Life could be a bowl of chili,
full of spices and surprises.
Meaty goodness, or may be not,
a hearty meal or somber crises.

More than what one expects
loaded with a certain taste:
a hint of bitter chocolate,
pungent garlic, tomato paste.

Cry with onions, diced galore
pepper green, no heat at all.
Simmering mix of rich texture,
a dish to please or to appall.

Life could be a bowl of chili.
The end-result, I must decide.
It is just what I make of it -
best or bitter, Jekyll or Hyde.

yldara/m.stanphill 190806

Chili – A dish usually made with ground beef, garlic, onions, cilantro, cumin, oregano, sweet and/or hot peppers, tomatoes (paste, sauce and chopped up fresh ones), chili powder and in my own recipe–just a hint of bitter chocolate.

Blue waves gently crash, caressing
pearly white sands. Like a mirage,
friendly faces form a collage
a still backdrop worth addressing.

The striking of the gong, its sounds
imbedded in the heart, it grows
more brilliant than before. It flows
to tease and chase the mind it hounds.

Voices from the past all merging
into one cohesive loud chant
reminder of an ancient cant
dreams of Daba-daba, urging.

yldara/m.stanphill 2007

*Daba-daba is an ancient Bagobo (a Philippine tribe) word meaning fire.
Fire was often used in rituals by the various tribes in these islands. It
is thought by quite a few local historians that the name Davao was
probably derived from the word Daba-daba. Early Jesuit priests writings
referred to the area of Davao as the region of flames. Daba-daba is also
thought to refer to the Sacred Brass of Datu Duli, a legendary Bagobo Chieftain.

dapples of light and reflections
rolling waves froth, touch sands of white
soft, as silk wings of freedom’s flight
soothing salve of recollections

timeless ripples, priceless jewels
collecting echoes, memories
past and present, endless stories
horde of blessings, abyss of fools

mirrored eyes of the sky and earth
dear friend of solitude and dreams
the beauty of the sea, it streams
in winds of truth and waves of mirth

yldara/m.stanphill 2704070408

Fashion divas in leather and fur
their stiletto black high heels tapping.
Men in their armani suits and pants
with fancy cufflinks and ties to match.
The usual throng in hats and boots
their cowboy gait leisurely strolling.
Some in sneakers, designer ripped jeans
drenching the aisles with a mix of style.
Every day at around noon, the scene
becomes surreal and frankly frenzied.
The foodcourt is jam packed to the hilt
perfumes and food scent tantalizes.
Diamonds and gold, there they sparkle
dazzling eyes and emptying pockets
embellishing necks and wrists, chaining
fingers and ankles, dainty or not.
On sale or overpriced fluff in one,
haute couture over there. The classic
lines and avant-garde are also here
where the rich and the ordinary
almost touch, remain disconnected.
Galleria Dallas welcomes all,
and like kindred spirits, they pass through.
To shop perhaps, maybe fill the void
of a prosaic yet fast paced life.

yldara 140307250

When there are today
no words left to say
When the ink has dried
and the pen has died
just be quiet.

When you are furious
and all seem serious
when things go crazy
and your vision is hazy
just be quiet.

When a friend is lost
and in sin is tossed
when your heart aches
with your mistakes
just be quiet…

Q-uestion your motives
U-nmask your many faces
I-nvoke the Lord’s help in prayer
E-ntrust your worries to God
T-rust in His love, mercy and grace

And, be QUIET.

Yldara 200702 

Four total strangers gathered,
on that cold and dreary night.
Forced by simple circumstance,
around a dying fire of light.

Each held a log per chance
to put and keep the fire aglow.
But all, kept it to themselves
none did in the fire, a log throw.

One, because of great distrust
held on to his log as a weapon.
Another, with plain old greed
waited for any gain, to grab on.

Feeling inferior was the third,
he felt his log was not that good.
The last one, to himself said -
“Mine’s too good for this brood.”

So in the cold, they all sat -
each one huddled to himself still.
Until morn came, all of them dead.
Truth is, that cold within can kill.

maria stanphill (yldara) 150806/2006

Without walls or bars, not a dream to chase
found deep within, lies still, dormant until
desires and disguises, are facts to face
Not in jest but in truth to seek and drill

Too many layers to peel, voids to fill
in fear of what is real yet not unknown
A battle worth fighting, a cry quite shrill
To be free at last, from debts must atone

As there it hides in anguish, not alone
roosting with pain, sadness, hatred and pride
The ruin of souls, it aims to be sown
in seeds of doubt and discontent inside

This here prison, is without walls or bars
A state and space marked with anger and scars.

yldara/m. stanphill

Do not let the invincible prison of pride, hate and sin keep you locked up. Jesus Christ’s blood has been shed for you, stand firm in God’s promise of hope and salvation thru His Son- the Lamb.