OF FUNGUSES AND CHAMELEONS

By Crispulo Baccud Taps 

            Fungi, an artist,

does a better work than man,

         becomes a copycat.

 It paints on the bark of trees,

 chameleon's armour to  hide.

       Blending with the bark,    

           chameleons hide

           their true  selves,

         for their own safety.

A predator's scheme to snare,                              unsuspecting fly, its food.

          Fungi, chameleons,

nature teaches about real life.

          blend, be accepted,

            flaunt yourselves, 

               be ostracized.

    God paints a kaleidoscope.

        Leaving man to drool,

     nature's pallette, colorful.

          makes a man a fool.

   Made his own color scheme,       

         veered  from nature's 

                 real colors.

            Isn't it wonderful

        when men just blend

                  and unify

         as our God purposed?

      Be fungus or chameleons.

     Blending colors beaut'fully.

(TANKA, Rensaku Poetry Format)

CTTO: Photos

THE LAST TRAIN

By Crispulo Bacud Tappa

The old man heard the call,
trumpeted to one and all.
The last departing train rolls

as stars appear when night falls.
Citizens scurried around,

inched their way to the platform.
Some laden with heavy loads,
the old man in dapper clothes,
came with just nothing,

for a last trip that was foretold.
The last train rolled by, 

almost full to its brim,
hooted for everyone to hear.

The old puny man edged-in,

not wanting to be left behind,

Travellers with heavy loads,
with no space big enough

for their worldly finds,

remorsefully trundled back,

missing this one last train,

bound for its destination 

where the last train stops,

on its last trip as God ordained,

where trumpets blared,
and a choir of angels

sang a glorious welcome song.

January 29, 2019

💐💐💐