Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Last Litany

Child. The world is wild
it is not kind
it will not spread it’s glistening pathway so you might like.
the passage is narrow and plain
before you is a dark void
of violence and disorder that you might take

I’m afraid
 it’s not what you dream of
it’s not what you read of
It’s a wide world
bordered by biases
Scoured with aliases
and discriminations
they will scream into your ear,        
                                    You might break into tears
                                                            but they will not care.

They might shake your foundations
                                    And pump your frustrations
Until they break you
And your innocence
Into tiny little pieces.
You will become smoke.
Like I said
 Remember? Sometime in November?
                                    What you learn is immaterial
                                    to the truth.
For if you count your medals and stars
                                    And exhibit them on walls,  
But did not care
For frogs and insects and trees
And all connections of the heart
In the halls .
What are you?
                                                            You’ll be vulnerable.

The world is wide, you might get lost
                                    Into jungles of unreasonable cost.
But if you’ll not conform
To malevolent norms
And when days start to grow dim
Have courage!
Take a dose of LOVE
                        From the vial I gave.
May you find the light and better days?
                                    In doing GOOD and what is RIGHT
                                    A soul that never fears the night
                                    All these darkness that I say  
A supernova of negativity.
                                    Can Never. And Will Never.


Sunday, June 2, 2013



It’s the need to dress this mortal wound
That I came rushing to your door
                  You opened up a bit
                               Just enough to see your face, you said

“Hold on, it will just pass, that same wound brought me to hiding”.

There was a moment of silence like midnight,

Stars aligned in the cosmos,
                 suddenly there was no pain

There was no pain, 
Snowflakes drop into Saharan sand
Raindrops fill the barren land
And there was flooding
                                                An outpouring
Of some kind of mysterious energy
There was no pain

At the summit of a mountain
Delicious coldness numbs the wound

                When you opened up a bit
                                 just enough for me to see your face.

Sunday, May 19, 2013



For the hearts that cannot wait
I wish you all the goodness of sleep
So that every waking day
There’ll be no unhappiness,
No third world memories lingering in your constricted mind

To the Snaking dunes of desert land
You lay your back to melting sand
You breathe the grains
And cannot lift your gilded hand

Lucid dreams in the city of hate
Countless bitter people you create
As the desert storms recede
So are the feelings of love
                                                Forced out, vomited
                                                Through the nose it went writhing
                                                Forming mud

That love, that mud.
Formed into an Asp
                                                Poisoned, swallowed
                                                Her mild, gentle heart
                                                                So precious, fragile

Death creeps in the heart.

                                To the hearts that cannot wait.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

The Lover is not a Lover, He is a Pig

If i was leaner, thinner
muscles bulging all over
Biceps, Triceps, abdominal muscles
in perfectly fit clothes
If i was prim, formal
with a bow-tie, classy shoes
mouth vomiting foreign accent
if i was rich and able
i could buy you
your happiness
If i was stylish, fashionable
you can easily display
like an earring or a dress
If i was normal, conventional
Who could always say yes
and follow you like a dog
you can always drag
If i was easy, smooth
So i could agree with all of your friends
And talk to you about relations
im always confused
If i was organized, arranged
without stain
Like a prince
in your favorite films
If i was more sophisticated
and knew all the things in this world
if i was able to take you there
If i was clean
well shaven
without a trace of fat and sin
I could be more of a Lover.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Sky Blue and Orange


Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Black Cat

Black Cat

Of this lake
So silent
Like the floating hyacinths

Staring, envying the birds who dive for snack
A cat, whose fur is lonesome black
Sits upon the bamboo floor
Sits upon the door
Where miles and miles of thoughts lay
Slothful above the waters
Dancing the warm winds slow.

At the center in the heart of this lake
Where the fishes go stout of peaceful tide and prey

The cat dreams
Of dreams of sun-borne beams
Beaming from the holes on the walls
Bringing to light
The invisible dusts
Of dreams of kingdoms found beneath
The stillness of Velcro-weeds intertwining
With blooms
So rich as
The finest drapery
Of the Siamese fighting fish
Swimming in his dreams
In the water-colored depths
where air does not breathe.

The cat sleeps at the center of this lake
Detached from a world
Where dreams don’t breathe.

Saturday, December 17, 2011



There is nothing to write about.
The mind is cloudy like today,
Eyes unclear and moist like the window panes
Both gaze upon the sunless sky
With thoughts drowned of last night’s gin.
The grey heavens are easier to look at
When there is nothing to write about
except the nothingness prevailing.
An art reliant on time and experience
It laments in fated lethargy.
Dragonflies are mere dragonflies
Hovering on the grey heavens
Flowers plainly flowers
Ignored by the grey heavens
Poets are mere humans
Tired below the grey heavens
And all the things literal
Common, dead, nothing
When there is nothing to write about
except nothingness.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

DHS-PF4 PS792 oversized blade (pingpong racket)

I purchased this vintage blade in Koronadal city last month. In a clearance sale price, very cheap! Its in good condition and its the one I'm looking for
(an over-sized blade)

Hmm. this is vintage. im having this thought that maybe in the past a Chinese master ( e.g. ding song) sold his racket to a Filipino and found its way into my hands, if that's the case? then this DHS PF4 ps 792 is lEGEND

Because i love ping pong. i will name this new racket
ROTOP!(Revenge of the old Panda).

First impression. I think this would make a great combo-blade for modern defense kind of game. I'm planning to put a fast red plain rubber on one side (RITC-higher red) and (CTT pogo ox black) on the other side.

The wood ply is very solid, it has 7 plies all in all. with an incredibly unique handle. the handle is very thin which is good for twiddling and chopping with control.

I sealed it with a quick drying adhesive (mighty bond) so that it would last long and improve its bounce.

I will give my reviews on its over-all performance next post. good day! thanks for reading.

(is this supposed to be a poetry site?....... not anymore)

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Songs for Yahweh!




Saturday, October 9, 2010


Ladies and gentlemen! Children of this earth
Listen carefully to the utterances that I will make
That you may hear the inevitable truth,
Today, I, a member of this miserable and piteous society
Announces my denunciation! My isolation! My contempt!
To this evil society that money has put together.
To this evil society who has exploited its own home.
To this evil society who became dead.

Consider me an alien from now on, an outcast!
I will leave my things, I will leave my work, and I will leave isolate myself.
I will bathe under the light of Henry David Thoreau, whom you, children of this earth, have stoned to death long ago.

Like him ladies and gentlemen, I mourn.
Not because of forests slowly flattened, not because of rivers blackened, not because of the thousand crying souls suffering from exploitations of the powerful men in suits.
I mourn to the simple statement “we’re not being human anymore”
“Not being human anymore”
“Not human anymore”
Money causes us to decay, our decrepitude made its way to our pastures. Our own hands block her breathing, GAIA, our mother.

You cannot blame me for this decision ladies and gentlemen, children of this earth; I’m trying to be fundamental, while you, you, you Indulge yourselves with material things that make you dull, make you obese, make you in the trend. Corruption slowly drills into your head like a highly alcoholic drink you spend too much on cosmetics and senseless cell phone load. Money has corrupted us like how the snake corrupted Eve in garden paradise. The reason of poor and reckless mental capabilities of our youth who doesn’t know that burgers they buy on fast-food chains burn down forests to their roots. Massive rain forests for cattle graze land and soybean production for alternative fuels are just one of the main moves of profit-oriented corporations. There is no win-win solution in here ladies and gentlemen only death and murder.

The greedy corporate capitalists not just smile; they rejoice at our discontentment, they rejoice out of our innate discontentment! We buy, then we buy and we buy some more! We upgrade our lives! The latest cell phones, the fastest computers, the hippest bikes, the biggest refrigerator, the most effective slimming tablet, the most potent love inducing drug, the most, the latest, the best, the hippest. What more can you ask more freak!!!
Hear their thundering jubilation from your mindless consumption.

Profit orientation has an incestuous relationship with exploitation.
Someone buys premium consumer items in SM mall, packaged in fancy plastic design with tiny Winnie flower promos in It. then later hurl it into an innocent river!
Someone buys a new cell phone battery from china, disposes the old one, and burns it and poof! Toxic smoke!

This disgrace has been passed on to the youth and their fertile minds, we live not to be humans, we live like machines dictated by a program behind the computer monitor. Like big brother in PBB. The desire for good living is just a mere fantasy for now, in this generation. The culture of death is upon us. It is like a jolt of dominoes crashing together forever. Nature! Natural! Our home! Our habitat is in garbage. We have nothing, no one to blame in this misery, except our insolent selves, unless we become humans again.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Psychic Kiss is Weird

Her Lips, Fresh Rambutan flesh
When i close my eyes the thoughts zoom in
The succulence
Juice run on the crevices of moist pink
Drops into a trench
Deeper than desire
quickly starts a fire
Scattering by the second, in all directions.
Hearts burn, mood switches turn,
Thoughts probe the depths like a mental submarine
Taking data, savoring data, sweet specimens
From the curious abyss of saliva
Her lips,
Is an ocean behind my lips.

Friday, January 15, 2010


A hazy, Lazy daylight grey
Revolves around another black Sunday
Unconsciously enters the part
Where people stand up and shake hands
It does not last long.

When you see faces in the puddles
After a rain
And know they no longer know
The you
That is where I see the beauty of a poem,
The way in nullifies the grime
On unreachable places
Like the moss-laden gutters and a heart mute.

When the birds sing on different voices
And you think of dueling Violins,
That is where you’ll hear the melody of a
Million cheers for a broken ear and knuckle,
Smeared with blood and sweat.

When on a hazy, lazy daylight grey
You felt forsaken
Like Jesus Christ
Who cried?
And fed beggars on the streets,
That is where I see the beauty of a poem.

When in a state of mind
You try to fly
To paradise
To feed a hungry self,
But a mirror always looks at you at the ceiling
When you wake up
And you go back to sleep
To feel the dreams so real but blank
That is how a poem writes itself
On an innocent piece of paper.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

TAGGED - 5 school Facts of Geek

Xegben tagged me, hearken!!!

1. I hate delays, though i am always late (ironic), and i hate when things get complicated. i want everything to run smoothly. i hate math related subjects and i am superior in literature related subjects. i am vocal in class recitation, i mean it.

2. table tennis is equated with my studies and i consider myself good . I've been playing since elementary and it has taken me to places i never been. i am athletic, my mom always scold me because she insists that table tennis was the reason that i was thrown out of the honor roll when i was in high school. it did.

3. I'm a frustrated musician, i had a band before, and we disbanded., ive been in two bands once when i was in highschool (sophicsunion) and one in college (CED band)i miss the guys. and my guitar is already filled with rusts.

4. Im not good at girls. i dont know, i just know im not. im active at organizations and im pressured this school year, chief editor (the Mentor) managing editor (mintech) both school papers, Varsity table tennis, Member of the debating team, leader of the poetry readings every friday afternoons.... ^_^

5. Im a poet. and im non-social, drink alone, strawberry margarita and blue cola breezer, hahaha. im mean looking and intimidating. i hate Social climbers. i wear my beard, mustache and goatee. imagine... im a future teacher... maybe.

so there you are

Now i will tag

Gian Paolo

Thursday, June 18, 2009


The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere -
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year:
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir -
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through and alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul -
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll -
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the pole -
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sere -
Our memories were treacherous and sere, -
For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year
(Ah, night of all nights in the year!) -
We noted not the dim lake of Auber
(Though once we had journeyed down here) -
Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent
And star-dials pointed to morn -
As the star-dials hinted of morn -
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn -
Astarte's bediamonded crescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said: "She is warmer than Dian;
She rolls through an ether of sighs -
She revels in a region of sighs:
She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, where the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the Lion
To point us the path to the skies -
To the Lethean peace of the skies -
Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes -
Come up through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes."

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said: "Sadly this star I mistrust -
Her pallor I strangely mistrust:
Ah, hasten! -ah, let us not linger!
Ah, fly! -let us fly! -for we must."
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings until they trailed in the dust -
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dust -
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied: "This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its Sybilic splendour is beaming
With Hope and in Beauty tonight! -
See! -it flickers up the sky through the night!
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright -
We safely may trust to a gleaming,
That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloom -
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista,
But were stopped by the door of a tomb -
By the door of a legended tomb;
And I said: "What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?"
She replied: "Ulalume -Ulalume -
'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!"

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sere -
As the leaves that were withering and sere;
And I cried: "It was surely October
On this very night of last year
That I journeyed -I journeyed down here! -
That I brought a dread burden down here -
On this night of all nights in the year,
Ah, what demon hath tempted me here?
Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber -
This misty mid region of Weir -
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Musical Influence

They are my musical influences.