home in Marpole so with the junk I retrace my path to French and Granville Pink as it is, for it was designed for a lady but it was my ticket to a fun on a summer where.

11/2/2009 6:30:14 PM

  • georgepalaganas
  • (802 posts)
Subject: Re: one can dream by Rygar
one can dream by Rygar In the wild and untamed wood, Where nymphs play, as nymphs should, And sprites joyously greet the night, And dance in merriment and delight. Fantastic scenes play out as dreams, Serenely draped in white moonbeams, Elves traverse this wondrous place, Themselves lost in earths embrace. Pixies flitter about without care, Their songs carried on the night’s air, Centaurs trot along wooded paths, While Minotaur cows tend to their calves. In this magical and peaceful place, No emphasis is given to race, No hurtful tones or negative screams, These are the things that come in my dreams.

12/3/2009 11:00:18 PM

  • georgepalaganas
  • (802 posts)
Subject: Re: Little house by whiteoleander
Little house by whiteoleander Little house on the hill why must you stand so still? Like time itself is frozen in a capsule locked and tight. I look upon your empty face and ponder on the memories you must hold... I bet your paint was fresh and crisp, your yard was emerald green, and from the rope thats hanging in that sturdy old oak tree.. was once a tire swing. I think about the people that lived within your walls.. Maybe a young family with just one little girl.. whos amber curls once blew in a summers breeze. Little house what secrets so you hold? But that is for no one to really know. If only so the walls could speak they would tell a life of bitter sweet, of half and half, some high some low, some times real good and some not so.. but when the end of each day came the breeze would blow and sweep away all the hurt and pain.. and leave that little family so new and so niave an understanding of their day. Let no one kid or put to shame the power of a family who unites to win the game. Because turn of turn and play of card will only get you so far. But now the family is not there.. why did they go and leave behind a story etched so deep with in the walls of bittersweet? A sign now hangs in the front yard with a flyer by its side to tell the people near and far of the little house just big enough for a little family. A little rent of not much pay, a little yard of summers day, with a tire in its tree for a child of not much age to swing and laugh their days away.

12/3/2009 11:02:11 PM

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