Sparta, thank youfor being my faithful friendI am not your masterYou are my teacherFor you taught me to smilewhen inexplicable sorrows came byYou are my St. Michael
when a stranger jumped in our backyardnot to pick flowersbut in our house visited.I promise not to...
They connived with the dark shadows, the family who lived in a house full of glass windows and graven saints. Toraja invited me to their family dinner in Baguio City to commemorate their matriarch’s third death anniversary. That morning, five black pigs were...
How’s life, old buddy
Between seventy and eighty,
eighty and ninety
Perpetually in a hurry
Heading for the cemetery
Amid emotional poverty
Are we racing against time
Or the lack of it
As tiny seconds tick away
Tick and click
Click and tick
I miss every beat
Talk of rush hours
Caught and missed
Then missed again
Everything’s...
The train slowed down. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. A middle-aged lady wearing a double-breasted coat told him his stop was near. He sat up from his bunk and readied his 500L backpack, messenger bag, thermal jacket, bonnet, and gloves. The man...
Were the ripples at the river Seine
My memories, your face will be broken
Into a thousand pieces, each fragment of you
Cut into countless shimmers
Dancing in incandescent light on water.
The night we sailed down the Seine,
We crossed a river of memories.
The bridges, the obelisk, palaces,...
Cicadas talk to each other in loud, prolonged streaks of staccato bursts. For a few minutes before sunset, the insects make sound and give it an almost palpable feel. The upswell of choruses stir the air, and dusk’s fractal lights of brilliant orange...
I’ll wear nothingbut my trembling desirethe wild beat of my pulsethe lingering whispers of my past.
I’ll wear nothingbut the ache of my lost love the...
The Pruning
Deadhead
the ground
where petals lay,
not the blossomed
branch, rivered
& riveted
this garden,
this square
of pear & pine.
Unlock
the pruning knife,
cut the roses
back to thorn,
back to distel,
to angled light.
Be...
Van Gogh’s sunflowers —
all twelve of them —
so lively, lush,
standing, bending;
they do not submit
to ikebana’s poise
and posture —
golden — no — bronze —
beautiful yet...