Originally posted 2012-04-14 21:02:22.
Category: Memories
First Stroll
First Stroll
I remember butterflies
and spring grass
and ivy climbing to heights
of ivory towers, testing
perimeters of leaden grilles
against foggy glass.
We sat on the stony steps
of Winants Hall,
lingered for endless moments,
and after a while
walked up a hill where the bell
tower stood
still in time
as the train to Trenton whistled
down the railroad tracks.
by D.G. Vachal © 2012
*** photograph: Ivory Tower by spiritflare@Flickr
Originally posted 2012-02-16 01:00:57.
Tobacco Leaves
Tobacco Leaves
the afternoon light filters through lattice
windows with capiz shell inserts,
casts a warm pearlescent glow
upon the wooden floor—
dried tobacco leaves
on the dining table
fill the air with scents of hay,
a leathery spice,
a pungent chocolate—
my grandfather’s hands
shape a leaf
between his knotted fingers,
press against the Molave wood
as the pendulum clock chimes
at the half hour
the soft patter of abaca slippers,
the rush of a silken skirt,
my grandmother’s footsteps
draw near—
the sound of bare feet
creaking the old wooden floor
follows,
calloused brown hands carry
steaming coconut rice cakes
on banana leaves—
merienda.
—D. G. Vachal ©2026
We Almost Came Back
We Almost Came Back
we almost came back
to the place where we parted
perhaps to say
we never meant
to say goodbye—
on an island ferry
I saw your face
arise from a sea
of nameless faces
and you saw mine
I sat on the brown cot,
notebook on my lap
the ferry’s horn
blasted through the cabin
as we started to move
the sun sat low on the horizon
pink and orange light
shimmered
across the wooden deck
as I wrote—
I heard footsteps from afar
you walked towards me
wearing the green shirt,
the blue jeans I knew
my legs,
they could not move
you stopped midway,
twenty steps from where I was,
leaned across the railing
and just stood there
our eyes met
then you looked away,
your hands gripped hard,
jaws tightened,
Spanish eyes peered
into the distance,
where the sea turned
darker,
deeper
I waited for you
to come closer
perhaps
you waited for me
I sat where I was—
a nearby radio played
a song we knew
when the music ended
you walked away.
the ferry reached the dark island
faint lights from other vessels
flickered upon the pier
my hands felt numb
as I grasped the gangplank ropes—
I turned my face
towards the gathering
monsoon wind
—D. G. Vachal ©2026
Image by Harrydona @pixabay
Polonaise in A-Flat Major, Op. 53
Polonaise in A-Flat Major, Op. 53
The last gold of evening
lingered
upon the piano keys
after the music
had already ended—
I come back to the old piano
my mother used to play
her etudes and concertos,
the ivory keys
yellowed by time—
suddenly I hear
the ecstatic pounding
of Chopin’s Polonaise
in A-Flat Major—
my mother’s hands
striking the old piano
long after evening
had darkened
D. G. Vachal © 2026
Accompanying image created with AI assistance
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