sometimes we deny this need.
most of the times , it is more of
forgetting, because there is so
much fun, so much noise, and
we are drunk, and always when
sober, there is someone beside
to provide the heat and the smoke.

then you fall, and badly hurt, then
you find yourself alone in the room
and you are having seizures, sick,
and poor, and no one answers your
call for help. The bankbook is empty.
The clouds are dark. There is
thunder. Lightning strikes your
roof. The fire burns your house.
No fireman is coming.No water.

God comes in. You did not even call.

i, too , commit the same
mistake. I fear being alone
as though i was born with
you from my mother's
womb

as though i was conceived
in the the pronoun We

as though the crib was a
market with lots of people
roaming in there

we are not us. I am i. And
will always be in its solo flight
from what i am to what i will be.

For the meantime, there is
this marketplace, this mall,
this house, this home, but
at the end, there is always
this silence, that of a leaf
and the pond without a
single ripple....then a hush.

will you still love me?

what if i hug you
and my hands are dirty
and my arms are wounds
will you hug me too?

what if i do not belong to
your class? if i were just
an alien, without a face,
not speaking your language,
no trace, no planet of my
own, will you still
have me?

you have learned to love
black, and yellow and
red and brown, years have
taught you, to love

what if i do not have any
color at all? what if i were
nothing but an idea? what if
i am unknown? and you
are confused, and you
lose reason?

will you still love me?

the virgins of artemis

she meets
soulmate

and that
is final &
irrevocable

she writes
dear husband
dearest

the last letter
which says
"goodbye and
have a
goodtime"

soulmate is
her woman for
seven years

they were
all the virgins
of Artemis

stones and butterflies

we talk about stones

stones can be
sensations if
we keep on
talking about
stones not as
stones

you have stones
you like them
they become
diamonds which
you keep

those who watch
us feel stupid
they laugh and
laugh

and we laugh at
them
and then they become
stones
which are
sensational

i am stupid
i laugh with you
but i never like
stones

they're hard and
faceless and
silent and
so stupid for me

i like butterflies
and so i set them
free to look for
the flowers they
love

what i like in
them is that
they die in a
day or two

without a trace
where their broken
wings are

bread and pretense

you are busy
and lost

what a way
to be true
and yet
be false
at the same
time

the desert desire

there is no
way to stop
upon an endless
stretch of
a highway on
a land without
a sea
upon a world
without
water

a love life

                                 On that buri mat

   you
                                                          must catch

                                a live fish

                                                           much like

                                what is

                                                           inside my trouser
                               You do not have

                                                to ask my permission

                                                with much confusion

                            Hands

                            Akimbo


                                                  i shall learn the process


                             of sustaining
                                 groans

sans the metaphors less those illusions

sometimes he feels like he is
caged

he likes to escape but this
time

first he must be a bird
but in reality

a bird he is ever
not

and so he remains to himself
still human

sans the metaphors
less those illusions

UPON SEEING A FRIEND WITH HIS TWO BOYS IN THE CAPITAL

his two boys with same pants and shirts
looking like twins sit beside him in the capital

it is picture of a father sitting beside his two sons
who had easily grown up to witness the years

their eyes are all the same in different angles
how i envy the joys, how my heart bleeds

how suddenly i have felt the burden of all my years
how my youth and lust face me with all vengeance

a number of friends encircling you
in your misery is a big comfort but
you will be lost inside them and you
are in no position anymore to probe
the recesses of your sorrow: you will
soon forget how to cure it.

try being solitary in that journey to
creativity: marvel at all discoveries
how your shadow follows you and you
control its shape and form and movements
against the light. How darkness can be
a home and how you can still be light.

buy another
gold fish for your
aquarium

gather cranberries
in the yard

ride the red
pony

spend money on
italian spaghetti
and butter toast

sip coffee
on a table by the sea

write a poem
at nine

THE REUNION

We come back one time
at the end of this year
to the room where we
spent first year high school

we wend inside that room
of 30 empty chairs

we
remembered the brown paint
and the litter of crumpled
papers and we again heared
same words repeated for
the nth time which we
refused to memorize and
we focused our attention to
the blackboard where our
names were once written
but now completely erased
by them as new crazy voices
emerged replacing our
monotonic cadences fading
in the hallways enclosed with
those rusty iron grills.

WHEN A DAUGHTER MARRIES A DISTANT PLACE

when a daughter marries
a distant place
his father will be sad
knowing that
distance can always stab
him anytime

as years go by the bleeding
continues

the daughter can forget all
these with a child to bear
and years can add some padded
memories that make the distance
more bitter

the father goes to the kitchen
for comfort as he slices with his
sharp knife some onions

tears fall down and in those years
that he is alone
the floors where he stands are
rusting with all the crystals of
salt

the news is heard that the father
one day goes out of the house and
runs naked in his farm of cabbages
there, he uproots what he plants
there, he curses the rice paddies
and pours his misgiving to the
scarecrows

one day the daughter comes back
bringing her three daughters home
what surprises her are the changes
which she cannot believe: the
stair has only one tooth left
the floors of the living room melt
the roof is nested with black crows
the bed has a boa for a sleeper
and in the kitchen there she finds
her father who is still slicing
all the rotten tomatoes constantly
for all the years

the daughter embraces his father
and shows her three daughters but
then the father has turned into
a sculpture of stone.

the pink pussy
cat
lands on its
four feet
on the blue
floor

what you have
not seen
is her way of
scratching the
cheeks of
air
in the middle of
her
somersault
exhibition

THE POWER OF THE MIND

from a lemon peel
rises an iguana

your hands with
a sharp knife makes
it

from your own thoughts
shall rise
another green iguana
smelling like
a real green lemon

your mind with a sharp
scalpel shall
form it

we know fully well
who lied

but guess what
for saying what we

really want to hear
then we party tonight

IF YOU think that you
know better than the
chimp

then be a man

P.S.

And if you want to be
more complete

listen to the woman.

NOT FOUND

a lost wallet has always
a story to tell

which the owner who
misses it

can never hear.

DIRTY HARRIES

those who think like
everyone else
comes with a definite
conclusion that
we could not have
entered the room of
the motel and then we
chant the mysteries of
the holy rosary

honestly, you may not
believe
and we don't really
care

what we had was a very
lively oral intercourse

not what you have still in
your dirty mind

Fools! we simply had the
best conversation ever.

dysfunctional art

sometimes art
has no hands

the poor couple
who sat here days
ago

went to the other
village because no one

accommodated them
for a night's stay

and the famous artist
did not bother except

of course his way of
depicting them

in his new bronze
structure that now

lies on display in the
public park.

LONELINESS

A white cat with blue eyes
lays its head on the arm of the
sofa

it is a sunny day again and it has
not smelled something fishy.

a daughter marries a distant place

when a daughter marries
a distant place
his father will be sad
knowing that
distance can always stab
him anytime

as years go by the bleeding
continues

the daughter can forget all
these with a child to bear
and years can add some padded
memories that make the distance
more bitter

the father goes to the kitchen
for comfort as he slices with his
sharp knife some onions

tears fall down and in those years
that he is alone
the floors where he stands are
rusting with all the crystals of
salt

the news is heard that the father
one day goes out of the house and
runs naked in his farm of cabbages
there, he uproots what he plants
there, he curses the rice paddies
and pours his misgiving to the
scarecrows

one day the daughter comes back
bringing her three daughters home
what surprises her are the changes
which she cannot believe: the
stair has only one tooth left
the floors of the living room melt
the roof is nested with black crows
the bed has a boa for a sleeper
and in the kitchen there she finds
her father who is still slicing
all the rotten tomatoes constantly
for all the years

the daughter embraces his father
and shows her three daughters but
then the father has turned into
a sculpture of stone.

A LOVE POEM FOR A WOMAN IN HER 40'S

you shall soon love a man
who kneels before you and
sees the tiny stars below
your navel

you shall close your eyes
and forget what chains are

you lie in bed as you offer the
moon for him
and soon when light pierces
the blinds of Venice
when the softness of
tenderness wearies away

you shall wake up to a new
day inside his cozy arms

YOU AND THE NIGHT

night is a private affair
between sleeplessness
and pain

the sockets of the eyes
are repositories of
regrets
the pillows soften
trying to comfort what
pain inflicts

sleep is forgiving
as it comes and then
at least for these hours
you are rested
in such slumber of
forgetting

LOVE BIRDS

They were a lovely pair
as i sit down waiting for my turn
at the ticketing section of
the airline

The lover sits behind
the beloved and puts his
chin on his shoulder
and begins to whisper
as he giggles and turns
to him and their lips meet
at the middle

The lover wears a fitting
cotton white shirt while the
other has a pink polo

From the looks of it
they are all young men
smooth skinned and
muscular

I turn my gaze away
as my number is called

I feel nosy sometimes
The world really has changed
Love's definition

HAPPINESS IS ONLY REAL WHEN SHARED

AT chow king
i've seen so many
new faces eating
the hours alone

no one is surprised
one gets attuned to
a certain individuality
a mode of indifference
where one minds
his own business
like a yuppy

i must be an outdated
fool feeling a little bit
ashamed to sip my
seafood noodles
alone sensing a
humiliating selfishness
underneath the spoon

i have decided though
to have a take-out
i am not happy at this
chair facing an empty
chair as others pass by

i want my noodles shared
with someone
where conversations
become spices where
news become condiments
where friendship makes
the food more delicious
simply because the hours
too are shared like food
for the soul itself.

i have no motive
to change the way you see things

a cabinet is still a cabinet
i dare not open those closet
full of skeletons

i am taking you to a place
where we shall have fun

a beach, some waves of
thoughts, we listen to some
monotones

we look at blue skies
and at night we make a fire

we feel the sands of time
falling to our feet

when we part it will be dark
as windows begin to show

the sparks of lights
to our homes where love waits.

SIMPLICITY

how simple is air
without raiment

not even color
and yet the most

essential

life is even simpler
than air

yet how complicated
have you made it

to be.

KILLING

You may justify the killing of that
bitch

But how can you ever justify
the cries of the puppies?

those who are helpless and
yet keep on waiting

THE SOURCE OF IDEAS

Actually it is not me
which is the source.

It is you.

I merely mirror
what you are saying

and behold, you
flatter yourself by

saying that i am
beautiful.

THE MAN WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT THE PORK BARREL SCANDAL

he knows every detail
addresses, parking lots,
names of banks, brands of
shoes, amounts spent
in lavish parties down to the
last cent, all
the luxuries that the
pork barrel went through
senselessly
shockingly
he can name specific names
of those involved about a hundred
of them or so
but he remains

anonymous.

HUNGER GAMES

when i first watch it
i could but cry because of
the violence

despite the pomp of the props
the fire and the sharpness of
the colors

was the director merely hungry
for the blood and the honor?

nope. He shows what we are.
How easily can we forget our
violent history

how Cain and Abel were
how brother kills brother

i had years reflecting and i guess
we deserve more deaths of our own kind

to be human again. To be careful
that soon we all perish

and lose our very own inheritance.
Earth, Peace, Love.

BRIEF

People are so busy
and their attention span
is short

too much info
here and there and

everywhere

and so i have this
tripping now

brief. A poem must
be brief.

women easily
understand that

what is important
is not what is between

the long lines but
what is deep within

that brief
poem.

WHAT I DID TODAY

I went to our old house.
Papa built it for us all five.

The old santol tree is
teeming with fruits.

All Bangkok, sweet,
huge and pulpy.

When i was a young boy
then
I watered it. It was not
a tree yet.

All my other siblings
went their own ways.

I am left going back
to my past. And trying

to convince myself that
now, I am reaping what

i watered. The old house
is falling. Papa and Mama

are all dead. And i am
their childless son.

I am eating too much
santol. Look what envy

and that feeling of being
wasted can do to trees.

I just did it to myself.
But don't worry.

I have this feeling.
everyday. And i love it

somehow. Angst and
Anger sounding like

brothers bonding
like long lost friends.

WACKY

i am 52, reserved,
refined, and
serious.

i am more of a teddy
bear
in your cabinet

but when you said
"go wacky"

like the rest i jumped
and stretched my arms

forgot the teddy bear
in me

and well, i was wacky
and wants to be wacky

for once. But tomorrow
i want you to do the same

"shout at me, GO wacky!!"

i guess at 52 i can still
jump a hundred times

but how about you,
Mr. 70? Can you go

wacky too? How about
you Ms. Broken Heart

Ms. Forlorn, Mr. Insolvent
Mrs. Unpaid Credit Card

Mr. Failure, Ms. Cauldron
Mr and Mrs. Casserole

Do you like to go wacky too?

at any rate, ...hmm
"what is wacky?"

we're all put
aflame
we shine in
the dark

we are all
consumed
not by fear.

friendship
sometimes is

"i scratch your back
and you scratch mine"

someone asks
"what does that
solve?"

one responds
"what is your
problem?"

none, none

that is what
friendship sometimes is

none, none,
nothing

it just makes you
feel at home.

what comes to my
mind often when i look
out the window is
this flowerpicker pecking
upon a ripe guava on that
early morning

now i remember
what happiness is

THE CATEGORICAL IMPERATIVE

with your praying
hands
you can catch the
dancing sun
you can even eat
and swallow all,
all light
and keep it to
yourself alone

but can you
afford a sunless
world
for everyone?

there is a big separate
wall between myself and
my poem

you may cry on those
sad ones
but you cannot equate
that as me

i may have written a
love poem
but it may not after all
refer you you

do not be disappointed
but realize that poetry is but
a creation of an
imagination

it can be empathy, or
a shot in the wind using
the universal arrow of humanity
from one who feels
that the angst must be expressed
because there are those
without the courage to do so
without the words to say
without the privilege of having
been educated in universities like you

so calm down, read and feel and
take what affects you

do not put me there. I live somewhere else
and live a life that is still to be
created by me.

in life
there is more to being a frog relaxing upon a lotus leaf
there is more to being a ripple on the pond
there is more to being a shadow of the morning light
there is more to peace
there is more to a newly-found solitude

there must be more to life in life
because if there isn't

what can life be?

IN MEMORY OF THE PLAY "NO EXIT"

A woman is in love with the clouds
The clouds elope with the sunset
The man's heart is broken having
loved the woman for years
The sea is seduced by the sand
But the sand is attracted to the trees

what you do not see here is another
man in love with a broken heart
things are linked but all in chains
each link is a suffering link to another
suffering without end.

whether laughter
comes from a baby
or a lady or
a middle aged man
or an old woman
one thing is sure:
it is still contagious.

a heart that loves is a smiling child who leaps with joy
it is warm-blooded and spreads all the warmth therein
its eyes see a world so colorful and feel the freshness of air
it has scented palms with hands always out there reaching

I WANT to make a poem
that must rhyme
spicy like a thyme
with value like
a dime
without much words
like a mime.

a chicken's life
is measured by its power to scratch
for grains

how it  lays eggs
and feeds its chicks
until they all get to be chickens like her

but not all
are bound to follow her cycle

not those
who are better shaped than her

because they are bound
for the knife in the
kitchen

i am back
to open a closed door
to begin anew
starting with the stairs and the floor
of an old house
where memories are stored like
dusts and
spider webs of some tales
still untold.

There are so many things to do.
Dry leaves pile upon pile
and Trees are making the space smaller
and this place darker still.

I will be the light and the air.
Some have to be cut and taken away
Either into fire or into the garbage pit
of this unkind city.

I am back into this silence.
So much to think, to dig, and to bury.

De-list some friends
i am told

After all the simplicity of
the few

shall be the gauge of
beauty.

The flowers bloom alone
under the rain and sun.

The fields are green
from faraway.

The clouds drift and
does not mind where.

The wind blows and blows
wherever it shall be.

Let me have it my way
a Choice here and there

If you look for me
There is no way where you

can find me. I am distance
and what you shall see

Is the mirage, and the hoax
of what is real.

A long time ago
i have that fear that being alone can be a tragedy

For instance, who shall fetch me water from the well?
Who shall give me the glass? and serve me breakfast on the plate?

Sleeping alone can be insomniac
No placement of this body is giving me the soundness of sleep.

But people leave us, and we soon shall be left alone
To tend for ourselves what is left of us

This the reality of living.
I was not born with a twin. Or even if i had a twin

Soon there shall be quarrel, soon there will be parting.

So here i am, practicing how to be alone with myself again.
Reviewing that part when i was born, when i cried and when

I was slapped in order to check that i am fully alive.
The bed is my wife. The blanket is my dog. And my slippers my

children. The door is a watchdog. And the window is a cloud.

This sounds crazy. But these images create the crowd.
The people around for real are things. The kitchen is a show

Of male forks and female spoons. They hand me food. On the plate
is the stage where rice grains dance and pork chops do the circus

Upon the snow. Porcelain plates and coffee cups, talking like

TV hosts reading me the morning news. The Walls are Trees.

Deep down us
the courage is there
hidden from
our heaps of fears

the courage is a network
of roots
deep down under the
rocks and sand

deep down us lies the
secret of
how is it to be alone
and yet survive
and soon adapt what
is necessary for
living

Courage befriends the
worms
and gathers the wisdom
of humus

we go down under and
recall
and write again
what was there

as a reminder

for clouds still drift
and winds blow and leave us
hollow

turn this world upside down
blow the mind and burst
thereafter

so much to learn after the
explosion
courage comes up and
we muster.

SILENCE

I can't utter it
so i just write about
it but if you do not care
to read
i'll will let my
finger cut my
lips for you
to know

THE ANONYMOUS

someone's lips
had a compromise with
the unkindness of
a dark night
just to wait for you
plant a kiss on its
dryness.

AN OLD LONGING

a man with all the trimmings
of success
finds it hard to accept that he
is lonely
deep inside him

outside the roar of the city
drowns him no end
the lights blind him and he
rushes back to his room one
fine morning

to see his nudity again

on the floor worshiping the
souls of his feet he offers
tears again as the longing

of whom he truly loves
reverberates again like termites
coming out from the walls
creeping on his skin tasting
how delicious can he be
in this hour of reckoning

A LITTLE TRUTH, A LITTLE DIFFERENT THIS TIME

so many crave for freedom
many die in its name
so many young blood flow
under the old bridge of
adages and slogans

imagine a boat out at sea
and you are there alone paddling
alone with all your choices and
you have to think a longer time
just to decide which way to go

no island to see, no port to anchor,
no sound to hear, no body to touch

this is your freedom now. To choose
to die.

HAPPINESS IS LONGING FOR REPETITION

Repeat what? say you love me again.
Prove it again. Kiss me again and again.
Multiply the mirrors of mesmerizing munches
love, love, love, ...
make love to me for the nth time.

multiply the branches of the trees of desire
free those thousand birds of restraints.

THE CHAIR AND THE TREE

many hours
you sit there on that
chair beside
the tree and had
a monologue
telling yourself how
she breaks your
heart & causes
you so much pain

you go to bed
early
to dream and
hoping to forget
everything
wanting to begin
a new life
tomorrow morning

"one does not have
to live longer on that
pain
neither one has to
be overwhelmed with
sorrow
life moves on"
you write in your
diary

the whole night
the chair and the
tree have a
very serious talk

and they say
they have all
empathy for yo

the following morning
the ground is all wet
with tears
and what all the grass
blades have
are salt for dews

COFFEE TALK

i could have just written
about a hot coffee and that teaspoon of
brown sugar

and tell you that this is what is poetry
all about

one morning when it rains
so hard that we have no chance
to talk, and really talk
about it

but despite the rain
you leave just the same.

EMO #`1

your love
was true
you hid it
just the
same

there was
one which
was truer
than true and
you confessed
it only to
be rejected

now you ask
me, who would
want another
confession?

i say, love at
its truest will
still confess that
love...for such
love fears none
and knows
not what
rejection means.

to be a poet is to be
a soul

to deny the body
of
its place
on earth is what
the soul
asserts

to be a body
again
when you fall
short of
something divine
inside
you
that undeniable
force
that drives you crazy
when you write

in that trance the body
whips upon itself
the pain from which
the soul dances with
so much
joy

to write is to breathe

exhale, inhale, exhale,
inhale,

lungs always feeling
empty still

the day is about
to close

the light by the
window blinks

may it be a very
tiring day
without any
misgiving

may you be hurt
and yet still be
forgiving

may you have wounds
that knows how to heal
themselves

may you shake the hands
of the night
may you kiss its palms
with all gratitude

may your sleep be sound
may your heart be emptied
of all the fears
of all the worries that the
day has given you for all
its heavenly intentions.

i'll miss those days
when both of you and mom
are going together on a trip
and there is no more news
what is happening
in your destination

i like the silence for once
a news blackout
where i can also be left
alone
tending about how i am
going
with my own self

i will miss those moments
when you tell me that you are having
fun with mom
and telling me that she is one ideal
woman

...i like it

she is never my mom and
i erred having you

i think i miss myself with the
other woman
who left me with all her tears

LAZY MORNING

toothbrush is not cleaning
its bristles and the toothpaste
is not in the mood for the mint
in the gel,

water is too cold and the locks
of hair dislike wetting
the bed is still burning with fire
but doused with coughing

bones let go the sounds of cracking
roosters broke up with hens which
strut around with newly hatched
eggs

i am facing another morning's
blank screen and will not google.

A NOTE FROM SCOTERAS

you are all foolish

when it is now hot
you want it cold
when it was cold then
you want it hot again

always looking for what is not.

why complicate life?

too much for nothing
just do some believing
and always nodding
be wise keep pretending
no misgiving
plain surviving and
keep reviving
so many things so unreal
in happy living

MY IDOL

my idol is
still Mr bean
who does not
stalk
and most of
all
does not
talk

YOU can still be
a baby
even at seventy

you suck.

FLASH! FALSE

last night i dreamed
that some police officers
are surrounding my house
announcing my arrest
for human trafficking

they forced my door open
and killed my bodyguard

i guess it is high time now
not to believe in dreams.

the one and only eye
of the universe
looks down upon all of
us

its laughter is at a
vibration level which
we cannot hear

we are inside it
and we think that we too are eyes
who can see clearly
what is there and what is not there

we argue more than the
dusts
we like to compare ourselves
with the orbits of the planets
that move without
a thought

the one and only eye of the universe
does not blink
it moves and moves and moves
away

like the star ship of our movies
until we sleep
and too pass away

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THE WILLING VICTIM OF THE JUSTICE SYSTEM

The two of you
watch me
how i meet death
how i look at it
in the confidence of
my eyes

there is no need for
both of you
no testimony shall be
taken

a dead man cannot file
his case in court
he had chosen to seal
his lips

HONESTLY

something in me
wants to go back
and want once more
to hear the sound of
your laughter

i want to imitate
what it really is
i want to show this
place where i come
from
i want to show you
now how disfigured
is my mouth
how this system
has done badly
for all the child in us.

A DATE ONE DAY IN APRIL

first time for me to be
inside a jacuzzi

nice place with an
ambiance of bonsai pines

a rock garden beside us
and a fountain singing the

tune of water at the other
side of the glass window

where the sun just set and
then the fading color of orange

permeates the room when
you said that it is time to light

the lamp of Aladdin which
you bought from Siem Riep

you undress and then join
me in the bubbling water

i couldn't help but
jack off too early

as you landed the first kiss
in the wet planks of my lips

that port of my being
where lonely ships take rest.

U & I

you burst first
and then surrender
to the soft pillow
of the bed

i didn't have that
magma
the volcano in my
mind
sleeps and the
eruption
was just a word
that came out
unrestrained so
you hear it giving
you the pleasure
of some stars

i wake up
looking at my own
body
the terrains of my
abdomen
show an abandoned
land

my eyes are clouds
hanging on the black sky
and then it rains
once again satisfying the
thirst of grass
the longing of the river
the bareness of
land.

THE FATHER OF MAN

THERE was this child
whom Mama shooed
away when the doctor of
the village comes once
in a while

he was the same child
whom Papa left home
when he went away on
a hunting trip for days
and comes back with the
head of wild deer

his eyes are lonely peeping
upon a hole of the wall where
the termites live for years
silently consuming everything
that was built there

no one is lonely forever
sometimes loneliness grows
an edifice
and then a fence
where that lonely smile is
kept away
from everybody

when both Mama and Papa
passed away
when the doctor met his
untimely death
when the head of the deer
was stolen away
when the termites came
triumphantly

when everything that hurt him
becomes forever
forgotten

this child has become the father
of man
who now writes you
this poem