haiku plus

hot and burning sun
under the deep and clear river
is a coin of gold.

The choosing

Watch them as they fall
Like raindrops into the ground,
Like falling leaves in the wind;
You kissed the ground
Where they fall on their knees,
Exploding like bombs,
And crashing like planes;
Close your eyes and move from
These ordeals and nightmares,
To open and love yourself,
And embrace your own dream.

Torogiak

The sounds of gangsa and solibao
are just one voice aflame
that my kindred spirits kept in me.
It is my culture, I will take from it
the good and leave the bad
to keep the flame burning
on the path to all that is.

This is the voice of my kindred spirits
that I will speak today and tomorrow
for the generations to listen to,
for them to grow like the healthy plants
beside the river that always flow.
Flowing through its own way
‘Til it finally finds the others for its glory.

fb dose

can't breath if i don't talk,
feel restless if i'm withdrawn,
awkward moments are spent in fb,
so, pardon me if i appear in fb
most of the times each day.

Weary Dove On The Roof Of A Church

There are crimson patches in the sky where poets used to fly.
In the middle of nowhere one has touched down,
Agonizing in pain, and striving to see again the horizon.
Dear, you have chosen your path and ignored him so hard.
Him who whispered your name you really sent to the wretched fields of pain.

Life is not yet, but to close his eyes is a sweet oblivion of his reality.
Drifting through freely with the strange sounds and rustles of the stray wind,
Wouldn’t he know you and you either couldn’t remember him.
Life is too bold and cold and fearsome for the defeated warrior.
The little thing you thrusted into his heart has burned alone unto his soul.
It is the great burden he will carry all through his devastated life.

You really are the fair maiden of the mountains and valleys,
The lady mirage in the desert and the colorful bird high up in the sky.
Ever not deserving the tone of a dead song
For you only belong in the heavens,
And all the best things should you only discern.

To be dead and keep dying is not painful until the heart
So told of its misfortune.Yes, every moment is good and fine
Until the whole place turn into a pit of nettles and thorns.
What more in that man to wash him with your rain
If the cold flame is made unconquerable like the cold fate?

Fate is fate, if it is conquered, then it is fate.
Lucky is he who is the master of fate, he can have it good.
The blessed one is lucky as he can partake on heaven and earth's grace.
Lucky is he who is being lucky for fate is either bad or good.
So, lucky is he whom you will give them all
Because you are all the precious and the end of quest.

The casualty remains..and in his mind your song vibrates
Like the itch under his scabbed wing.
Trembling to shove your poison, all is getting worse.
If you remember him, you may take his hand now
Or you may let the rain wash away his ashes into the ocean floor.

And when the time comes the silver string snaps and burns,
The light will engulf your everything, all is good and beautiful.
Over there is the path of your eternal travel..
Surely he is also beautiful and compelling, and maybe..
He still haven’t changed his good and gentle heart..

Ode to a merman knight

Deep in the ocean
of the drowning thawed emotions
rest a painless agony
of the merman that cursed his own fate.

Deeper yet his love
that held the rocks above the waters
but yet never pressed
the sweet soft piano of his song delight.

Desire is a quest forever
for the hardened scales and frozen heart,
but deep is not always
for earth could fall to rest from above.

Never yet the melody
sweet in the darkened completeness of sleep.
but here, one innocent soul
though broken crystal, waiting to rise in one.

Turning every stone
to find the lost cup of hope
until the quest is over and bow down
to her feet his knighthood to manhood.

Esoteric Message (?)

Beware the bearers of false gifts and broken promises;
Much pain, but still time;
Believe there is still good out there;
We oppose the deceivers;
The conduit is closing.

The farmer and the gentle breeze

As the hot and hard wind
Of warm sunny day trickled,
Something has brought thee
Under the shade of a tree
Where catnap was perfect
After an early morning toil
At the green emblazoned field;
The cool shade has invited slumber
While the gentle breeze carried thee
To the timeless moment of dream
Of abundant crops of thy patience
For the mouths of hungry nation.

The gentle breeze will come and go
To make thee dream of the harvest
That at the end after reaping,
Thee shall feed the whole nation;
But thy food may really reach not
The poorest of this poor nation
Like the gentle breeze that do not
Really seem to blow anywhere.

The reality is harsh for thee
As dream is an empty reality
That needs words and works;
In thy weakening or stopping,
All must go out to thy field
To feel the hot and hard wind
And to dream under the shade
While the gentle breeze blows
On everybody with ripened
Abundant growth of economy.

the maze wall

she married the night,
and he married the day..
broken, bleeding polemic world;
sometimes there's a moon in the day,
so there's a night without moon above..
the pivot of indifference shall underlie
ice and water, captivity and freedom,
flame and wax, rotting and dusts;
it remains the dead end is a question
of dregs, doldrums, and storms maze..

pushing the wall down shall lead
to the path of earned freedom;
that though life is a maze without exit,
there's a trodden way to the truth
that body and mind can dote upon
while consuming time with the world..

A Baguio poem

Dandelions over the damp hills
Of wild grasses and herbs,
A view that replenishes the heart
With fresh and youthful sensation.

Over the mountains are pine trees
That absorb the warmth of the sun
To regulate the cool air underneath,
To chill a little bit the living below.

Some valleys that filled with blooming coffee
Have some rivers of sweet fragrance through,
Warming the spirit within the morning cold,
And keeping the night up until the slumber.

Pinikpikan over the folks’ table
Is the savor of delight during meal time.
Though, for health it is not always served.
Yet, still being craved for when remembered.

The green sayote staple.
Consumed in many different ways,
Why don't I see a slice on a local chop suey?
Anyway, it is better with fish sauce alone.

The central business district as thoroughfare
For local residents and visitors alike,
The hub for human and machine activities
And also the place where to sit and relax.

129 sub-localities all over the place.
Expanding, thickening, the population increasing.
The people in the city are the city builders,
And what they are is the city in its unique way.

Yet, the city of pines is a melting pot of cultures
That made it adorned fay maiden of the north;
And it is the grand nature that influences the builders
Which makes Baguio dictates what shall she be

Nocteopsis

Clothed with times
the world has gone through.
Palliated with understanding;
must be an approach made today.
Returning back to find glitches
to pick the lessons for the future.
And it is to set a mind of reason
is the fulcrum of things.

Living in the night
is not drinking on blackened water.
It is if night is for sleep and rest,
then thought can be a peaceful firmament.
Too, it is the time the world dreams
for another day’s stirs and strife;
and like water that seek its level,
the day reveals colors and boldness
while night shows lights and hopes.



In this world of human race,
misfortunes happen to cultivate minds
Fostering love among the scattered
that in the darkened places, unity blooms.
Glory from the unseen profound virtues
are justified at the other side of the book,
that shall either way stoically accepted
in the air of indifference and functionality

Calypsopam

I dreamt of you
At the center of the tides,
With closed tranquil eyes
And satisfied lips
On your pale shy face,
Expressing deep love
And great compassion.

This ocean, your home,
Is a depot of tears, yet,
You knew that every tear
Is a smile in the sun…
…Then I woke up suddenly
On one frozen morning
Chilled before the waking sun.

The cantruptist

I see a night songbird
in the breaking of the day;

A child of the moonlight,
a stranger to the morning;

He sings notes of pale hue
and haunting tones of wail;

Un-blinded and taught by night,
he is drifting on his benighted voice;

He is a glinting star in the night
and night songbird in the morning.

Flameship

You wake upon the morning sun
Only to find the way an endless path,
Everyday is life's journey
And you're going home with your torch.
As you consume time with life
Shall you find things are brief
But the knowledge you obtained is
A flame hoped to burn forever.
Magnify it in love and wisdom
To illuminate the way beyond the sky.
Life is light that burns like a flame,
It is your ship to the promised land
As you're promised to live an everlasting life
One with the great Immortal Light.

Pine trees of Baguio

pine trees of baguio,

cleaners of the city air,

the providers of oxygen,
the givers of life.



landscape foliage makers,
pasted mysteriously in the eyes
with remarkable nature's scent,
will fill the visitors' memories.

without you,
baguio is not baguio..
was it named after the weed,
yet, you symbolize the place.

your delightful melody,
now in grieving decrescendo..
yet, the people hug you sing, still,
for your delightful song of life.

primal scream..

hello world!