A poem for the Centennial Birth anniversary of Luis G. Dato

A Poem for My Home

I’m home in my own little patch of heaven,

a simple clump of cool peaceful green

encircled by blue horizons and air

interrupted by cream-colored concrete

toasted warm by the vibrant sun

and chilled in the pale orange evenings.

From its skies shower fragrant drizzle

that stir like the poems of Luis Dato,

or buffet like storm and lightning

worthy of the compatriots of intrepid Barlin.

Thus here, scattered among its days

are brave heroes and wise men born

By its lakeshores today as long ago

a determined people carves out a living

as they would a kingdom,

themselves prince and princesses

and lords and ladies with castles on the hill.

They would sit barefoot in the dewy summer grass

and watch at the end of day, their children, the slow,

steady flowering of their dreams.

Then shades of evening roll over

the oranges yellows and purples of a fading sunset

darker now under the waxing moon,

at the moment in shadows never alone,

in this little heaven we have known.