JEFF WILLIAM ACOSTA - POEMS

Jeff William Acosta is a culinary student doubling up as a writer/poet from Ilocos Sur, Philippines. Jeff lives beside the white sands of La Union and far from the rice fields, rivers and mountains where he grew up. He loves mixing mythology and cooking to his poetry. His poems are primarily inspired by his faith, experiences on love and life. He is a nocturnal fellow; loves the night more than anything and rain comes close second.

Aftertaste
​

Cold beers and a starless night
            colorful mind-
full of afterthoughts and sticky rice,
            as my empty wall,
                      slowly filled,
                              with your lonely night.
 
yearning for an embrace of a frozen clock,
           dear please take my hand
                        and let’s travel back
 
Fluffy pancakes and an autumn morning sun.
           Playfully mixing-
daydreams and vague feelings in my pan
            Didn’t I pray,
                     and prayed
                                 For this moment to come?
 
tired and weary-
             finding a lost feeling in a bottle of wine,
                      careless three weeks in a bittersweet time
 
A gallery of milk and a gloomy afternoon
             Flavorful memories in a forgotten season
I’m sorry I rushed you-
            happened so fast,
                        but what can I do
                                  when it’s already in our unraveled past
 
so, before we leave this borrowed journey,
              please let me sip a cup of milk and honey.

Tipsy
​

Out of an idle, boringly-long day-
          dawns a sultry late afternoon sky,
          bewitched by a spirit of 1972,
          dwells an opulent flower of May.
 
Came a swarm of celestial fireflies,
            a parade of faes,
            a queen in her t-shirt and jeans;
            damn-   those dark brown eyes.
 
There you are-
           beneath the flickering street lights,
           where the ravellings of silvery waves end,
           my beautiful scar.
 

a heart made of paper maches
​

 In a multitude of moons and stars,
         I’m just a grain of dust fluttering free.
For a mind that easily sways,
         I’ve let demons take reign over me.
 
Matters not how wrapped in wrath,
         Clothed now in malice overgrown-
for a body enthralled by a worldly path,
          You never ceased to call me out of the unknown.
 
Through the forest of crimson fire,
          Between the screams and skies set ablaze,
where my voice resonates like a muffled lyre,
          Gave thy Word, and lights my maze.
 
Out of your willed-grandiose ways,
          Unsheathe me from the horrors of my destiny,
for a heart made of paper maches,
          looms but the shades of agony.
 
Unbeknown of thy Holy Name,
          Gifted me a blithe embrace,
for these chained feet I put blame,
          etherized by Your grace.
 
You, Lord, is the master of my soul,
           From the spell you rescued me,
For a sinful dust-  shouldered ne whole.
           I’ll now forever walk with thee.

a Song for the Goddess
​

It’s much bluer two decades ago, Songs
         of the witches made frogs waltzed
 
butterflies fluttering to the beat, thirsty
        night lurkers bathed in the north.
 
Tales of mermaids and river creatures were told, Children
          gather and do summersaults.
 
Mothers laughing at their husbands’ tanned butts
         feasting
                  drinking
                             dancing in the summer’s heat.
 
“Then why is it that it’s not blue and deep”, he asked.
I answered, “Son, can you hear it?, a muffled lamenting voice like it’s cage deep underwater.”
 
From the farmers’ smile to the pastor’s sermon,
          the gift your forefathers cherished and treasured, buried
 
now by a saint proclaimed, inked
          with hymns I have yet to hear
 
whispers of painted lies, flowing
         slowly in a river’s cry.
 
Through stillness and ravaging rain, Mortals
         still pray for a harvest like yesterday.