Thursday, July 13

ang sampung utos ng mga lasenggo

(saw this somewhere in Bob Ong's yahoo group)

1. HUWAG MAKULIT habang nag- iinom.

2. HUWAG MATAKAW huwag kamayin ang pulutan.

3. HUWAG PATAGALIN ANG BASO, may naghihintay pang tatagay.

4. HUWAG UMINOM NG UMINOM, kaylangan bumili ka rin.

5. MAGPAALAM KUNG UUWI NA at huwag yung biglang nawawala.

6. UMINOM NG DIRETSO SA TIYAN at huwag sa ulo upang maiwasan ang basag ulo.

7. MAGTIRA NG PANLAKAD, kahit hinlalaki ng paa, iwasan ding umuwi ng pagapang.


9. SIGURADUHING SA SARILING BAHAY ang uwi kung lasing na.

10. HUWAG MANAKIT, kung hindi bigyan ng pang-inom, at dapat mo pang lambingin, at ng pagbigyang muli.


Friday, June 30

my relationship with a 36-year-old woman

Had another late night Starmart session with Jong. A night like this stresses me and relaxes me too. Hehe. But that's relaxing for the most part.

I love Jong. Our relationship is so rich and enriching. And oh, the relationship is very much platonic; if it's more than that, then it's like a mother-son relationship minus the nagging. :-) The fact that she's twice my age is so negligible. But that makes her wiser than me. And that's actually to my advantage.

Tonight, this was the best lesson of wisdom I learned from her. "Answer only what is asked".

Jong: Dave, you know what fuego means?
Dave: Yes. Fire.

Jong laughed so hard, so it made me think. Of course, I laughed harder. Sometimes I can be so amusing. Thanks to Jong.

I think I also made one philosophical stament tonight. I was chainsmoking and suddenly, unconsciously bit a nail. Me: "Fuck, how redundant."

BTW, the title of this blog is the final title for Jong's biography in progress. Well, not that final. I am thinking of "My relationship with a woman twice my age":-) Love you Jong!

Thursday, June 29

before everything

"I don't want
the world
to see me
Cause I don't think
that they'd understand
When everything's made
to be broken
I just want you
to know
who i am"
Baby, I'd like us to follow our hearts. But would you really want to? Would you want to follow your heart to mine when we both don't know where it is? All I want to do is to give you a key to myself, but I can't find any key. But even if you have me already, will you be able to hold me and let me hold you, too, oblivious to the world around us? Will you not ask your head if you're doing the right thing?

Monday, June 26

dad to a dog

Let me introduce to you,

He is a 4-month-old shih tzu. If you know about dogs, this breed is an ultra-spoiled brat, categorized as a toy dog.

And he really flaunts it.

His mommy (owner) Lenlen, has a class the whole day for her Master's so, I agreed to dogsit Boy George for her.

But it was just more than dogsitting. I admit I am not a dog-lover, or mammal-lover, but this time, there is an exception.
I love Boy George. (His mom prefers Georgie). The whole weekend I devoted my time combing his hair, making him drink, making him eat, playing with him, kissing his nose (yes!), and of course, wiped his pee and pooh-pooh.
He even slept beside me.
Sunday morning. I realized I love this dog (and I'm not doing this for the owner alone, hehe) when Boy George licked my face to wake me up. Isn't that sweet?
So I'd like to be called a Dad to this dog. Not just a dogsitter. (okay, Len?) Hehe.
All the photos here were taken by Lenlen. :-)

Wednesday, June 21

questions about war

Yesterday, the president declared an "all-out-war" against Philippine communist insurgents.

"They want war, so we will give it to them," Arroyo's crony/national security adviser Norberto Gonzales declared with confidence.

What war, I ask? Will the released 1B anti-communist fund buy guns, weapons, bombs and tanks to counter the "enemy"? Will all communist-believing citizens be "terminated"? If my politics is Left, am I counted in as "enemy of the State"? (I didn't know that despite our modern democracy, we can still be persecuted by our beliefs) Would an all-out war mean soldiers carrying armory around the country? Would it see more AFP detachments? Would it see more propaganda against the Reds? Would it see more of Gloria Arroyo's steadfast and strong survivalist strategies?

Dear President GMA, do you even know what an "all-out war" even means?

Shouldn't we now raise this flag?

Sunday, June 18

god i need a massage

can you relate to that good feeling
when you take your shoes off when you get home?
have you ever moaned in relief
when you take a much-needed shower?

i always loved these secret moments
even brief and seemingly temporary
thus in each of these moments
i close my eyes and smile

for i know a minute after next
my head will turn and twist
into a life that overwhelms me
and sucks me into its maze

god i need a massage
one that is long and worthwhile
i need someone to ease me up
and take my doubts all away

i want to throw my head back
and enjoy it slow and soft
i'd like to laugh and cry
to my heart's content

i want to know that there still is
a heart inside my chest
sheer pleasure in the little things
that i see and hear every single day

i want to drop my shoulders
to stop being so tense
to smell good and relax in silence
and to have some fingers feel my skinhead

i'd love to breathe some fresh air
beside a soothing lake or shore
i can even stop the smoking
the drinking and the arguing

i'd like to put away my glasses
and even the mighty earphones
that play my favorite coldplay songs
like god put a smile on your face

this i ask but not expect to be answered
for i know my god you don't send masseurs
to the heathen and the skeptic
who questions even your existence

so i just have to accept, appreciate
the seconds when i pull my shoes off
from my smelly feet and drown myself
and my tears in a lonely bath

that takes twenty-two minutes

Friday, June 16

a cup of coffee despite warnings of rain

The sky is falling
and she doesn't mind
She stirs her coffee
getting lukewarm

It's as if she cannot see
the gathering rainclouds
It's as if she cannot feel
the populating raindrops

She raises her cup
Drinks from it and smiles
She doesn't seem to care
that rain is coming

I can't imagine how it tastes
a cup of coffee under the rain
But I can imagine the caffeine
Two feet away, I can smell it

Makes me want to share
that cup of coffee under the rain
Drink from it and smile
and care not about the wailing sky

Cease to see the clouds unload
Cease to feel the downpour
Cease to care about anything else
getting lukewarm

Tuesday, June 6

looking back

Voice so familiar even from afar
So softly it came calling my name

...I'm not looking back, never looking back

But you were so near whisp'ring in my ear
The stories in your face of a love not to waste

...So I had to look back, but there's none to look back

Thursday, May 25

a jewish thought

As the Rabbi said,
"al tadeen et chavercha ad she'tagi'a leemkoemoe..."
Do not judge your fellow human being
until you come to his place.

Thursday, May 18

forwarded message

Adolf Bautista, a friend from the medieval times, forwarded a text message, one of those I don't immediately delete seconds after I receive. I think of it as some sort of Ilonggo chant or spell, or folk song, I can't really confirm where it's from and who wrote it. But I love its simplicity and undertones.

"Pating, lupad ka na sa bato bantiling.
Lantawa ang Sentral ginapagaling.
Dolse bayabas, damu sang liso,
kambyo kalamay, matam-is,

Tuesday, May 16

the smell will solve them all (a junkie's introspection)

it's thursday night and i can't rest
my head from one whole day
of frolic and of panic

i turn the a/c on and
plug my ears with mp3s
that drown my misery

in my head they are amok
running to, fro and through
my exhaustible brain cells

speeches on social problems
scary sounds of global conflict
and images of injustices

i see them, hear and feel
all these mindboggling
heartwrenching agitating

situations that i can't just end
nor resolve on my own
but can't possibly ignore

so i turn my player louder
to kill this beat of hate
anger and negative surrender

i brush my face and i had
to smell my index and middle
fingers pass by my nose

i remember where this
distinctly strongly unique
scent is coming from

it's the smell of weed
i can't quit, an afterscent
i come to love and hate

why, let me stop this ranting
and shun the world off
with the pot i smoke

Sunday, May 7

text message from an african kid

The following is a popular fowarded SMS. It says: "This poem was nominated the Best Poem of 2005, written by an African kid."

Well, nobody really knows where it came from or if an African kid really wrote it, or at which award-winning ceremony was it nominated for Best Poem.

Anyway, here's the poem (spelling and formatting from the original message isn't edited):

"Wen i born,
i black.
Wen i grow up,
i black.
Wen i go in the sun,
i black.
Wen i scared,
i black.
Wen i sick,
i black.
And wen i die,
i still black.

And u white fella,
Wen u born,
u pink.
Wen u grow up,
u white.
Wen u go in the sun,
u red.
Wen u cold,
u blue.
Wen u scared,
u yellow.
Wen u sick,
u green.
And wen u die,
u gray...

And u calling me

Credits go to my friend, the award-winning artist from UAE, Abdulla Sharhan, for letting me use his piece of art for this post. It's called "African Kid". And also to my high school English teacher, Sir Jojo, for being the first to send me this SMS (that was about four months ago!)

Friday, May 5

she walks not: a corruption of lord byron's 'she walks in beauty'

She runs in darkness from her fright
Of horrid thoughts and pitch-black skies
And all that's wretched in her sight
Meet in her horror-stricken eyes
Thus hurried to that long-lost light
Which Hades to gloomy May denies
One shade comes more, one breath comes less
Had half-impaired her nameless fears
Which wave in every raven tress
Or slyly darkens o'er her face
Were thoughts startlingly stealthily rest
How grim, how hideous is their place
So harshly painted o'er that brow
Ghoulish, gruesome, vespertine
The wounds that ache, the tears that flow
That tell of days in darkness spent
A mind at pain with mem'ries flawed
A heart whose love unrequited

Author's Note:
This poem is based on Lord Byron's "She Walks in Beauty".
Originally posted at

After You Die

You just can't leave me watch you by
My soul is begging dearly
As it cries coldly through my eyes
The sun I shall not see
After you die

"Darling stop confusing me with your wishful thinking,
Hopeful embraces, don't you understand?"

You just can't leaveme sing this piece
My song is ghastly written
As it wails of love in pain
The song I shall not sing
After you die

"I have to go through this, I belong to here where
No one cares and no one loves, no light no air to live in"

You just can't leave me by your side
My longing chills and creeps
As it shoos the love away
The warmth I shall not feel
After you die

"A place called hate, the city of fear
I play dead, it stops the hurting"

You just can't leave me kiss the wind
My wish is not the same
As your wishful thinking is
The dream I shall not have
After you die

"I play dead and the hurting stops, it's sometimes just like sleeping,
curling up inside my private tortures"

You just can't leaveme live alone
My misery turned to hate
As I sleep to rid the pain
The air I shall not breathe
After you die

"I nestle into pain, hug suffering
Caress every ache, I play dead"

You just can't leave me

"It stops the hurting when I play dead"

After you die

Author's Note:
This is a response poem to Mr Greenleaf's "Before You Die" ( It is embedded with the lines of Bjork's song "Play Dead" (the lines in italics). I was studying Mr Greenleaf's poem when "Play Dead" played on my Winamp. I was struck at the coincidence, and it left goosebumps all over me. The song is perfect for the tone of my poem, so I embedded its lines here. If you check this song out, you will see (or rather, hear and feel) what I exactly mean. "Play Dead" is on Bjork's 1993 'Debut' CD.
Originally posted at exactly a year ago.

Thursday, May 4

A Good Night's Sleep: A Collection of Poems Nocturnale

"On your door I have written 'Good Night' so that when you wake up,
You will knowI was thinking of you."
-Franz Schubert


There is great peace
in slumber
when all the world's
in sham
and escape has closed
the eye.

There is burden
in sleep
when all the world's
just right
and joy is stirring


Shadows cast
make an impression
of the world

Moonlight beams
through the aggression
of the heart


Adored by many a poet
is the uncanny beauty
of the night's sun.

Despised by many a weakling
is the deadly scare
of the distant mares.

Saddened by many a loner
is the lunar legend
of the solitary moon.


Dark, dead skies -
redundant truth -
I look up to see
and nothing is there.

Would there still be you?
Would there still be me?
Dark, dead skies
answer me not.-


Under the dark skies
he wonders
where He is
and if He knows
how he feels
through the night.

Over the deep sighs
He wanders
where He is
and thinks he knows
how to get
through the night.


He sleeps,
he is too weary.
He says
'he is safe with me'.
He stirs,
he is uneasy.
He shrieks,
he is scared of it.
He sins,
he is unworthy.
He sees,
he is to sleep again.


Gasping for air
he wakes;
Sweating, screaming,
Forever chased
by black mares;
Caught, devoured,
Sleep yet again, and rest
you dreamy hare;
Coming, chased,


Sojourn into Styx
where you once slept.
Not that dark, is it?
Or am I just sophomoric?

You are a son of this Sea
so scamper not;
You shall serve
as its symbol.


Even the moon wasn't up
when he came for me.
In the dead of the night
we flew into the dark.
Taking me where God sleeps
where only we witness
the joy of deep slumber.


Hush now, he sleeps.
His lids have failed,
his grey has paused.
His words silenced,
his love unsaid.
But he wakes -
eyes sparkling yet again.
His heart has spoken.
His love lives on.

Author's Note:
These poems were written separately in a perioud of four months, late 2004.
Originally posted at

Wednesday, May 3

Farewell, Farewell

Shadows cast
by feelings lost.
Windmills turn
by sandy storms.
Goosebumps live
by frozen touch.
Teardrops fall
by echoing words.

This sun has to set.
Leaves have to wither,
Goodbyes must be said.

Tides ebb
by lunar pull.
Tides rise
by lunar thrust.
Ray of light
by sun alone.
Sad stare
by day and night.

This plane has to fly.
Wings drift south,
Valediction cried.

Tuesday, May 2

Lucifer's Songs Part 3: "The Star's Fallen"

"How art thou fallen from heaven,
O Lucifer, son of the morning!
How art thou cut down to the ground,
which didst weaken the nations!"
-Isaiah 14:12
Hear, O Father of Heaven! You've made outcast
Your son, Your heir, Your One Bright Light
that gently shone but now You've made aghast.
And I, Your Fallen Seraph, humbled by your height
shall never again will proudly seek
power-led ambition threatening in your sight.
I speak not, resist no further, be as meek
as Your lowly creatures need no redemption.
I shall be hid by the dark of parapets weak.
But behold! Sheol's parapets find me reason
to wonder at their howls and look Up High concerned:
Gates of Heaven darkened, to me they willed to mention.
And I myself can see how dark the skies have turned
as if all its torches, candlesticks put out.
Is there, O Father, I ask, a cause for angels to mourn?
I, then, have come to realize, as echoes of my call are all about,
that my query is obviously unwelcome,
that I cannot be heard, that I have no more mouth.
No more mouth, no more wings, no more Kingdom!
No more voice, no more light, no dignity!
You stripped them all from me, the worst is done.
Hear, O Father, the Highest Diety!
I beg to warn how gloomy Your palace is!
Put another seraph to bear a light almighty,
To bear a light like mine was his.
O Father, put another seraph, but wait,
choose the one with no ambition nor malice.
Strangely, an answer has come, a knock on my grim gates.
Is this Your messenger with apt reply You sent?
And yet again a louder knock, so I went up to see who brings the fate.
Strangely, a legion of my kind down here they went,
gathered in my gates condemned, so I wondered like I have not:
What brings you seraphim in the darkest of the dens?
Strangely, I in the shadows never got
any reply from this congress, or from God.
Yet I knew, I understood, why here they're at!
So in their midst and on the mount of Nod,
I kneel and pray to You, O Father,
of these angels' state, broken wings, bloody sad.
I call upon You, I know that You are near.
My heat of black from brutal burning
calls on You so please lend me Your holy ear.
For at Your holy ear I shall scream with rage upstarting!
Fuel my rage, and I shall light these depths
with my once great Fireball avenging!
O Father, how You choose to be so deaf,
You throw me here belittling my great of past?
You punished me with dark uncertainty, I wished for death!
And struck the gates of Death, the lightning has
ignited flames that summoned my awaited wake.
From Fall I rise an ancient Throne of Battledust.
I stir the earthly flames and pour into a Lake
all melted gold, all lampposts made
and make these seraphim the loyal guardians of the Lake.
And this Kingdom I built shall cause Yours to fade
Like it has now, how Your House turned, oh, so dark
because You sinfully brought down Your Star and froze it dead.
But I, the frozen Star of Dawn, shall shine and spark,
I shall reign again and redeem my morning glory,
build the greatest Empire ever marked.
Nevertheless my prayer is truly
Incomplete without due thanksgiving.
So here is gratitude, of which You are worthy:
Thank You, Father, for offering
a dark nullity for me to enlighten,
a chance to regain the true Star's Shining.
Thank You, too, for these seraphim
who believe in my cause, shining, too, in my Light.
My kingdom's come, O hallowed be Your name!
And most of all I thank You for the sight
of mortals, by appointing me your Satan.
I'll do as You please, I shall burn them with my might.
Alas! The Fallen has risen to rule the mortals' land.
To reign over their human nature, over judgment
of earth and its serpent-fearing inhabitants.
I shake all mortals' ground with my incredible strength,
For out the serpent's root shall come a fiery smoke.
I thank You God, for telling them this apocalyptic legend.
For I am now a master of every possible Rock.
These Churches, Oh how they make me stronger and greater!
By taking form of beast or demon, defining their horrors unlocked.
The Fallen by Your blessed curse is indeed empowered,
My Hell be done on earth as it is in heaven.
While dawn is called, and so am I, Your Son, the radiant Lucifer!
Author's Note:
God didn't create us, we created him.
Option 3 for "Sarcasm Wanted"
***Finally, I am done with the last part for the Lucifer's Songs series.
This is my first major attempt on a terza rima. (For more info on terza rima, click here.)
Thanks for Tainted Whisper's contest options I have been enlightened of how shall I write the finale for my Lucifer tale. And oh, sorry for the length!

Monday, May 1

Lucifer's Songs Part 2: "The Star's Aflame"

"For thou hast said in thine heart,
I will exalt my throne above the stars of God,
I will sit also upon the mount of the congregation
in the far sides of the north."
-Isaiah 14:13

In medias res I've come to claim
Due land and all my loyal subjects
Bathed gold with different dialects
But united by my legendary name.

For I their King shall sit Up High
and all other kings shall be princes,
sheer lords that rule yet powerless.
My reign they shall never defy.

My light the world below is guided by
shall announce the glory I bear:
I am the bolts that Zeus prepares
to shake Olympus and mortals underneath it lie.

Yet gods have malicious tendency
to envy and question power:
"Who is Lucifer to rule us over?"
To Jove this they raise against me.

The Great Conspiracy has then been concocted
to allegate my noblest ambition
as hideous plan for mass destruction
of kingdoms they themselves abducted!

Even more the Throne next to mine shook
of paranoia as He Himself has heard
of my greatness, daunting as He has learned
for He is also witness to the glory they're to rebuke.

Surely my glory they have slily taken!
I helplessly eyed how these lesser princes
robbed me of my treasures and made me powerless.
I should have fought but my fireball yet is hidden.

But a prince yet dissatisfied has rudely spoken:
"I shall break you, Assyrian, and tread you underfoot."
To this my rage replied a call so aptly brought:
"I shall break this enemy's sword and leave of him no token!"

And I, aflame, warred with God's newfound
as He, alone, in His Throne saw my struggling Light.
"Why, this Star is a star I should be as bright,
I shall bear the very light of his blazing heartpound."

To hear this and to please his Master, Michael fought more
with me the Lightbearer; To death we were battling
to make whoever lives the godly powerling.
Day and night we fought, me aflame and him a-gore.

Tired of us gladiators, our Creator then stepped down
and left two thrones, mine and His, with His hand widely opened.
"This is the Hand stretched out to all your burden."
Who will it turn back? No one perhaps, but a coldness turned my bone.

Turned my bone with an icy pain shooting through
my blades, my shoulders, my fireball's flames!
This shocking chill went through my spine, it maims
my strength, my power, my light they knew!

I glared at Him whose Hand is firmly over me;
Paternal hunch for a son and heir posing a threat.
And behind Him, the Lesser Prince is grinning at such a feat;
As my wings are plucked, he continues animosity.

He steals my crown and nails twin thorns
driven into my aching, chilling, bleeding head.
He thrusts his sword into my body frozen dead,
a hissing sound of fires just quenched comes out my mourns.

As the victor pries on my paralysis,
he pushes me to fall from those Great Heights
and I descend from heavens, melting my ice, rekindling my fires
like a streaking star plunging through the dark, deep Pits.

Saturday, April 29

Lucifer's Songs Part 1: "The Star's Shining"

"I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the Most High"
- Isaiah 14:14

I'm a Star
like no other,
Son of dawn,
a Lightbearer:
My soul lights
skies with torches,
my fires will soar like comets.

I'm the Star
that brings the Sun,
King of yore,
the Golden One:
My treasure
is my greatness,
my blinding beam my highness.

I'm Your Star,
Your puissance,
the one light
that guides You;
the power
behind Your Throne.
You shine as You reflect me.

I'm one Star
you truly need
to show you
your way Up High.
we will set Thames
and all other worlds on fire.

Author's Note:
Every stanza is a whitney, a form created by Betty Ann Whitney, seven lines of the syllabic pattern 3, 4, 3, 4, 3, 4, 7.

Sunday, April 23

From A Soul Exhausted

When the orbs dim the ticker starts to die,
While horrors are unleashed it weakens and retards,
Poor and pooped the ticker starts to die,
Poor and pooped, possessed by soul exhausted.

Yet horrors come unleashed, possessed by souls malicious,
Yonder death discreet come phantoms of the night!
No wonder he grows frightened, fearing, forever hiding
From phantoms of the night he lies away concealed.

Yonder death discreet his ticker starts to die,
Into slumber he sails into the Stygian sea-straits;
He sails away concealed from horrors all unleashed,
He sails away concealed, but his soul still exhausted.

Suddenly the silenced Stygian sea-straits
starts wailing, whining, like phantoms in the night,
His soul yet again grows frightened, fearing horrors just unleashed
Wailing, whining, forever hiding, from horrors all unleashed.

And the soul exhausted wailed and whined a phantom in the night
His orbs dim and his ticker starts to die,
It weakens and retards along the Stygian sea-straits,
Poor and pooped, the ticker dies concealed!

From the wailing and whining comes a voice malicious,
Frightening, fearsome, the true phantom of the night:
"Sail into the Stygian sea-straits, where you once slept..."
Sail away concealed yonder death discreet!

Thursday, April 13

They're Here

Nothing has moved
but they're all here

right beside me
lying on my single bed.

Hear them breathing.
Feel their hearts beating

(as if they have those)
And see that they aren't

Really there.

Saturday, March 25

Justification of Cain

"But towards Cain and his offering he showed no pleasure." - Genesis 4:5

With fruits
of labored soil
his pleasure has expressed
what ground he toiled with diligence
and hope.

all his offers
with pleasure will express
his thoughtfulness and loyalty
he owes.

But no!
Towards his gifts
no pleasure is expressed!
You lust for flesh and disregard
his herbs?

Is his
not earth You own?
No pleasure You expressed
stirs anger and not envy. It's
not fair!

Fear not
he lusts for flesh;
pleasure need not express
what Bias slain is what he never

Author's Note:
Inspired by this Bible verse: "But towards Cain and his offering he showed no pleasure." - Genesis 4:5
This is a Cinq-cinquain. Although the last cinquain has an anomaly.

Friday, March 24

A Quote from Francis Ford Coppola

I got a back issue of this magazine last night, and I can't stop enjoying the read. It's an old but decent copy of All-Story's Cinema Issue of Winter 2003. I love it. The magazine is supposedly linked with the Coppola's empire of film and writing. Well, i got this quote which I really liked:

"And if you desire to write yourself, I can suggest a basic exercise that will help, if you do it every morning: Apply the seat of your pants to the seat of your chair."
-Francis Ford Coppola

Monday, March 20

Escaping His Ill Fate

His body hanging, swaying,
held by a tight rope around his neck
and by parlous woe
of gore - animosity!
He's to daydream, witness
a redemptive pact with his Devil.

Held by a tight rope around his neck
like an addler wrangling
his nape, his throat, his existence!
Dragging his soul to hell
with anguine diablerie,
a venomous Lothario!

And by parlous woe,
Oh, such star-crossed hell!
He grieves of the ugly
fate he is suffering
from, an eyesore peck
of troubled tenses.

Of gore - animosity!
Acrid schemes they do,
Those bunnysons, heck!
Do they treat him well,
like how they treat a weakling
without a single pence.

He's to daydream, witness
castles of Spain and fantasy.
Redundant wants but still he's dreaming
to escape ill-fated brow.
So his soul he has to sell
And pay whatever price it'll take.

A redemptive pact with his Devil
will set him free from rudery.
Faith? Blood? Life? What do you seek?
He asks the Devil's dens.
Heaven is a place of rue,
for it he died tricked and wanting.
His body hanging, swaying.

Author's Note:
This is written as a threnody, in expanded lilibonelle form using a modified sestina rhyme scheme.

Saturday, March 18


let go of your anger
let go of your monsters
let go of yourself.

from a deep cut
from misery
from anxiety.

like you have to
like you want to
like you care.

for in your blood
resides the filthy
horrors you must free.

for in your blood
trickles the woe
of dreams unfulfilled.

for in your blood
their screams are heard,
redemption they seek.

let go of your anger
let go of your monsters
let go of yourself.

from a deep cut
from misery
from anxiety.

like you have to
like you want to
like you care.

Author's Note:
This is a repost from, originally posted March 18, 2005.

Thirteen Nights, Thirteen Tankas


of the night,
wake up!
have you no
god to fear?


souls wander
his paths
of nether


he rides
like legends
tell of
a man on
dead horses.


with him
all night,
to wake me.


pass through
the borders;
cross the
darksome land
of his Nod.


dear witness,
while he's
taking me
where god sleeps.


his eyes,
tightly closed;
his breath,
falling fast:


we fly
on his wings
i hold
black bold keys
to his joys.


i will
doze to his
point of
no return
and no hope.


an eye
is watching
you leave
with all my
bloody tears.


cold winds,
dark dead skies
tell me
that he's gone
back to hell.


bring him here
sight or sound
only fear.


at peace
of slumber
he dreams
of heaven
being burned.

Author's Note:
These tankas are in English form (2,3,2,3,3).. and they are all written separately.. It is not necessary that the tankas above talk of a single and common subject. They are independent of each other..;-)

Thursday, March 16

Erik: An Ephrastik

Hid for many years
by mask and monstrous lair,
he stirs a voice within her,
wondrous, angelic, but sad bird
she must fly with fellow sparrow,
leave him wanting death, his lonesome piano.
**Erik is the name of the Phantom of the Opera. This piece is therefore based on that musical (and the movies). I was inspired by Mr. Greenleaf's own ekphrastic on the same legend.
**An ekphrastic is a poem taking "as its theme a particular piece of visual art of any genre, virtually representing through poetic description something originally represented visually." - Sol Magazine
**This piece is in the form of Etheree, it consists of ten lines of unmetered and unrhymed (hey those rhymes are accidental) verse, the first line having one syllable, each succeeding line adding a syllable, with the total syllable count being fifty-five.

Sunday, March 12

The Page Cannot Be Displayed

God, I'm infected. My PC's slowing down because of some pesky bug.

An illness creeps,
discreetly seethes
with stealth and spies
and hacking lies.

Worms that wriggle,
bugs that fester,
eat it for a
rotten mission:

a terminal
with evil pure

To steal some cash
with mastered code
and maggots load,
now system crash.

The kernel's fried
like horses tied
to electric,
malicious post.

No page displayed,
its piece be-holed.
Fault invalid,
Sickness, behold!

Successful crap
and all messed up;
Thieves up your head
feast on, braindead.

Thursday, March 9

Queen Vashti's Will

"And let the maiden which pleaseth the king be queen instead of Vashti.
And the thing pleased the king, and he did so."
-Esther 2:4

She will be truncated.

and amputated.

and dethroned.

For her visage
is a deception,

her digits,

Her royalty's
a hoax,

and her crown
is mine.

For Three Poetesses


behold my arm
I reach out to you
callused it may be
bleeding it may seem
I offer it to redeem
you from make-believe
and immerse you
down, abyss
for them but bliss
for us


with much angst and pride
you rock your side of world
so how could I ever forget
such sweet dark thoughts
of a life-bitcher like I am?
oh hear me,
let me explore his mouth
with my pierced tongue.
I will please him
like I do you.
let me love him,
suck him,
like you want me to.
love evil,
suck evil,
the way I want to.


what is that light I see?
though faint I'm sure
that it is there.

what beauty and misery
could I ever
compare to thee?

what joy it has caused
to me as if
it is joy itself.

what pain that cure
has tried to
take away.

Tuesday, March 7

Magdalen and Me


Passionate about passion
Craving for her presence
Reminiscing every minute
Loving all of it!


she kisses him
but with so much passion

her kiss starts an
impulse that runs through

His body
so pefect she's kissing it
and licking it good

Real good
that every damn thing


Last night I dreamed
of us
A veiled woman called Magdalen
and me
Making love passionately
so hot
Our perspires and oils
bathe us
Lubricating our bodies
and our souls
For that climax we always
seem to want.

Your Mystery

Your voice haunts me
keeps me awake
on witching hours

Your eyes scare me
show me a world
I've never been to

Your joy confuses me
belittles my pain
and passion

Your love surprises me
brings me back
to where I used to be

Monday, March 6


In every SCREAM


(though not as audible)

I want to rid
the PAIN

SCREAM it back
to you.

it's in the hands

my hands often crave to write
but it isn't the writer's itch
nor the poet's delight
they just want to scribble words of thought.

as ink spills, my tears fall;
emotions become words and words emotions.
and if to cry out loud fails
then to shout through my pen should work.

everything my hands do bring me nearer my grave
and indeed my feet carry me to different places,
yet no farfetch'd journey there is
than to write a thousand words.

the hands write
and the heart speaks;
but what is in the hands that make it
the perpetuator of my sorrows and dreams?

Saturday, March 4

Insomniac's Wish

In a blink of an eye
things start to blur,
out of focus
but a deja vu.

Fog on confusion
for a dream wide awake,
yet another reason
to close the eyes.

A long lost feeling.
Such a feeling seems
too foreign
but altogether familiar.

Addictive and loathesome,
vague but bold.
Emotional irony in its superlative,
an insomniac's wish.

Wednesday, March 1

The Road Less Traveled

This road is less traveled,
perhaps not taken at all.
It is brutally lonely,
and frightening, too!

But hell am I walking it,
gravely but bravely.
I don't know where it leads me,
doesn't that make me a hero?

For I might not be Alexander
nor Miguel Villalobos.
Never a Napoleon,
in my dreams an Adolf!

Yet I can be my own hajj,
a silent dark crusade.
With my pen and my matter,
I can be the next gold conquest.

But I've yet to complete this mile,
conquer its monsters and their howls.
Walk through this deadly path,
and keep myself alive.

Monday, February 27

::Suicide Note::

I leave in time
of sole frustration
a world of what
I completely hate

I die inside
of soul destruction
a life of that
no one will wait

I rest in peace
of solemn mention
a dream a lot
has killed unfate

And now the shampoo commercials...

This happen to you? You are riding an almost jam-packed jeepney and rubbing elbows with complete strangers. Still, you try to enjoy the rare gush of city air hitting your solemn face, until… long strands of hair lash your cheeks like cat-o’-nine-tails! And you angrily ask: What creature does this scourge come from?

As you identify the culprit, the jeepney’s hi-bass sound system coincidentally sings “Straight… at natural, at ‘di mahal… Mukhang sosyal…” No wonder that girl next to you unnecessarily flaunts her hair, at the expense of you being tortured. You might like the smell of it, but can’t she just tie it in a public jeepney, for crissakes? You are just plain unfortunate. The monster that owns the whips called “long, straight, beautiful hair” is right next to you.

How unlucky can you get? But all of us are unlucky and unconscious victims of this commercial folly. Need I say more?

Try watching primetime TV, that is, from 6:00 to 7:00 in the evening, and count all the shampoo (and conditioner) advertisements shown. I did this experiment, and I got 20! That means, there is an average of one shampoo advertisement for every three minutes! Well that really doesn’t come as a surprise; everybody knows that. There are even three 15-second commercials of the same shampoo that are being shown one after the other. (That ridiculous series with a ridiculous catch-phrase: “Girls get it” – No wonder I don’t).

Okay, let me set things straight. I am in no way against long hair. (Ano’ng paki ko sa long hair nyo; inggit lang ako dahil ako’y kalbo?) What is sad about these advertisements coming on air like clockwork is the large but wrong influence that they have on the TV-watching population. A 2003 study by McCann-Erickson confirmed that media has become a “surrogate partner” to the youth, which spends 8-14 hours a week watching TV. Majority, if not all, of this crowd, are not aware that these commercials shown to them are oftentimes being absurd and one-dimensional.

Take the shampoo commercials. They all claim that their product can take care of your “black and shiny” hair and keep it “long, straight and beautiful.” Some even come with very bad Taglish slogans like “Buhaghag-free” or “parang cinellophane” or “buhok na straight at may body”. And why always say “99.9% dandruff-free” when no one can count dandruff flakes? Why say it’s “natural” when all the hair in the ads are obviously digitally-manipulated?

The effect of these commercials are worrying. The audience that are frequently bombarded with images of absurdity and wrong concepts of beauty eventually accept the “ideologies” that they get from the commercials. These ads dangerously manipulate the minds of TV viewers into thinking that their products should be bought. Shampoo commercials, for instance, teach that women (and even men) must have a certain type of hair and look a certain way to be beautiful.

And if these commercials continue to sing foolish songs like “Balik freshness, balik bounce” and employ pretty faces and dancing girls just to endorse the products, then the youth will regrettably learn “short-circuit decision-making”. The product with the most enjoyable dance steps or the prettiest endorser will have to be bought.

But something can be done even if these irresponsible profiteers go on with spending billions on advertising their products. You read that right, they spend billions. Advertising research agency AC Nielsen reports that in Philippine media, 10 billion pesos a year is shelled out for hair care ad expenditures (that’s where all the shampoo music videos come from); 6 billion for skin care (whitening the Ati, for example); and 3 billion for oral care (aah… the maker of the Toothpaste Commercial Smile).

Then again, something can be done. We can all be more conscious and concerned with our choices. By practicing responsible consumerism, we can stop these advertisements from polluting our mind with short messages of what’s cool, what’s in, what’s beautiful. We should beware of those commercials that fool the consumers.

And then we can enjoy riding a jeepney without being whipped in the face.
(To be published in the Wesneco Torch March 2006 Magazine)

Tuesday, February 21

A God You Want

you look ahead and god you say
it’s dark and god you’re scared
you thought behind those lights
lies what you want a god you want

you were wrong oh so wrong
but worry not be sorry not
you are lost but i yes i
am here to take your hand

i will hold you guide you
guide you hold you
love you love you
i will be your northern star

i know i know i am
not what you want
not a star you look up at
not a star you wish for not a star

but you will see it’s me it’s me
who has been there and there
who has been telling you calling
you take this path this certain path

so now i whisper in your ear
what you want you get it here
a light a star a god who never sleeps
without you home you safely home

Saturday, February 18

Open Letter to the Telecom Companies

Dear Smart, Globe, and Sun (in no preferred order),

I own three SIM cards – one from each of you. Since I cannot afford two more cellphones, I have to switch into three numbers using one phone. This is obviously inconvenient, especially to a professional and renowned puzzle-maker (boggler) like, ehem, me.

I am writing this very formal letter addressed to your most gracious telecom companies because I am a religious user of all your services ti gapati ko nga kinanglan niyo ko pamati-an. For a long time now, you have made me and millions of other cellphone users avail of your respective unlimited texting (even calling) promos. Nalipay guid kami nga minilyon nga texters. Tanx!;-)

But I am wondering – these unlimited/nonstop promos of yours have become very popular and successful – why aren’t you picking up from there and making these unlimited services, regular? If you have allowed us to send 300 messages with 30 pesos, why not allow us the same thing even if we use regular load (kag indi na kami magpalanog-a sa pa-register)?

Puwede man lang gali nga maka-usar kami sang serbisyo niyo sa barato nga presyo. Ti puede man siguro nga himuon niuo ni standard mode of service, indi bala? Say, a subscriber loads P50 and then text for 5 days, without limit, without registration. Or if that’s not good for your glorious profiteering, then charge 5 cents for every SMS. (And cheaper call rates, too!) I sometimes grow tired of waiting for that clock to strike 11 and for that message that confirms my invincible power to text 1,000 SMS a day. Please, paminsara niyo guid maayo ang brilliant suggestion ko.

And if you’re asking why should I use three SIMs, you just have to review your ever-so-creative marketing genius because you know very well the answer. I shall remind you that your unlimited promos apply only to users of the same network. Smart-to-Smart, Globe-to-Globe, Sun-to-Sun. Sometimes it makes me predict that this “network choice” will lead to a Great Divide among us Filipinos, and a civil war. Dali lang, bawi-on ko ang civil war. Hehe.

I therefore request your honorable company executives to serve as examples for national reconciliation. I am requesting you to join forces and launch a “United Unlimited Service” – one that is affordable, reliable, and not network-exclusive. Consider also my suggested name for this phenomenal unity among networks – “U2” (for the two U’s – united and unlimited), which is the namesake of one of the best rock bands in the world, a personal favorite of mine.

From there will come a day when all your services are inexpensive, and Filipinos are not caught in between a commercial cold-war between cellphone networks – a day when we can text to Smart or Sun or Globe (or TM or TNT or AMP) biskan san-o, biskan di-in.

I assure you that the moment you respond positively to the abovementioned requests (which I strongly believe is shared by all cellphone users in the same national dilemma), you shall be highly appreciated. It will be an unparalleled convenience to the Filipino people, which you serve. (Service is your business, right?)

Your immortal subscriber,


(This essay was published in page 24 of the Wesneco Torch February 2006 Magazine)

Wednesday, February 15

Funny How My Poet Writes

He tries to write a poem for her
to state his dote and be sweet on.
But funny, how my poet writes:
He jots of love and ends as grim.

He gropes for words that seem just right
to win her heart and then her faith.
But funny, how my poet writes:
He sounds as if he wants her soul instead.

He opted hard to come by light
to reach for her and make her his.
But funny, how my poet writes:
He scares her off and even seethes.

Tuesday, February 14


Time is up,
so is the Moon.
With all Her might
She beams upon my flight.

But care not,
Her shadows warn:
I came as a Stranger,
as a Stranger I shall depart.

Friday, January 20


You cut my heart
Stabbed, ripped it apart
I watch in agony and in joy…
The sight of it is gory
But still I laugh, and then
I cry

I let it bleed
Let it ooze like red mud
With the stench of spoilt love…
The smell of it is nauseating
But I inhale, and then
I choke

I beg you now
Come hurt me, slay me
Feed on my muddy, bloody heart…
Its taste despicable
But it is real and rich of relish
You thirst for

My chest is open
You slashed it, left it stinking
While knowing that the twin of pleasure –
Its pain – is grave, eternal,
But you so very badly want it,
You want me


Monday, January 16

((Sound ChecK))

the beat vibrates
and reverberates

shakes my insides
shakes my existence

tries to shun me off
from your quakes

but i'm loving it
and i'm growing

to crave for it
to dance with it

to embrace it
to assimilate

it to my system.
your sound check

turns me on
beat so erotic

beat so strong
beat so brave

beat the beat
beat me

and don't wake me up
from this ear-deafening fantasy