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Binondo Church

For its brick walls were blotched with rednessLike a child with a high grown fever,The tolling of its bells, bounty and scared. The plaza on...

George Tapan’s Baler

This is us. Hold steady.No shakes please. We need clarity.No blur, but a clear picture of the windAnd clouds, our lives amongThe pebbles, our...

Planting Season

They start when the sunlight isstill soft. They wear their sarok, farm’subiquitous item. From afar, theylook like banana plants that sag at the weightof...

I Read Your Name: A War Requiem

I read your nameWritten on a wounded treeBarely standing on the lakeshoreI gaze at the sadness of its former shadowThat remains in the memory...

Meditations

            Seeking In silence I render my song In stillness I yield In the dimness and the brightness I could see that it is The One Still I seek I am drawn to the distant sound Of waves splashing on waves Of rocks breaking on rocks Of soft rain seeking to blend with...

Bound by the Same Umbilical Cord

Stone and Scratcher after a photo by Frank Cimatu My human knows how to scratch ecstasy and submission out of me, rendering my retractable claws cold as a wet nose. My side turns into a Zen garden. I lie, a stone smoothed by hands of love, slender fingers tracing landscapes on my...

Hypnagogic

I see a scarecrow On the yellow moon By the window Of the third kind Woman or man I ought to know I look to the left It shifts to the right Towards Venus I look to the right It pivots to the left Away from Polaris But the night Out of the spotlight Restarts daylight

Two Poems for the Road

A Dirge (Majayjay-Lucban Road, June 16, 2024) How swift the shift from Thalia’s smile to Melpomene’s frown. One moment, Jack was about to crack a joke. Then smack into our bus the trike smashed, a deadly strike. Traffic crawled at the bloody spectacle of the sprawled body splayed in a strange angle. Dazed in shock, I brace myself for a...

Three New Poems

The Demanding Gospel For Sunil Stephens “Luke’s Gospel is a gospel of mercy; it emphasizes Jesus’ identification with the poor and the lowly, and His willingness to forgive sinners. Yet it is also a demanding gospel, for it shows that being a follower of Christ...

Slaughterhouse Poems

When My Father Passed Away This theater is a slaughterhouse where filaments of grief are too shifty to cut, amusing guests who come  along with gestures broadly understanding what brought them in, inscribing very clearly associations overhanging with the deceased. The bereaved insists on what needs to be preserved along fertility lines, which unkind behavior should be dismembered. Here,...

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