i take on the past and see how things took on me

the courage in facing future tasks that came to unfold

pressured by will to survive, angered by failure in varying  degree

rights were wronged and wrong were fixed to snatch the gold


life is a story and a collection of agonies learning to breath

series as they come, downs were numerous ups have been few

alienated destinies others were lead to their untimely death

survived the ordeal others have triumphantly pulled through 


future, how much does it hold on your judgement, confidence and hope 

destiny is stagnant drowning in the lake of uncertainty bubbling with dope

sweat and blood, luck and health and faith, building a grainy slope


slippery road can’t take you up on a tiled wheel

a shiny one with no grooves of failure always go down the hill

life that kneels and prays, sweats a muscled body of steel




Maybe you’ll wonder what the “wordpress.com” stickers are doing there in the night sky. This is all I can do, can’t do better than this. After reading the poem, you’ll know why its there. (Grin, not so wide please)


i traveled close to a million miles

each night i saw a different sky

and half way through, i wished i could fly

the stars wrote some letters, i’m dancing like Psi

nights have passed before the trek ends

stars following me  as if they’re my friends

clear as the sky, clouds were behind

a W was written, O next in line

the R was not clear it lacked a slant

next was a D appeared to be pregnant

P with a head or nose like Pinocchio

R this time was handsomely written like Romeo

E, eehhhh, seemed to lie on the dry ground

a snake S appeared, Ssshhh said the sound

now there were two S’s now I can see them 

a little dot . a small c, an o and an m….

It was a cool night and grasping it had a chance

reading them straight, all in a perfect glance

So, I shouted, while the night birds sing along

W  O  R  D  P  R  E  S  S  dot  com… 




**** “Sorry, I mistakenly deleted the picture…but you can create  the whole scene in your imagination.”


Cavernous and hollow caves that lead to the woods

Carpenters’ sweat, woods of art, gorgeous as it looks

Art pieces of doors, hard wood floors, now become foods


A long line of snaking, cozy, earthen caves

Branch out left and right like icings on cakes

They aren’t sweet but grainy maps of fakes


Milky white bodies, red and colored honey

Winged adults they become as they eat your money

You let them be and they become a greater colony


Living in the flashy and the wooded heaven

Under the care of the brownish roof of the flaky haven

Drawers of dreams and memories have become the eaten


“O, termites, multiply anywhere but not in my drawer

Necklaces of memories, heart pendants of dreams are there 

Better live away where you can stay somewhere”


‘Though some live in holes deep in mounds

Some underground and freaky hills around

Some in dead trunks and live branches like hives


“Live in the forest where fresh trees abound

Trunks are large, juicy and chewy could be found”

Unlike the dry woods of mansions, stone houses of cities and towns


“I am the owner of this modest house”

“I will kill you all and let you vanish from my sight”

“Termites of the woods, You are all parasites!”





It’s hard to fathom the inner self of a man

you hear him talk, “you should go”, but 

he doesn’t like you to do

the influential allurement  that he feels

he doesn’t want you to do, inside him 

but he says the other way, follow him

and with a suspecting sharp smile

he gives you a “choose between”

the opportunity is yours in selecting

it’s up to you, really can’t tell, but you 

unless he tells you what

jealousy, it might be 

the best kept secret

of every man

hidden under his ass

try to know the truth?

you have to smell the icing

and taste the bitterer batter

 but wait till he turns vitriolic

his actions he borrowed from a lunatic

  jaundiced eyes he’s sporting

and that is him…



she, nineteen hundred and twenty-five, was born

nineteen hundred and twenty-five, two of July

a mother she didn’t know and her life was torn

gone far away, far, not reachable by a cry

where did she go, she didn’t know of a place

she kept asking, she always heard a secret lie


grieving weeks passed and the searching years had flowed

couldn’t find, embrace the she where her life began

thought of  guidance to seek help to where she strove

didn’t have some leak nor an old photo in hand

not a single shape of face to spot in crowd

not a simple color of skin to shine and stand


where’s the mother, a nightly scene, in her dreams

missing her nightly to plant a meaningful kiss

in the depth of her sleep a visit of screams

flashes of scenes forming a long line of abyss

from the starting point treading a visual scar

she’s leading a path, the single point she can’t miss


she traced her dreams and soon tracked the dreaded hell

the sidewalks of the city and the gutters den

an old woman draped in all poverty’s shell

lurking in knees, naked of feet  smelling  cayenne

her arms reaching  to heavens asking some alms

and the long lost daughter gave some to an alien


but the coins dropped not in the woman’s cold palm

it slipped through her fingers  into the concrete floor

she stooped down to reach  three five-peso coin alms

and that was the start opening the ajarred door

the old woman’s eyes meet hers and the heart jumped

and tickled their blood finding some feelings of yore


is this the flash that she dreamed for the past nights

wrinkled face, woman with a mole on the left cheek

confused, teary, frightened with the spoken sights

this time she won’t remain silent and just be meek

it’s your daughter, long lost years, the days be bright

hugs, embraces, cayenne smell became perfumed stick


A Noiseless Patient Spider – ( A Free Verse ) : A POETRY POTLUCK for the weekend


    (by Walt Whitman)

A noiseless patient spider,
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,…….
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.


WRITING 201 : DAY 05 : The Elegy Of A Young Boy – Fog, Elegy, Metaphor

These are some lamentations of a 5 year old child, who lives in the mountains with his mother, father  and a one year old brother. He dreamed to be a teacher someday. His father died in an untimely period of life where he is still very young, tender, and still don’t know what life and death really mean. He went up the mountains and talk to God to bring back the life of his father. At first he won’t allow his father to go but ultimately in the end of his trek, he gave up and let his father go on his way.

This is a 10 – syllables, 4 – lines, 7 – stanzas  Elegy




      I’m here ‘bove a mountain, heaven  can touch 

          White smoky layers, flying on my top

                               Hear me  God, where’s father, the man with grudge             

                   You took His happy life, bring His breath back


    Said in your prayers, together we’ll grow     

                Like Mosses in the Bible, beard unshaved

       Cane in his hand, as you told long ago

                                  While mother listened, the story you shared


.You promised,  to let me finish my school

                  Degree in college, a teacher someday

Or if not, in a vocational school

           And now your leaving me, at home to stay


What are promises for, my father dear

                              You are leaving me, my heart is broken        

You didn’t say to me, perfectly clear

                   That you’ll go ahead of me, to heaven


  But i really would not, let you go now

                     I’ll be missing you, tomorrow and next

             I have my homework, and i don’t know how 

                                     To do it all alone, don’t know the steps


   I will cry and cry, until you’re here back

                                Sitting on your lap, rubbing my nose red

      If you’ll  return now,  me back on your lap

                                 I’ll sleep right now and make you my bed


     I’m sleepy now, i can’t hold back my eyes

                               They’re going to close, on this sleepy fog

        Look, your bed’s cottony, God has revised

                                          Sweet dreams, Pa, took samples here in my bag




you stand like a pole with blown head

ready to strike and spit venom to enemies

in a fast striking minutes they are dead

but against man,

you’re dead with a pistol or gun




stand like a pole

with    blown    head

ready to strike and spit

V       E        N        O       M

t o   e    n   e  m  i  e  s

I  n  A   F   A   S   T



t  h  e  y

a r e


b  u  t


m  a  n






or   gun


WRITING 201: DAY 03 : “I NEED YOU” – An Acrostic




I – INSPIRATION of ours, in our insecurities

N – NEVER did you loose hope, in our deficiencies


E – EVEN when you have to stretch, your volatile temper


E – EMBRACING you is enough, for it to taper


D – DADDY, wherever you are, we love you


Y – YOU made our simple Lives, full of simple Desires


O – ONLY you can change our frowns, into simple smiles


U – UNSUNG hero that you were, to us you are alive.