when you understand and really
understand understanding
you do not speak
you only listen
as the other speaks to you
you anticipate when and where and what
you are no longer bothered with the
why.

as others in the corner still scream
crying, this is unfair , this is foul, this is heinous
to understand and really understand understanding
you put your hands inside the pocket of your pants
walk five steps farther
stop on the sixth and find a place for yourself
where you can take your deep breath
and sigh
because you are no longer bothered with the
why.

cascading

i am not ashamed
to tell you
about the cascading
thoughts i have of
you
made of paper.

man's dream

man wants a
landmark
man's dream has
always been
to build the tallest
tower
dreams of Babel
sonorous sounds
widget whispers
to justify
his inevitable
passing away
and he shall hear
a division of people
speaking in tongues
so strange to his
hearing.

how you wish

how you wish that this trip
be long
so we can be together for
long
you like the conversations
and the stories
that make you cry
and laugh
bitter yet and sweet still
you like the sound of the bus
and every bus stop
is a memory
of sorts
you like the comfort of the
seat
and the coolness of the rural
air that
meets the skin of your face
but this journey will not
be long
it will be over
for the satisfaction of all
not just you
and soon you will cry and laugh
again
but this time alone
and no longer in this
journey
for i will be gone away on
a trip
of my own
and so shall you

take care.

For Rosie

the castle of paper
that we create from a
sheet of white
bond paper
stands on the brown
table
tall and proud so
they say
but we know Rosie
that this is just plain
creativity
could be a way of
expressing your
self's discontent of the
surroundings
the foul air
the heavy rain that
seems not to stop
the muddy path
to the market and the
church
betraying fate
and foolish friends
but you know Rosie
very well that nothing
lasts forever
the water paper
the paper castle
gathers dusts
and soon we are fed up
on this
i am going away and
you too
but we shall not
be together for i also
get fed up
on you as you shall soon
to me.

PHOTOSHOP 2

A child catches a
waterfall
in his white cup
as though
this matter is nothing
but a cup of
tea.

the color of lust

electric blue
body of a man
muscular and
strong and firm
and silent

he is the backdrop
of the principal figure
of a leaf
whose tip is melting
butter
dripping
like a drop of
red melon juice
cut
slit from a
wound.

a bird inside a cage

a bird inside a cage
sings of freedom
a cage tied to a wall
dreams of resurrection
direct to heaven
with lines from a halo
inside a blue bird
with big blue wings
flying away
from here.

PAPA AND SON

small son
like a toy soccer ball
yellow and black spots
in the warm hold of
Papa the giant
to his mind
his hands are powerful
against the walls
and tall buildings
against the hot horizon
he laughs
at son who raises his hands
in total surrender
not afraid anymore
if ever he falls
Papa is the giant
his words are true
like walls and tall buildings
like strong hands
like laughter
like white teeth
like words of comfort
of horizon's assurance.

black and white

trees without leaves
trees which are all but twigs
reaching for the summer
sun
like Egyptians
in worship
a monochrome of
black veins
and capillaries against
the gray background of
dying light
off-white on such
a bleak day.

chocolate woman

shapely chocolate woman
firm breasts
body curved like a bow
mind like an arrow
tall like a tree
so sweet
when i kiss you
like the sun
that shines warmly
on the hills

you melt

landscape of a woman

a woman faces her bed
forming a landscape of
hills and shadows
a forest of long hair
contours of the body
curves of roads
without the usual cars

beautiful

upon a hill
covered with green grass
a white tower stands
beside it a house with
two big black windows
a red roof
and whitewashed walls
above them are clouds
a comfort of the view
like the wings of
an egg-laying chicken
embracing beauty

symbolism

there is this brown room
with closed windows
two men are smoking down
seven feet below
the soil level
up there is a view of the
priest with violet vestige
spreading the holy water
as they all watch
with shallow sadness

THE WATER LILIES OF KNAS

ABOVE the water lilies
of KNAS
is the whole body sculpture
of a national hero
in black suit, well defined hair,
tight white pants
nice mustache on the face
of his bravery
on his right arm is the heaviness
of books
on his left his famous
coat taken from the city
of Brussels

below this history
is a pond of goldfish
bubbling
knowing nothing about
heroism

flood

when the flood comes
when the thatched roof of houses
start to drown themselves
the children go on
with their games
on bamboo rafts
they begin a journey
of fun
and fantasy
now they are vikings
tomorrow they are the pirates of Penzange
on their penchant
for charm
their laughter over
the rising waters
like their ancestors who lost
nothing
they are now ready to
move
for another soil
on top of a hill
on some grassy grounds again.

photoshop

stepping upon a dome
on your giant foot
over-sized sneaker
man, you create another
world
you know it, an illusion
of size and grandeur
it is not there
i look at it
on a short glance
and then i fast
paced
open another page
looking for something
small
but at least true
something cheap but
at least
truly beautiful

sailing along

you sail along
alone on a mirror of water
aboard a light bamboo raft
at the other end
you create a direction
the clouds glance at you
down below the
water level
finding this matter of drifting
too interesting
there is a relationship
developing
sailing all alone along
the surface of liquids
languid and languished
lean and light
a flight from a fight
this fool full of fear

filthy rich

she met him
at the escalator
they did not talk
but their eyes
were laughing
taunting
for more of this
mutual understanding

there is no
need for elaboration
for what both
people know

there was a certain
intimacy in their
silence
not unusual for this
filth

this way of loving
only in the mind

with a stranger
she looked down
not at the floor
somewhere between
the ceiling and
his shoes

between his legs
i supposed

there is a short
lapse

and they cannot
forget it

that crisp crunch
a steady thump
sweet stud
a thud.

pic

it is your body
that makes a steel feeling of my drifting presence

i become present
totally beneath you

when i see the wetness of your hair
i feel the earth and grass inside me

there is rain in my head
there is mud on my feet

do not walk away yet
i still have many items to offer

there is fire in my eyes
there is a commotion in my belly
i love to dance with you
in my life
tonight

no, nothing is eternal

so many questions
and so many answers to choose from
can't decide yet
which one

but there is an answer hidden in your hair
your eyes speak them for me
i am restless
i need it now to calm me down
to dispel the questions
with only one answer from you
tell it to me gently
and then touch
me with your lips
my silence is always unfilled.

toothless little girl

the toothless little girl
smiles
it is not enough
to show to you that
this world is alright
that there is still more
to this earth
that hope is alive
that life is contagious
there is more
to what we are
and what we can be
the possibilities are
endless
and then the
child
laughs and runs
and chases
her own version of
her dreams

creativity

from a mere paper
cut out
Jesus is risen
from the
dead.

WHEN YOU CANNOT PUT THE CIGARETTE BUTTS IN THE ASHTRAY

BY now you must
realize
that it is time to
change
for the better
you must
quit.

there is something about you that i detest
what i clean you make
dirty all over again
what i do not like you keep
doing
what i want to be kept
you take it and display
on the neighborhood for all of them
to see
you oppose me
my love is hate for you
my life is death to you
this time i like it
how is wish that you must go
away
and if this be your philosophy
then i must
stay, i must love, i must sing
i must keep
what life is
till the end.

pains

if pains are flowers
of different sized and colors
and scents
and varieties
then if you only see me
the truth around me
i am filled with flowers
all over my hair
all over my body
around my days and hours
so many flowers spread in bed
in the bathtub
on the floor.

many of us keep walking
early this morning
not wanting to be weak
and later on submit
to the calls of death
i put on my earphone
listening to Mozart
that sad part there
of his requiem.

at a certain point
our feet hurts
we want not just to cease walking
but to stop breathing
altogether
some memories await on the other
side of the road
you cross
and looks forward
to something new
you sit on the pavement
like a child
waiting for Papa
you hold your favorite toy
and then you stand
and run
back into the lost corners
of your joys
finding the missing steps
the link to
completion

times drags.
the shoulders of man begins to stop.
a heaviness hangs upon the
edges of the heart
immobilizing love
passions numb
life melts
hope shrinks
body rots, stinks,
bones turn to dust
and then the spirit
begins to soar.

a handsome face

i am a handsome face
long black hair
aquiline nose
slim body
kissable lips
sharp eyes
white teeth
smooth brown skin
lean and muscular body

i promise you nothing
i have no time
and i do not know what
love is
i am the vagabond of
this earth
a wanderer of its bosom
no one owns me
and i own no one.

a simple poem

the knight in full
armor
sits by the side
of the window
facing the
dawning of his
time
his honor at stake
as the morning sun
peeps at the
black shadows of the
mountain

must he tell her now?

the anatomy of desire

the right arm
sits on the
left arm
the right hand
lands on the
left side of the neck
the left hand
situates itself
securely on
the right armpit
you embrace
yourself
the eyes focus
on the object
that they have
not seen
it is not necessary
that a wrinkle
be an accent on
the forehead

a sexy woman

white clouds
blue sea
green long island
on the shallow waters
a woman faces me
white bra
white panty

(two piece)

at the middle
the water touches
the center of her
being

the grass of her earth
is wet

she walks away
dripping

her hair is long and curly
black

she does not own me.

a silly poem

a red ant bites
her red fingernails
mistaking it perhaps
for strawberry
candies

on folded arms

he stands against
an old wall
on folded arms
watching people
pass by

let time kills its hours
let it choke the minutes

faded denims
white shirt
he winks at the lady
who believes that
a man likes him
has a lot of time to
offer her

she is boredom
he is the perfect man for her

he kills time
he shall choke her hours
like the way her hands
press her breasts
squeezing
her private moments
to juices of
their complimentary
convenience

she

she submits to the
hold of the chains
hoping to regain her
freedom that he once
took away from her

soon, soon, she keeps
telling herself
the iron chains tighten
on her arms

soon, soon, she keeps
telling her body
gyrating to the feast
of his drunkenness

to Bacchus he cheers
till dusk

until one day a dead woman
lies dead on the floor
bathed in her own blood

she finally got
what she had long sought.

my body

what i lost
was simply my body
the flat abdomen
gave in to negligent
fats
my strong muscled
arms
got the flab

i detest what my
mirror shows me

this is not me
i tell myself

this is me
the truth insists

too much sitting
too much poetry

the thinking finally
kills the body
the spirit soars

this is the real me
forget the body
i finally proclaim
myself before me
Creator

the sun

as the sun fades
this afternoon
it leaves a mark
of ripples lights
on the gray sea

in a moment
everything fades
the wave sounds
its own question
to the night wind

the new fishermen

they go to placid lakes
to find the pictures of nature's best
these fishers
of the faces of nature's bliss

the green marshes of the pond
the fading sun
the fish coming out of the water
a leaf floating
the pines blown by the wind

shall they capture too the scent
of the flowers?
the pungent snake hiding under
the rotten bark of trees?

the natives of Cogon

trained now in the art of
tourism
all for the love of money
they change costumes when the white guests
arrive upon prior notice
relearn their old language
practice the dance of their old ancestors
using the wooden spears and shield
as props
on a rehashed warrior dance
or the wedding march
or the symbolic courtship of the
birds

in proper places now
the tourists from America arrived
like a stage show
or a big pretense as i may call this
(unable to land for employment on their
chosen degrees)
they dance for them
and let them hear an old language
an old song
a lullaby that their mothers used to sing for them
when they were babies

now for survival they do art
for the dollars.

PUNTA CRUZ

THE adventure of my ancestors
from Bohol
where poverty drives them all the
promises of Mindanao
is landmarked by the
cross planted
on the shore of Miputak
to protect them from the
attacks of the
pirates
godless men from the south
who without mercy
took away their women
and children
as slaves and
concubines.

two friends

two of them on top of a rock
on top of a mountain
somewhere in the hidden forest of Mexico
behind them are the shadows of
tall unexplored mountains
misty, around them is the coldness
of this tapestry
of boulders, and fog and smoke of the
breath of the earth
fronting them are the mountains again
behind and on the sides of their
twin existence
being, uncertain, true, insisting,
growing, mysterious
after this short rest, they move again
to complete their journey to the other side
edgeless.

i know what a sunset means
you always equate it with surrender
and defeat
i have a different version though
it is the flaming
the burning of the last cloud
the spreading of my blood to the sea
the blackening of my horizon
an end that deserves
a commendation
for its bravery
still glorious till the last
orange light.

a painting of pink lips

pink lips
melting like
ice cream
from a
pastel brown
canvass

i feel desire
you feel
the toxicity of
dripping
the uselessness of
drifting
i feel the deep sense
of falling
into a dream
of drips of
sweet strawberry
flavored
ice cream

HOPE

Beyond this black curtain
this veil of my window
on its sense of mourning
on the grief walled by the frames
of a house devastated

...clouds drift, a sail boat stirs its way
a man paddles it to a distance
the sun rises, all things move
all molecules collide
all atoms consistently collide
making me feel
everything is alive
i am, too, breathing still
despite.

lilac lips
beige skin
morning eyes
dancing eyelashes

such a beautiful face of a woman
in my dream
i keep telling myself
she loves me

how can one accept the sad
conclusion
that she loves me
not?

the dog

the white dog
with a brown spot on its right eye
sleeps comfortably
on my bed
trusting that i shall never
betray it

INSIDE THE HOTEL ROOM

IF YOU SEE me here inside my hotel room
in Hongkong
you will not perhaps believe
that in such a short time of our separation
I am now looking
at our pictures

the one where we simply sit on the train
going to Baclaran
on the busy day
where we were looking at the other side of the window
taken by that stranger
upon our request
still strikes me

there was something in your eyes
that gives the premonition
something in the misty window
speaks about the unexpected twist
of a sad story
a plot that i have not mastered well
perhaps because
i was too trusting

the stupid man falls in love again
with a woman still possessing the full senses
of her world

i have decided to tear this picture
into tiny pieces of paper
my hands like a shredding machine
i open the window of this hotel
and let the tiny shreds of your face
be blown by the wintry wind
from the 13th floor.

sad song

when you were once a girl
as tiny as a memory
you wish to be like a geisha
serving men
in a nice conversation
that was how you see things
on the limitations of what they have
seen for you
that you too have seen for yourself
Japan is your only country
to be free from your own impoverished country

the leaves of the mahogany tree
all fall out from its branches
one day
showing the beauty of its bare twigs

that was long ago
and then you turn into a woman
and you do not want to talk about it anymore
the mountains know
how ugly is the nudity of the trees
how bare
a mind becomes when deprived of its own thoughts

the dalmatian and the white man

a white man goes fishing
to the sea
on his white wooden boat
bringing with him his
dalmatian

wherever the man looks
the tongue of the dalmatian also follows
at the other side
the island looks at them
the mountains as usual
so big
for this kind of friendship

INSOMNIA

this is a private affair
between her and her wall clock

there is this consistent rhythm
of the tick tock tick tock

her pupils roll and sometimes
still
staring at the walls of the house

restless she avails of all the possible
combination of postures

but to no avail
the clock keeps on ticking and ticking and ticking

she feels like a tick
and she cannot talk

this is her private affair with her wall clock
above her head
her mouth is closed shaped like
a lamppost
without a light.

the face of agony

pale, and abandoned
this is the face i see on the paper
veiled woman in black
lips cracked
teeth protruding
closed eyes
yet she swears
she knows where she is going
what she sees
inside her dream
in that nightmare
are obstructions
of guns bursting
she flees
and they find her
he kicks her
and laughs
he is dominion
she is a mystery
he is the shackle
she is freedom
seeking freedom
he is force
she is resistance
he laughs
she does not die.

do not expect me to wear
a G-string when i decide to take my swim

i always go naked.
I like always to feel the sea
all over my body

i plunge myself
and feel the nakedness of the sea
too
it's water all over me
all around me

naked sea to my naked body
you know how it feels
it feels like the way we do it
you are the sea
and i am a body
you are a body
and i am the sea

so simple and yet
what a bliss
naked, deep, blue, watery
wet, slippery, salty,
sweat mixed with the salt of the sea
two naked bodies
feeling
salt, earth, sand, fire

his drawing of her

with only
the pigments of red
and black made
available to
paint her
he sticks to the
rules

her body is
the white of the
canvass
her lips
red and the rest
shall be black

her heart too.

a self-portrait poem

after she paints
herself in the canvass
she puts her
signature there

me
by
me.

when he goes fishing

during summer
his fishing time begins
a loner
he is always alone in his boat
and think as deep as the sea
he doesn't care how time runs
how he looks sometimes
his mind is focused on the fish
and his loneliness
he didn't know that someone out
there with a telescope
cares about his
butt

naked he swims in the sea
diving for fish
and cooking his catch right there
in the shore
at night building his own
bonfire

someone out there
sees his naked beauty
dreaming that someday
his loneliness shall also be
her own

someday, she knows this man
shall need a woman beside him
to make fire for him
to make a man out of his
butt.

Papa always brings his bolo
wherever he goes out from the house
during those turbulent times of our lives

"these are what fathers are for
these outlaws must know
that we also know how to protect ourselves!"
he always tells me that
when i was young
and innocent and didn't know what wars were
why other men were cruel to their own gender

when my turn came
i begin to bring my gun
my wits
and my distrust

"this is the reason why i was born" i tell myself that.

when you close
your eyes
and feel my presence
i too feel it
even if i am on the other
edge of this world

we have to believe
in presence
that is all that it costs
us to be here.

shades of green and brown

shades of green and brown

soon the flower puffs
and spreads the softness of its seeds
this wisp of the winds
this call of the ground
to perpetuate life
to kill the ugliness of death
to resurrect the hope of the grasses
the ideals of the flowers
leaves dissolve like watercolor dampness
in the canvass of life
so soft, soft green meadows
pastel woodlands
light green horizons spreading
diffusing against the fading light of dusk
meeting once again
the blueness of the skies
like baby's breath to mother
lips kissing meeting
in the cradle.