Sunday, February 17, 2008

You Make Me Want To

This is officially my 100th post. Wooooohoooooo!

To celebrate it, I am posting a brand new song - fresh from the oven, the drawing boards, or wherever it is that music comes from!

I reworked an old poem previously posted on my poetry blog and put music to it. (Thanks to my sister who helped me work on the arrangement.) You will gather that despite what recently happened, I am still a sucker for love.

Eve, we have work to do! Hahaha!

YOU MAKE ME WANT TO

It's good to hear from you
Good of you to call
Been wanting bad to hear your voice
I miss that most of all

I don't wanna hang up
For I'll die if I do
You're so much a part of me
I'm nothing without you

Every time you call
I feel, I feel it all
What is it you do
That makes me want to want you
What is this I feel
With your voice in my ear
What is it in you
That makes me want to want
Only you

We while the hours talking
Of all things big or trivial
I think that this has turned into
Something that's so special

What is it I feel?
I don't understand no more
Don't know what I'm going through
Never felt like this before

Every time you call
I feel, I feel it all
What is it you do
That makes me want to want you?
What is this I feel
With your voice in my ear
What is it in you
That makes me want to want
Only you?

With all the confusion going on
Don't know if I can still play along
But I say bring it on
Stay with you forever on the phone

Every time you call
I feel, I feel it all
What is it you do
That makes me want to want you?
What is this I feel
With your voice in my ear
What is it in you
That makes me want to want
Only you?

- completed February 17th, words and music by Kokum

(Photo above taken New Year's Eve from the new house in Bulacan)

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The Chronicler's Creed

Where there's water and sun, where there are friends to see or new people to meet, where there's something new to learn, experience, or do, where there's life, there I will be.

LA POESÍA

Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I do not know, I do not know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I do not know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

- An excerpt from LA POESÍA (Poetry) by Pablo Neruda