A Refuge From The Storm

A Refuge From the Storm
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There is an ancient prophecy from the book of Isaiah that there will rise men who will serve as a refuge
from the storm.
About Me
WE DNE SDAY, AUGU ST 01, 2007
Disappearance
Even if an angel were to roll away
the heavy stone-like lid that sealed my heart,
he wouldn't find you in it any longer.
M ANOFTRUEG OD
I am from the planet Earth,

93 million miles away from
the Sun. The planet was
created by the Sovereign of
the Universe, billions of years
ago. My ancestors chose to
rebel against the Sovereign in
alliance with another rebel in
the invisible realm. The
Sovereign chose to send his
only Son to quell the rebellion
and save the rebel children
who chose to reunite with the
Sovereign. I am one of those
children who chose to be loyal
to the Sovereign.
I once cleaned up your wounds

and anointed you with oil
hoping to preserve you in it.
I hid you then under layers
of linen-like distractions,
with myrrh and aloes in between.
It must have been a long time since
I closed this heart,
for you are no longer here.
Posted by ManofTrueGod at 11:58 PM 0 comments
View my complete profile
Blog Archive
Terms of Peace
2007 (119)
07/29 - 08/05 (6)
Disappearance
Terms of Peace
All Grey
A Good Day
'Click'
Heap
07/22 - 07/29 (5)
07/15 - 07/22 (2)
07/08 - 07/15 (2)
07/01 - 07/08 (1)
06/24 - 07/01 (3)
06/17 - 06/24 (2)
06/10 - 06/17 (3)
06/03 - 06/10 (5)
Grief is a mighty army

that has come to camp against you
and there is no way around it
when all other exits have been barred.
You are, in fact, surrounded
with stakes put up in the perimeter
of your mind, each one taken
from nearby trees of memory rich groves.
If you wait it out,
grief will starve you of will
day by day. Your arms will soon fall
to your side, even the sword
of determination will slip
off your hand.
05/27 - 06/03 (4)

05/20 - 05/27 (3)
If you choose to climb over,
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05/13 - 05/20 (3)

05/06 - 05/13 (3)
04/29 - 05/06 (4)
04/22 - 04/29 (7)
04/15 - 04/22 (3)
04/08 - 04/15 (1)
04/01 - 04/08 (8)
03/25 - 04/01 (4)
03/18 - 03/25 (3)
03/11 - 03/18 (7)
03/04 - 03/11 (3)
02/25 - 03/04 (6)
02/18 - 02/25 (5)
you will fall on the stakes,

each one a hurtful memory
that will overload your nerves.
When your strength is sapped
and your eyes dried up,
grief will stand up
over your motionless body,
its foot on your neck,
claiming a victory
without a fight.
Better accept the peace terms,
raise up a white flag.
Come out of this siege.
02/11 - 02/18 (8)

02/04 - 02/11 (4)
01/28 - 02/04 (4)

01/21 - 01/28 (2)
All Grey
01/14 - 01/21 (4)

01/07 - 01/14 (4)
2006 (205)
2005 (107)
I love being heresun, sea, beach,

clouds and mountains
before they are well-defined
in full light of day
while the sun
is still kissing the waters,
multiplying its light a thousand-fold,
painting the low clouds red,
the mountain still black,
and the storks peeking at the shallow beach,
my shadow long on the sand.
It's so like you.
I don't know when this will happen
again or when you'll bless me
with this gentle communion
or when you'll take that turn
to cast your light like a smile
warm, beautiful.
I may rise tomorrow
to watch the sea, horizon and sky
waiting for your glow
but you
may never be there.
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TUE SDAY, JU LY 31 , 2007
A Good Day
This could have been
a good day, with clouds rising up
to fill the blue sky
and sunshine on my face.
Willows sail with the wind
like children running
here and there. But you
shifted away your eyes,
slipping away
like a shrouded sun
on my hand, their refusal
to meet up with mine
is unexpected rain clouds
in my sky. The sternness
in your lips dumps a rain storm
on my lap, drenching my thoughts
with uneasiness
that I have seen in the past.
MO NDA Y, JUL Y 3 0, 2007
'Click'
I am not used to excuses
and long-winded stories,
to blood-flow constricted ears
from phone receivers,
to stuttering speech
and intermittent silence.
I ask you now
as if we were eye to eye,
my way of measuring
how much of me remains in you,
margin of error aside,
to figure out if this is
good-bye-Posted by ManofTrueGod at 11:59 PM 0 comments
Heap
The sweat jumped off his face,
the skin of his brow ripped apart:
he didn't see that one coming.
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Now, it's even more difficult to see.

The jab was quick and deceptive;
a miscalculation-with its own inevitability.
Jarred, rattled,
he felt his knees bending
to meet the floor.
All other reflections
didn't matter. His body
disobeyed his heart and mind,
sprawling itself to the mat.
He heard the count
but didn't complete to ten.
He didn't see the crowd
rise on their feet on his way down
but heard the noise. There he was
clobbered by his mistake.
SATUR DA Y, JUL Y 28 , 2007
In the Beginning
is an equation that waited for geniuses
to define, compute, and graph.
Whatever the values of variables
alongside constant coefficient and factors,
mathematicians ended up with numbers
that made it impossible to confirm
the absence of someone
dismissed by Darwin.
If this equation is the story of existence
derived from remains of cosmic waves and red shifts,
of exploding nebulae and black holes,
of spinning rocks and carbon hurtling in space
then Popperian logic requires
there is neither proof nor case
for a beginning that no controlled lab can replicate
neither by Darwin or any other.
If the vastness of the universe is
mirrored in the magnitude of the numbers,
the scale of its improbability,
then I can accept:
Somebody must have been there
before the beginning.
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Anniversary
Today used to be our anniversary.
Fireworks lit up the sky and the street again,
while children make merry noise in celebration
wearing funny hats and blowing horns,
food is set out on the table for the communal meal.
It went on for hours until sleep claim revelers
just like it was the day I gave you a love note uncertain
of your response. In fact, I didn't ask for any.
But you knew it would end up this way.
And so amid the noise and smoke
we affirmed a union whose confession
I naively believed.
Posted by ManofTrueGod at 12:11 AM 0 comments
TUE SDAY, JU LY 24, 2007
In the New Station

The transit time was brief as promised.
The window offered only blurs of colors
and shapes for distraction.
You either move forward across this haze
or watch her diminishing in importance,
anchored in the past with eyes still legible
despite her tears and rain.
That turn, a mild jolt, finally moved the train away
from her. But your sigh is too far from the window
to smear it with doors now closed to any after thought.
Arriving in the new station, doors open again.
If only one's heart could quickly do the same.
MO NDA Y, JUL Y 23 , 2007
My Youthful Crowd
Does not stall this journey
nor defers my arrival
to death's inn.
It moves swiftly onward fully-stretched
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like a shadow when daylight ends,

where the laughter of youth
becomes a bitter sound
and mirrors
offer no longer any pleasure.
My calendar is marked
with funeral rites and wakes
than dinner dates
with less friends,
less shared memories
and their recycled laughters.
I, too, will sleep quietly
where the noise of youth
couldn't disturb
and where my made up face
would only matter to giggling girls
for whom death seems oceans away.
Right Burial
When you're dead
and grass has sprouted off your grave
with flash flood rushing
to pile mud over you again,
only the agents of coercionthe one who bored a hole into your head
who tried to make your blood
spill to the right instead of leftwill remember this place,
how they dragged you away
from your routine.
When the earth dries up
and the grass over you withers
then perhaps one stray dog's nose
will help us find your skull with a hole
that the bullet pierced.
Then we will bury you again
in our memory
where no grass grows
nor flood waters rush.
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FR I DAY, JULY 20, 2007
Under The Pool

The disturbance in the water
has subsided
enough to reflect the light
from flames
burning flesh behind exits
sealed with smoke
from a jumbo jet
whose wheels
skidded off this runway
but whose tracks
were buried
by its pool.
MO NDA Y, JUL Y 1 6, 2007
Immersion
You are like the mist
on my skin,
the rainbow stretching
across this hill whose rocks
are made slippery
by the waters.
I love to touch you,
hold you in my palms
but you're like water falling
generously from the heights
holding me immobile
by the sheer weight
of your love's desire.
I don't mind wading through
your pool of deep green waters,
all my senses engaged
drinking this sweet pleasure.
I always wanted to be here
closer to the sky,
to be with the clouds
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where warm light does not linger

nor the cool air
stands still
With you
immersing me
in delight.
THU RSDAY, JU LY 12, 2007
After the Rain - Featured in EmanilaPoetry.com

Colors appear more vivid
after the rain
even when grey clouds remain
afloat with indifference
to the uniform light they cast
on yellows, blues, and reds.
The rain water's embrace
of slippery surfaces leaves
behind accumulated dust
and their fragile attachments.
Some fear walking
in rain soaked city streets
where waiting in ambush
are manholes
under flash flood waters
or potholes.
It would have been enough
to step back from flood waters five-inch deep,
after drenching one's shoes
ill equipped to track
the filthy water-covered ground.
And that's how we ended up
so brave in our naivet'e
against unchartered uncertainties,
stubbornly plodding along
in zero visibility
until one is abandoned,
isolated in toxic-filled pit
blurring one's vision
unable to clearly see yellows, blues or reds
glazed by rain
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when flood waters subsided

leaving dried up streets.
MO NDA Y, JUL Y 09 , 2007
Travelling Spheres
When I was a child,
the sky was my mind's playground
where I plotted a map
from horizon to zenith
from right to left
watching objects cross
on clear nights.
I learned early
that things come and go,
though they brightened up nights
the spectacles faded quickly
and if I were slower
I would have to wait
another lifetime
for the chance.
Just like your shining,
a bright evening star
against the receding light,
lifting yourself up the horizon
into my eyes.
Like Venus at its brightest
I have you viewed by my stubborn heart
unwilling to accept the briefness of your stay.
Be the falling star or moon
whatever else you choose to be
just don't travel too far out.
WE DNE SDAY, JULY 04, 2007
Taken Away
Move on',
the inner voice demands,
slaps me
like the ocean breeze
whose weight pushes me back
wanting to alter my direction.
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Feet soak in the waters

buried by the submerged sand,
the waves keep retrieving me
for themselves.
The clouds hover above
my confused state,
only to be dispersed by the wind
like loitering passers-by
bored by the wait,
my indecision now exposed to the sun
scolding me with its heat.
I give out a sigh,
as daylight recedes
and clarity is lost
with the approach of a purple-blue sky.
THU RSDAY, JU NE 28 , 2007
Empty Space
The sensuality
of the curve flowing
downward,
touching the stiff black arms
on its two sides,
is undiminished
by the checkered grey
and black fabric
hiding the strength
of steel partly exposed
underneath its structure.
It remained still, stowed
under your desk.
No sound
from the rollers pressing
on the carpet
every time you shifted
your weight,
nor a squeak
from the metal support
whenever you turned around
my way.
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But unlike me
it doesn't care for your absence
nor for the silence
of the space
where you once were.
TUE SDAY, JU NE 26 , 2007
Spoiled
Were you a food item you'll be stinking now
after this one year of wait.
Is it just me raised up as a Filipino
that I waited up, hoping the separation
jolted you into missing me while you are
with another?
Maybe it's just my upbringing learned
from my mom who every dinner rises up last
taking care of left-overs for her sons
and for their later midnight meal.
My friends insist even owners do
take out food items from display racks
once their shelf life expire.
So, maybe I should with mine.
And when that happens
this I will do:
I will pull you out of my life
like a spoiled item
that overstayed in my heart.
MO NDA Y, JUNE 25 , 2007
Panis
Kung ikaw ay food item
matagal ka nang panis
sa one year na pinaghintay ko sa iyo.
Ewan ko ba, is it just me
or Pinoy lang kasi
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na I waited up, hoping sa paghihiwalay natin

niyanig ka sa pagka-miss sa akin
habang kasama mo ay iba?
Upgbringing ko lang seguro
minana sa mother ko,
na tuwing dinner huli siyang kumakain,
nagtatabi ng left-overs
para sa bumabangon sa hating-gabi
nagugutom, nagmi-midnight meal.
Insist ng mga friends ko,
kahit daw owners naga-alis
ng food items mula sa display racks
basta nag-expire shelf life nila.
So, seguro dapat ako rin.
And kapag nangyari iyon
ito ang aking gagawin:
Bubunutin kita from my life,
kasi panis, nag-overstay
sa shelf ng pusong ito.
FR I DAY, JUNE 22, 2007
Disordered Memory
You stare past me
with a smile,
looking for someone else
but I will never tire giving my reply
for as often as you ask
'who are you?'
Your mind broke up like pieces
of a puzzle,
each neuron link
disconnected from another
all former paths
broken,
their traces washed away.
What was left couldn't hold
memories of me
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not enough for imprinting

until the day without good-bye
you slipped away
taking with you all these
pieces.
The Burning
He told me
to start making preparations.
I listened as if it were
about someone else,
the need to do this
quickly,
to remain detached,
business-like,
keeping eyes clear
while reading the fine print.
As the last ritual,
I burned
everything left of himhis letters,
photographs,
dried roses
inserted between the pages
of an old greeting card,
collected in a box.
At the end,
I didn't even collect
the ashes.
THU RSDAY, JU NE 1 4, 2007
Papal Nuncio's Raised Hand

The papal nuncio raised his hand
holding up a wine glass
but this isn't Mass
where wine is supposed to transform
into blood.
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He raises it to the president

a near prophetic act
if only the wine will turn
into blood.
Outside the palace,
the death count increases
as the voices of the president's dissenters
are muffled by rags,
their blood spilled
on this soil.
He could have been a Moses
crying let my people go,
but he chose another path
instead.
'God bless this country,'
he said.
It was like God
thwarting the plans of Balaam
and Barak.
MO NDA Y, JUNE 1 1, 2007
You Thought You Wanted

I can't compete with the guy
who bought you expensive flowers
Yet, I have eyes
to play on your cheeks.
Neither can I vie against the guy
who drove you around in a limousine
but hey, I've got ears
to catch your laughters or sobs.
I can't compare with the one
who booked and paid for your fine dining
but I've got hands for you to grip
when all you need is company.
I may not be the kind of guy
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you thought you wanted

but you well know
these hands, eyes, and ears.
Internal Fracture
I thought denials would not wear me down
like metals straining against load
but their repitition
pressed my endurance to its limit.
It fractured me
in ways invisible to you
spreading like a crack
until we are pulled apart like metals
tired of each other
where the sex hurts like the weight
of a jet engine sheared from the wing
then free falls.
SATUR DA Y, JUNE 09, 2007
I May Not Be
the kind of guy
who brings expensive flowers
unattended on your desk
but I will lend you my eyes
to look at and make you break out
into a smile.
I may not be the guy
who lets you ride a limousine
with DVD and hi-fi music
but I will lend you my ears
to listen to your laughters or sobs.
Book me anytime of day.
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I may not be the kind

who pays for fine dinner
after boring you first at the opera show
but I will lend you my hands
to hold tight when all you need
is peace and company.
I may not be
the kind of guy
you think you want
but I will always have
eyes, ears, and hands
for you to use.
The Burnt Down House

The smoke continues to rise
while the scent of burnt wood, fabric, metal
lingered. I rushed over when I heard the news
fire raged from the heart of the house.
I meant to salvage a lot of things:
your memories that clinged to the carpeted floor
keeping the sound of your footsteps,
the chairs where you sat here and there,
the dining table where we had small talk,
the laughter that never left the walls
resounding in my ears every now and then.
But the fire rapidly spread,
the pillars of the house gave way
crashing down the rooms and their contents:
your picture frames,
specialty books,
my poems on your desk.
All the things I loved about you
were reduced to embers and ashes.
Not a token of you left.
The fire razed down
everywhere you have been
before I could even say
good-bye.
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WE DNE SDAY, JUNE 06, 2007
No Comfort
The softness of the pillows
offers no comfort
even if my body weight presses heavily
across the wide bed
when my mind chooses to stay up
walking about in the labyrinth
of my memory,
trying to locate pieces of you
to form
one recognizable image,
or when it refuses to enter
the open door
of unconsciousness
but chooses to saunter
into gardens of daydreams
sniffing your scent in the wind
everywhere you have been.
Look at me in the eye,
carry a smile on your lips,
let me sleep.
When Wounds Heal

Do you recall? you asked
pointing to the scar on your knee.
The moment flashes back:
First out of the boat,
the view distracted mea green sea of shrubs and grass
mixing with blue of mountains
while ocean waves break up
into white foam
stumbling on the beach.
I hear people raise their voices:
Turning around I seeyou, fallen on the pier,
lost your balance when the boat moved
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all your weight carried

by your knee, now bloodied.
Yes, I recall.
You didn't cry nor wince.
Your eyes were drained of tears
long before by countless wounds
from tripping over unsteady hearts.
It doesn't feel anything,
you noted.
Something else dies when wounds heal,
I sighed.
MO NDA Y, JUNE 04, 2007
Kapag Naghilom na ang Sugat

Naalala mo ba?, tanong mo,
tinuro ang daliri sa peklat ng tuhod.
Ang tagpo muling umulit:
Nauna akong dumaong,
inagaw ang isip ng nasa unahanmalawak na luntian na humahalo
sa kulay ng azul ng kabundukan
habang ang nabasag na alon ay namuti
sa pagkadapa sa dalampasigan.
Sumigaw ang mga tao,
lumingon ako at tinanawikaw, nakasubsob sa daungan,
nawalan ng panimbang sa paggalaw ng bangka
at buong bigat ay pinasan ng iyong tuhod
na nagsugat.
Oo, naalala ko.
Hindi ka tumangis o nakislot.
Matagal nang tinuyo ang luha sa iyong mga mata
ng hindi mabilang na mga sugat
mula sa pagkatisod sa mga pusong lagalag.
Wala siyang pakiramdam,
pansin mo.
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May ibang pumapanaw kapag naghilom ang sugat,

sabi ko.
Dense
I learned on the job
that strong memory and practice
together is like a twine
that makes a skill second-nature
like machines that run their jobs
following codes and paths embedded
in electronic circuit boards.
'I don't want that,' you protested.
Unlike machines,
you refuse to burn in memory
a habit embeddable in the brain
from all the things I do
with you:
the reaching out for your hand,
the savoring of your hair's scent
and playing with its strands,
a cat curling around you in bed
before calling it a day.
'We will never, ever,' you add
'be like machines.'
True, memory of machines
are erasable. Afterwards,
everything learned is forgotten.
Is that why you insist on not learning,
so there is nothing to recall?
'But, there's no expertise built,'
I argued.
'It's fine to remain dense,' you counter
'on these things'.
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Mahina ang Ulo

Natutuhan ko sa paggawa
na parang lubid na pinagbuhol
ang tibay ng ala-ala at pagsasanay
hanggang mistulang likas na
sa isa, parang makina
na sumusunod sa kodigo
ng mga habing elektronikong sirkito
ang lahat ng kaniyang ginagawa.
'Ayaw ko niyan', wika mo sa akin.
Ayaw mo na tulad ng makina
na ukitin sa iyong ala-ala
at maging likas sa isip
ang mga kasanayanang
nakuha mo sa akin:
ang lagi kong pag-abot sa iyong kamay,
ang pagsamyo ng iyong buhok,
ang paglalaro nito na para akong pusa
na nalilibang sa kanyang mga hibla,
at maging ang pagyapos sa iyo sa higaan
kapag matutulog na.
'Kailanman', dagdag mo pa,
'hindi ako magiging tulad makina'.
Totoo, mabubura ang mga ala-ala
ng elektronikong makina at sa isang iglap
pagkatapos, makakalimutan
ang lahat ng kinasanayan niya.
Kaya nga ba patuloy mong hiling
huwag na kitang sanayin
para walang ala-ala.
'Nguni't wala namang kasanayan', sabi ko.
'Hindi na bale mahina ang ulo', ganti mo,
'pagdating sa mga bagay na ito.'
TUE SDAY, MAY 29, 2007
The Rainy Season is Over

I have squeezed the last droplet
of the season from my eyes.
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My heart has seen enough of darkness,

of uncertainty,
of the cold gust.
I long to see blue skies
stretched widest,
warm sunshine on the skin,
a gentle, blowing wind
in my face under a tree's shade.
Your good-byes bring heavy rains
to the sanctuary of this heart,
now filled with leaks,
their drips taxing my ears.
The rainy season is over.
I don't have to gaze at the sky
to keep watching for rain clouds,
the breeze,
the thick, dark horizon
and you.
MO NDA Y, MAY 28, 2007
When the Saxophone Moans

Melancholy fills the wine glass,
while despair hogs the seats around me.
A saxophonist is playing Chuck Mangione
like a broken-hearts groan.
The saxophone moans,
its cry lingering
filling me up with notes
drifting high, low, then back
as I drink the wine.
If I were the saxophone
agile fingers would caress me,
echoing ripples of rhythm
across my length
And I would not let go
of passionate lips
blowing solitude away from me
until the sax and I groan as one.
Instead, I sit here
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in the company of wailing tunes

listening to a lady bawl her lines
as if they were mine.
FR I DAY, MAY 25 , 2007
My Muse and Angel - featured in EmanilaPoetry.com

web site
How do you thank a generous muse
for sending an early rain in May,
a cool breeze across a flat space,
breathing life to words
that sprout lines of thoughts
in this mental landscape?
How do you wish her well
for undeserved blessings
as she fills its width and breadth
with her embrace, blowing her kiss
like a gentle wind mildly brushing skin
in my dreams?
She called out my name
from where she was, floating
like an angel bathed in moonlight,
her face aglow, glancing back with lips
that seemed forever smiling as she sped away,
with no goodbyes, from my waking hour.
Will she accept a rose built around a poem
with white petals of clean intentions,
a long green stalk cut off from a memory
where it was once nourished?
Will she glance again with cheekbones rising
just this once?
A Love Letter
You must forgive me
if this letter comes to you
like a stone
thrown on your calm waters,
breaking up your brilliance
like sunlight
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split a thousand-fold
shimmering before me.
I did not desire this disturbance
but nature knows no other way
to bring me to your attention
in a more graceful manner
without the ripples
from my heart.
So be it.
If this letter like a kayak's oar
stirs your waters,
I promise you it is only
a temporary aberration.
I had no further wish
than this, to paddle through
your blue-green pool
and imprint it in my memory.
If you choose to let this note
go to waste, may I request
that you throw it to the wind,
so I may see it like a child's kite
but let loose, to fall
among the crags
sitting emotionless on your waters
to break apart there
or just let it drop on your waters,
drench it until soft and unreadable,
the force of your ripples
breaking it up,
rather than hold it
in your hands,
keeping it there
without ever looking at me
again.
SUNDAY, MAY 20, 2007
That Seemed Good

He found me wandering in Quiapo*
and offered to take me home.
That seemed good.
He said, 'You need a good bath
to remove all that grease
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from your body.'

He led me into a room
where there was water
and a bucket.
He cleaned me up with soap.
His hands polished parts of me
to his satisfaction.
He led me to a bed
and said, 'You need rest.'
That seemed good.
He lay me down. My hair still wet.
He said, 'I will take care of you'
as he undressed.
First, he let go of the pants
then the underwear
dropping them on the floor.
I watched him get close to me,
his weight pressing heavily.
Then, he got up.
Leaving a twenty-peso bill
he told me, 'Buy yourself some candy.'
That seemed good.
SATUR DA Y, MAY 19 , 2007
Unregistered
I don't need a watcher to secure
the count of all your thoughts
you cast in your heart for me.
Neither need to read the line
that spelled my name in delible black ink
perhaps thinking
when you change your mind
an eraser can wipe it out
and I am gone from your life.
But, how could you do so
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when in the first place your name

is not registered in mine?
THU RSDAY, MAY 1 7 , 2007
Waiting
How slow the minute hand had seemed to move,
how pronounced the ticks of a clock this quiet day,
and dark the sky with my beloved's delay,
who by her presence her love can always prove
able to disperse the gathering clouds above
with just her radiant face holding sway,
her eyes like sunlight cast my wayhow can I, despite delays, disapprove?
See, my beloved one comes, quiet and regal,
crowned, yes, draped with ebony hair,
with skin only a morning flower can compare
graced by dew dripping on each petal.
Take my hands, my sweet, beloved dear
Of time I will not care while you are here.
Lumphuni Lotus Flower

It was overcast in Bangkok the day we met,
light rain was falling on Ploenchit Road.
Your Chinese skin was the only bright thing
next to the white coffee cup. Your eyes
seemed brown when they studied mine
but really, you were looking at the Powerpoint slide.
Your lips squinted like your eyes
but your Thai accent locked in my ears.
I listened with care for every English word
while your fingers swept through your black hair,
both of us looking intently at the tablet PC screen.
Your eyes were sharper than my glasses,
tapping my shoulder for every visual lapse.
You have my respect, beautiful lotus flower
afloat in the waters of Lumphuni.
I smile whenever I recall
your laughter, squinting eyes, and tightened lips
despite the rain drops dripping on the jet plane's
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window pane.
SATUR DA Y, MAY 12, 2007
This is how you blow up my heart

Firstcrashing into my eyes,
piercing the cornea,
pushing deeper into the iris
you stopped at the optic nerves
depositing your charm
Where it seeps through,
like an acid spilling
towards the brain,
releasing a blinding flash
destroying
my protective shield.
Finally, with Command & Control
in disarray
my forces of resistance confused,
your laughter burns
clearing your way down
to my heart
as your eyes held their stare.
Then, the inevitable happened:
Your lovely smile
sped through unresisted
and lodged there
ticking away.
Whatever pretension of strength
I have is finally exposedmy heart imploded,
collapsing every thought
dream,
rib
into a hole
of complete vulnerability.
I Will Return To You Someday
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But not yet.

Not until I see a different sun
Rise above your sea,
Until I see beyond the glow
Hiding among your clouds,
Thick, dark, and grey
A brilliant yellow light
Filling up its waters
With a thousand flickering lights.
I would rather ride
Your waves at their angriest,
Tossing me to and fro
From one crest to the next
Instead of this:
Your composure unsettling me.
Until the day you choose
To stir the air with foam
Perhaps I will return.
But there is nothing to look back at
Just your hard crags,
Unruffled by the wind,
Completing the melancholy
In your lips,
Black rock rising
To touch the dark drab sky.
I waited for you
With the patience of a husband
Longing for his wife's return,
But after briefly letting out a glimpse, a glow
You never did return to shine
Over this sea.
FR I DAY, MAY 11 , 2007
The Sony Ericsson K800i El Nido Experience

The El Nido Airport Environment
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The Lagen Island Resort Environment
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Activities in El Nido
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Some HP People in El Nido
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FR I DAY, MAY 04, 2007
Best Before (TagLish version)

Malamig sa corridor na may mga racks
sa aking left and right
na puno ng bread at pastries.
Lahat maayos sa mga lalagyang plastik
na masinop ang pagkasalansan,
walang nabago sa dinadaanan.
Sinuri ko ang 'Best Before' tag nila,
careful sa pagbabasa ng petsa
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nagtiwala sa inimprentang marka

na printed sa plastik in blue ink.
Ang laman ng aking cartcans of milk, sardines, corned beef, at ham
plastic packs of coffee, sugar, creamer, noodles, at bread
quick-melt cheese,
chocolate bars,
at my favorite creamy peanut butter brand:
bawa't isa with date tags
carefully scrutinized.
If I were sana a wiser man,
as careful with my heart as with my pera,
seguro dapat nagtanong ako
hinggil sa 'Best Before' mo,
para sana I could have planned
for your disposal mula sa buhay ko
rather than naging ganito:
nagiisa pushing the cart
na dati-rati there used to be
tayong dalawa.
Best Before (English version)

The corridor is cold
as I walked between the racks
lined up in quiet formation,
each one filled with loaves of bread
in crisp plastic packages.
Inspecting their 'Best Before' tag,
I read carefully the numbers
printed on the plastic in blue ink,
as I fill up my cart.
Were I a corps commander,
I could have ordered your removal
from my life, not waiting
until your 'Best Before' drew near,
unlike thisunescorted
with a cart of only my things
where ours used to be.
THU RSDAY, MAY 03 , 2007
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The Spreadsheet Prophesies

Accelerated life is spent
from one nanosecond to the next,
in shorter latencies,
in fully loaded big cache sizes
burning in kilowatts
that are unable to melt
my static wage, hidden and secured
in super-cooled data centers.
My work hours are devoured
in air-conditioned offices
extending from this shift to the next
while the voice mail
gets clogged with messages
of "when are you coming home".
The phone's red LED blinks
unaware of the blood lanes getting stricter,
a speeding clot getting derailed,
halted,
and liter of red cells
pile up like colliding network packets.
The cost accountant stares at one cell:
his spreadsheet prophesies a job cut.
MO NDA Y, AP RI L 30, 2007
My Wife is Disposing her Nokia 1600 phone
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SATUR DA Y, AP RI L 28, 2007
Pavement
She fell down to a pavement
lit only by the evening's glow
from a shrouded sky
her eyes unable to help,
starved of sleep for nights
her mind went into overdrive,
overlooking the dip in the floor
the way the changes between them
passed her by like a slowly drifting shadow
cast under a pale light.
She lost control,
her head banged on the concrete,
her forehead cut on the right brow,
bleeding in the semi-darkness,
the pain as acute as their fallout.
Unable to lose the habit still
while sitting on the floor,
she would call out his name
but this time in a groan
with tomorrow looking dark,
injured and bleeding.
FR I DAY, AP RI L 27, 2007
Tagaytay Highlands and K800i Experience

I had an opportunity to put to the test my K800i. Below are the results for
the Macro-Close up for plants and my portrait. For very low light
conditions. For landscape shots. It looks like, it is good mostly for up-close
shots.
Close-Ups
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Low Light
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Landscape
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Panorama
WE DNE SDAY, AP RI L 25 , 2007
Uncertainties
It's uncertain if you enjoy
things playing out like this
the way my eyes would gleam
faintly like a day star
but clearly perceptible
under the mix light
of day and fluorescent lamps
looking for signs
on your face like a map
on my way perhaps to your eyes,
sometimes black or brown
reflecting the brilliant lamps
or perhaps to your lips
when your cheeks rise
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curving up their edges

like the crescent moon
in search of
that long lost lovely smile.
TUE SDAY, APR IL 24 , 2007
Faulty Exegesis
Without a map, the next best thing
when evening driving
is to learn fast how to read signs,
and even here
critical thinking is required
less one can get swayed easily
by false and make-shift signs
some self-imposed authority put up
for his convenience
and sets you off track
the cost of which
can distract you like a high beam
from an approaching car
or much worse misread
a sign to mean something else
like that Right-Turn traffic sign
on the asphalt road I browsed,
where the next thing I saw
was a policeman's hand waving
his stern look a fair warning
of an approaching critical discourse
of my supposed error
starting with definitions,
progressing into exegesis,
the etymology of words,
and its consequences.
Next Opportunity
A young boy of frail frame,
perhaps 10 years-old,
crawled like a spider
on the jeepney's floor,
and with rag in hand
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started wiping the dust

off our shoes
but the pasaheros ignored
his outstretched hand
and open palms,
his lips mumbling softly
a prayer
Ale, penge pong pambili ng tinapay.
No one cared to hear the plea, all eyes
were towards the window of the jeepney.
A few more meters and his hand fell
like a heavy log falling by his side.
The driver didn't bother
to look back,
except for the picture of the Christ
pasted on the ceiling.
A pasahero signaled for
a stop
Tabi lang.
Was it addressed to the driver
or to the boy
who like a devout Catholic
has his knees still bent on the floor
repeating his novena for the day
before the Christ on the ceiling
who couldn't do anything
as each pasahero
left?
When the jeepney stalled
at one point,
the boy got off unceremoniously
and mingled with boys and girls
getting out of a school gate
fetched by yayas,
mamas,
and papas.
He rode
the next jeepney.
SUNDAY, APR IL 22, 2007
A New Creation
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If she knew that my desire

to hold her captive
with these hands
were selfish,
single-minded in purpose,
unyielding until fully satiated,
would she lay herself down again
stiff, flat, and plain
under this summer's sun?
From this flat space
I won't let her go
until she brings forth
and wrings
from my thoughts every word
bursting like a fissure on the wall,
flowing out generously
myself
to her,
until it dries off
the surface of her skin.
I will make her bear
my thoughts
until their seed spill,
sprout off her pages,
and together we will groan
for each space that disappear,
in every contact I make
with her
until I am fully spent:
drained
of all these thoughts,
washed off
and dried on her.
After this, a calm descends
like a cool breeze,
and freedom from my hands,
myself imprinted
on her plane.
One Angry Messiah

Weep, mothers, weep for your children
who called out for you in their hour of death,
who sought your embrace to calm down their fear
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for death has sucked out their breath!

The storekeeper gave him
the ammo and guns that he wanted
failing to look into his eye,
the smirk in his face
as he counted the payment
in his hands.
Weep, America, weep for your leaders died today
no, not in Iraq, felled by bullets but not from radical Muslims
you feared seeping into your borders
wearing bearded faces and big, tall noses
with deep set eyes and strong eye brows!
He locked and loaded, raised his arms
but this is not a video game
as he shot every moving life
though no one kept score,
as he moved on to the next level,
rewarded by the increasing body count
on the floor.
Weep, mankind, weep! For one day
this might be our destiny
as each one seeks the small space
of earth left by the advancing waters,
when one angry Messiah decides
one of us
is not worth keeping.
Heat Wave
The news advisory reported
a coming heat wave,
a first for this country of beaches
but Comelec officials bitch
about political banners hanging over our heads
failing to see the relief voters get
from the unintended shade,
the shadier,
the happier politicians get.
I'd suggest this instead:
Comelec should ban the use of loud speakers,
loud music,
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loud rhetorics
and invoke the Clean Air Act.
Allow us the luxury of a good siesta break
everyday of this summer.
This summer heats up everythingthe concrete floor,
walls,
windows,
chairs,
and mattresses
with or without the mistresses
exchanging sweat for sweet deals.
If the economy were really better
the prices of air-conditioned units should meet
the purchase power of the laborer
who after a day's work will need a good respite,
a good long sleep
but how could he in this weather?
If that weren't bad,
he has to endure between eating and sweating,
listening
to propaganda of his approaching salvation
that he no longer believes in anyway
but heats him up, beats up his ear,
takes away his sleep
and the quiet he seeks at the end of day.
I applaud barangay leaders
who tolerate the value of banderitas
in this coming heat wave.
Better still let them keep our streets
quiet in this very humid season.
Should politicians toy with a laborer's sleep
like they do their wages?
TUE SDAY, APR IL 1 7 , 2007
This Chair
I like this chair
by my window
from where I can see you
as the sun hits your back
creating a halo
around your head,
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your hair turning golden brown.

From here I wait for you
unti I hear your leather shoes
hit the pavement,
announcing their genuineness,
as your hand turns the knob
and my favorite sweet voice
announces its presence
behind the door.
If only I could rise
from this chair,
and take this hand, arm
and body
to that door.
But, what I have are eyes
to welcome your smile
and enjoy the warmth
of your embrace.
Perhaps, if I were
more agile in my legs,
to have stepped on that break,
and turn the wheel away
I would be as manly still
with strong arms
for you to fall on,
rather than this,
myself fallen
on this chair.
Impotence
This is impotence:
To be deprived of powers that bend lines
as easily as steel, unable to rush from one line
to its enjambment in a single leap,
to lose images
that fell like rocks off a cliff
to flash inspiration in the sky's black canvas
as a callback to the fleeing muse.
Deprived of wings, unable to fly
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over a piece of paper and ink

an arrow pierces my heel
but nothing comes out from the wound
unlike the ark that settled down
on a dry hill.
SATUR DA Y, AP RI L 14 , 2007
Green Grass
I watch the flowers fall
between the small spaces of earth
surrounding your new home
before my tears blur my sight
as I look down,
but the earth's embrace
keep you from us,
on this sunny day
with the grass all green.
SATUR DA Y, AP RI L 07 , 2007
Simple Statements
(For Christopher Lantin, claimed by cancer)
It started with your simple disclosure:
'I have a tumor in my lymph nodes.'
I looked at you then,
anticipating,
calculating my words,
their tone,
their weight,
to match yours.
'It has not reached Stage 1.'
I thought I saw something
in your eyes
that reminded me of mornings
after my wife and I
had quarreled-
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a search for hope,

a new peace,
a different life.
'The chemo is not working.
One gallon of liquid was taken out
of my lungs.'
You spoke as if
this were a project report
citing some glitches,
of time lines moving.
A change request was filed
as failures accumulate.
'I've got four more sessions to go.'
So you went on
like old husbands and wives do,
except from this you couldn't divorce.
I heard your violent coughing,
echoing the pain I never knew.
Today, a brief statement
was sent out to all of us friends,
that you passed away 8:30 amthe moment when death
did us part.
THU RSDAY, APR IL 05 , 2007
Chiaroscuro
As a photographer, it caught my eye
this pathway into the woods:
the trees, shrubs, and grass
in muted colors,
their details subdued by their own shadows
as light streams from above
falling through branches and leaves,
down to these violet flowers
whose petals glow like charcoal embers
from last night's campfire,
their color mimics the pale afternoon sky.
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I stood there equipped

with only my senses.
WE DNE SDAY, AP RI L 04 , 2007
Haiku
a morning sky
full of red low-lying clouds,
the sun rises.
Haiku
on my glass window
a clear reflection appearsa lady smiling.
Haiku
red morning sun
so close to the rice fielddew drops shimmer.
Haiku
cool spring nighton the temple floor,
scattered pieces of silver.
Frothing Mouth
The tears on your cheek
are warm as I am cold,
my anger tearing through
whatever wings you had
to keep yourself afloat.
They fell as quiet on the floor
as you are,
teardrop on teardrop,
the concrete tiles a passive witness
to my show of strength.
And this is how I destroy myselfword by word:
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the very mouth that kisses you

keeps the venom
but it is I who dies
day by day.
My death will take place
the day your wings are healed,
has found new strength,
the courage to rise:
I will be frothing in the mouth
but you wouldn't care.
Counting Money
Here lies the severity of my error:
In fatal mis-prediction.
You would think with all my math skills
counting money would be just plain clerical.
That's why I love fund-raising:
Counting lots of money is like good sex
if you wait long enough to the end.
You think years of bonding
gives you license to predict
a friend's response,
and even make a living out of it.
If I were alive today,
I'd be a bad broker,
get fired, and fall in line
for a meal stub,
instead of dead.
There should have been audits,
controls, even reports asked.
But I wasn't asked any.
If my friend were any wiser,
he should have known
a money-maker that he is.
Instead, my weakness did me in.
I've never been good at placing bets
but I surely thought I knew my friend:
Instead, he let himself die
over 30 pieces of silver worth of bet.
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SATUR DA Y, MARCH 31 , 2007
Missed
You know the feeling:
The basketball first dipped in
as if to secure your winning scoreonly to bounce out of the goal
as the buzzer sounded,
the game ended,
except in your head.
Perhaps you should have come closer
or should not have flipped
that finger,
the scene of premature joylike the ball dipping inplaying over and over
like a migraine.
This morning, for example,
two glances crossed but missed,
two pairs of eyes
in search of each other,
one 'hello' an inch short
of its intended ear,
as two people are pulled apart
by the day's demands,
feels like a buzzer
sounding
it's game over,
but the thought kept bouncing
in your head
like a basketball.
FR I DAY, MARCH 3 0, 2007
New HP TouchScreen PC
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Virtual Demo Corner Resumes Activity
Business resumes with more customers coming to the VDC room at the HP
office.
WE DNE SDAY, MARCH 28 , 2007
Another Long Day

The end of day takes its toll
on your face and disheveled hair.
Entropy demonstrates itself
all over you,
consuming energy of a hard day's work,
but neither of us is through
though fully spent:
Your list of things to doa home to take care of,
milk formula to prepare,
homework to finish,
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day's bills to inspect,

young child to console,
and me to hug.
My owna proposal to write,
client to meet,
purchase order to secure,
boss to appease,
children to hug,
and a kiss for you
but I am not yet done
until I write this poem
about youjust to get me past
another long day
with all these things to do
between us.
Posted by ManofTrueGod at 10:49 PM
FR I DAY, MARCH 23 , 2007
Beyond What the Light Bares

You are beautiful not because
of your ivory skin looking glazed
under fluorescent light,
a modern Snow White,
nor because of your black hair
flowing like a silent river,
reflecting sunlight into my eyesneither because of your brows
so well-curved like inverted smileyswere it not for your eyes generous
with their glances
I would have thought that they were frownssurely not because of your petite nose
accenting your face I love capturing
in a photograph,
to sculpt light on your contours,
to bring out the essence
if even just a glimpse of why,
in well chosen colors.
So, when your laughter lingers in my ears
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like love songs do once theyre playedafter you bundle up your hair in a bun
and our hands meet and join
under the water, soap, dishes, sink
when your eyes
-sleepy, black, and roundcast their glance on mine
while your body's green tea scent
is still strongwhen you say good-night,
across a queen-size bed:
you are beautiful
beyond what the light bares.
TUE SDAY, MAR CH 20, 2007
Smile (haiku)
An intersection
where a smile breaks outI pause.
MO NDA Y, MARCH 19 , 2007
Ribbons of Flesh - Featured in EmanilaPoetry.com

These wounds,
punctures all around the head,
dried blood masking his face,
must have been pierced,
all at one time,
by the mockery
and by the thousand spiked insults
weaved from the thorn branches
to serve as his crown.
This skin, these lesions,
sank death closer to the bones
while these multiple bruises
must have come from the lies
so wicked and so many,
enveloped in the fists
whose blows spared
nothing in his body
or limbs.
This back,
so completely disfigured,
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lacerated and ripped apart,

ribbons of flesh,
is torn open again and again,
by the sharpest
and vilest of hatred
enwrapping the flagellum,
unforgiving in its intensity.
This rib cage,
this open fissure,
is jabbed deep and pierced fiercely,
by the indifference of a soldier's spear,
and from which poured
freely a stream of forgiveness
to cleanse the murder-soaked earth.
If this man
after so much injury and inhumanity,
were of lesser strength,
of lesser will
then amid his dying groans
a word like 'forgive'
will have been lost
in the anguish.
This is a re-post.
First Day of Memorial Invite Campaign
Preaching at near 40 degrees celsius (90+ degrees Fahrenheit).
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Bel after the haircut
Photo taken by the Sony Ericsson K800i using Portrait, Spot metering on
the face and zoom settings.
Learning Camera Features of Sony Ericsson K800i
With Spot Metering, Flash, and Macro Focus.
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Spot Metering turned on but without Flash.
What you get without Spot Metering turned on.

THU RSDAY, MAR CH 1 5, 2007
Purple Triangle, 1933-1945

It's an emblem of ordinary men
with extraordinary heart:
an inverted triangle that appeared at first
unstable, movable, fragile
ready to shift with slightest provocation
to the left or right
whose location is prophetic,
worn on top of the heart, as if transparent
with purple blood pulsating across the chest
if not for real blood-red stains
from bullet holes across the shirt,
breaking up the pattern of blue stripes,
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one piercing through the triangle

sprinkling the ground with blood,
the inmate shifts and falls to the side
like an inverted triangle
designed to wash away human dignity
through terror within the walls
of a Sachenhausen, or an Auschwitz.
But it's a misimpression, a visual deception
played to the eyes:
frail frames bore the weight of a triangle
heavy with inhumanity and intolerance
with each stroke of a Nazi hand or foot
crashing against them like a boulder
only to shatter against their spirit,
their nemesis left envious, craving
that their ranks swell with such men,
uncowered by violence from their voice
or limbs.
For now, it seems like ancient history:
a prison garb with a purple triangle.
WE DNE SDAY, MARCH 1 4, 2007
Burning Whisky
It wasn't a welcome home parade,
just the cold breeze blowing
a confetti of light snow.
Stepping out of the house past midnight,
shirtless and bare footed,
I expose my raw heart
to falling snow and bitter air.
I give in to temptation
and stand still,
white powder covers my face,
touches my shoulders, arms
but the yellow porch light
struggles to warm my soul,
so unlike you... effortless, efficient.
Pull me up close,
let me wear you tight
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like a heavy winter jacket,

and fill your hands
to an overflow
of me
while your hair brushes away the snow,
warming me up deep within
like a shot of burning whisky.
TUE SDAY, MAR CH 1 3, 2007
Basement Parking
Our Toyota Liteace Van
I drive a 1990 brown Toyota Liteace van,

a diesel-powered turbo engine,
veteran machine of many close encounters,
scarred yet unrelenting in the road,
gliding through ample spaces
with the swiftness of a basketball player
breaking through tough defenses,
now seeking shelter in an empty lot
away from the scorching heat of the sun,
an inn for machines for a small fee,
as it descends into the bowels of the earth,
like a search engine exploring
all words, their spaces in between,
manually navigating across a neat file
of assorted automobiles,
quiet in their rows
like students half-asleep in their seats
in an early afternoon class,
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confident of finding its niche,

just like this heart looking
for a slot in yours.
SUNDAY, MAR CH 1 1, 2007
New Sony Ericsson K800i phone for plan
After returning from the US, I availed of the retention plan with a free
phone.
SATUR DA Y, MARCH 10, 2007
Burning Whisky
It isn't a welcome home parade,
Stepping out of the house past midnight,
shirtless and bare footed,
I expose my skin
to falling snow and bitter air.
I give in to temptation
and stand still,
white powder covers my face,
touches my shoulders, arms
but the yellow porch light
struggles to warm me up,
so unlike you... effortless, efficient.
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Pull me up close,
and fill your hands
to an overflow
of me
while your hair brushes away the snow,
warming me up deep within
like a shot of burning whisky.
WE DNE SDAY, MARCH 07 , 2007
Cup of Decaf
It wasn't
a welcome home parade,
I gave in
to temptation,
stepped out of the house
shirtless
and bare footed,
exposed my heart
to the falling snow,
my skin
to the cold wind.
It was past midnight
when I looked up
and stood still:
The cold powder covered
my face, touched
my shoulders,
arms,
and skin
but the outdoor lamp
struggled
to warm my heart
so unlike youeffortless,
efficient.
So, pull me up close,
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and fill your hands
to an overflow
of me
while your hair
brushes away the snow,
warming me up inside
like a cup
of decaf.
* Rated as one of the best for several weeks in PoetryCritical.com

Counters
Those are important counters
on the blue screen, flickering
white text set against blue,
whose decreasing numbers raise
my joy, disappearing and reappearing
in set intervals, in between, my heart,
predicting the next set of numbers
of how closer I am to you.
The first counter is interesting
measuring numbers that kept me away
from youfrom a black hole inhabiting
the space between us
a cold, deep tunnel
in a mountain so far away from you
that I could not hear your voice.
The second counter is a metric
that excites my heart, an announcement
of sorts of our pending reunion
so much like the play time counter
in every basketball game
where anxiety levels are kept high
until the final buzzer's blare.
Such counters don't make me weary.
It's my distance from you
that does, the hundreds of hours
of could have beens, made heavy the distance
already stretched.
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It's the reason for coming back

to you, this next counter,
reporting outside temperature
well below zero degree Celsius,
hoping it may not descend upon us
like a new Ice Age, whatever we have
gets frostbitten, dies, is amputated,
piece by piece, become relics of what we were
or used to be, fit for display
in forgotten fragile enclosures,
of our memory.
I will not measure with a counter
how far we are from such memories.
Who bothers with such a counter?
FR I DAY, MARCH 02, 2007
A Life in a Day
The parameters sent did not arrive in time.
Who will take care of the function call?
If only the printer were hospitable.
It's the best way to handle mistakes:
cause a panic. Anyone who knows Linux
can confirm but there is no resolution
to this traffic jam.
Stranded for hours, she awaits a message
from her phone, wondering if she
were lost. Or the message. Or the sender.
The father left for Rome while the children
threw their trash to the bin. I went brushing
my shoes.
What's left of the car? Charred bodies smoking
after the last cigarette. Until when
will people allow the violence to continue
against the ozone layer?
In a thermodynamics system, husband
and wife would be two systems burning energy
forever to convert themselves to gas.
The Wikipedia is a free reference on this.
The van indeed needs refueling tomorrow.
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Her room lights were turned off but the newspaper

was left unread on the table.
APJ Ambassadors Dinner

I finally had the chance to meet the veteran colleagues in Asia-Pacific at
the dinner at Kirby's in Houston. The people I met as I remember them are
as follows
Kevin, Irene - Singapore
Raymond - Malaysia
Sirpesh - India
Michael - China with two other colleagues
Masazumi -Japan
Jarut - Thailand
Charles - APJ/Singapore
Jeff - APJ/HK
Tom - APJ/HK
Ken - Australia
Nigel - Australia
I met folks from Canada - Pierre, Kevin, and another presales guy.
I also met one from Seattle in the US, a half-Filipino - Jason Cruz.
THU RSDAY, MAR CH 01 , 2007
Zero Degrees Celsius

The weather forecast for the city
is below zero degrees Celsius.
But it was silent about the freezing rain
over piled up snow,
the sort that makes people fall asleep
or warm themselves up with books,
overhead lights, and colored blankets.
My poem chilled in the cold,
the paper murkier than the road.
I tried to lead it somewhere
but it didn't have winter clothes
to bear with the rain and wind.
With every word frostbitten,
lines fell apart, words gave up their spirit
while coffee and melatonin delivered
their coup de grace,
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leaving the TV set up all night.

WE DNE SDAY, FE BR UAR Y 28 , 2007
Blades Training in Woodlands, Houston, Texas, USA
The Woodlands Entry Way to their Office
The View of the Golf Course at Dusk
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View of Golf Course Going to the Hotel Room
My Room at Woodlands
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View from my room at Woodlands

Blades Training in Taal Vista Lodge
Taal Vista Lodge, a Fuego Hotel, hotel room sign
Taal Lake, Early Morning View from Taal Vista Lodge
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The Lobby of Taal Vista Lodge with Taal Lake in view
MO NDA Y, FE BRUAR Y 26, 2007
This Heaven
This Sunday morning
I was lifted up to heaven
at a speed of 500 miles an hour
piercing the massive gray clouds
to where the sun shines
with clarity at 31,000 feetat this speed,
if these were ordinary strings
or threads they would have snapped,
but they remained tied up to you,
my heart to yours
no matter the twines of yearning
and distance
get stretched farther by the 747.
The entertainment and the wine,
for five dollars,
didn't weaken the threads
weaving in my head about you,
keeping me awake like jet engines.
Up here, with the sun unhindered,
blue skies stretch all over, except
for the captain's announcement
of anticipated turbulence.
So, ten hours in heaven did me good,
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the isolation kept me anxious

of our fragile attachment that held on
like that sunlight, from the window,
when my thoughts reached cruising level
leaving all those doubts behind.
SATUR DA Y, FE BRUAR Y 24 , 2007
Spilled Pollen
That was how she came
to my attention.
Her image lingered
in my peripheral vision
unobtrusively.
She used to be a seed
nurtured in secrecy
but has grown a stem
breaking out
of my heart.
Amidst my distractions
she blooms,
blushes.
I imagine one day
inspecting details of her petals,
her filaments,
her ovary,
enjoying her scent.
But she wilted away,
the stem
collapsing from my neglect
and where she fell
her pollen spilled all over
my busy heart.
Vanishing Point
The jet engines' increasing decibels
fill up the runway while the body of the plane
shakes, the earth expelling it into the air.
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I want to roar, to boom myself,

to dislodge the loneliness draping my heart,
to let go, like the earth the plane.
I look down at earthly objects retreating
into their vanishing point,
but my attachments stall my lift.
Above the clouds I see stars appearing.
I waited for a star to look into my eyes,
to tell her my good-bye.
I unlock the belt that held my thoughts
that could stagger in the corridor
while the safety-belt warning sign flashes in the ceiling.
The blanket did not warm me
the way her smiles
or the light from her eyes would have.
The featured movie played, ended
but I didn't care. Sleep came over
to turn off the lights
while all my thoughts scampered away
into its own sky- cloudy and blackwhere she probably hides.
FR I DAY, FE BRUAR Y 23 , 2007
Bruises v2
You must forgive me
for not writing
sooner,
not due to absence of desire
but my thoughts
couldn't flow through
the constricted channels
of my convulsed mind,
their release
every time
aborted.
How do you translate
silence on paper?
I thought of
sending you letters,
filled with blanks
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from edge to edge,

silent
like signs of the hands.
My thoughts
are clamped
in its limbs,
their weight
increases the pain.
I really wanted
to write you
sooner,
but I rather
that you see the bruises,
yourself,
left by the clamps
holding down
the words.
TUE SDAY, FE BRU ARY 20, 2007
Erasing Colors
If I had a trowel in hand
in this excavation site,
I would remove
layers of history
from these photographs,
to discover details
I don't want to miss,
to preserve
than dump them
onto the spoilheap
of memory.
Buried family artifacts,
for example,
this photo album
needed care uncovering
from all the dust
over it.
The stain of yellow pigments
show signs of the mud
that buried it
after the flash floods
subsided.
The sun came out today
to dry up the mud
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as it would bricks
of an improvised tomb.
The government staff
keeps tab of the numbers
of the dead,
but the tools for unearthing
and the details they tell,
doesn't complete the picture
nor fill the void
of the spaces
from the album,
where once the
picture of the father,
the mother,
and the children
appeared
but the water
erased the colors
mixing it
with the earth.
SUNDAY, FE BRU ARY 18 , 2007
Special Day Assembly

We just concluded our Special Day Assembly with Bro. Felix Salango as
our visiting Bethelite speaker. I had the privilege to conduct the
Watchtower Summary featuring a meaty topic on how to derive when the
first resurrection has happened.
I also had a lot of responsibilities- leading my congregation to fill up the
Cleaning Department gap when my group lost one congregation of
volunteer and were never replaced in time for the SDA. Hence, my little
group of three brothers and four sisters under the harsh noon-day sun
cleaned up the auditorium stands and the parking areas. I think I burned
my skin that day.
I volunteered my congregation to fill up the slack after the SDA to
complete the clean-up of the auditorium.
End Point
With a heavy thumb, a depression
made an impression in my heart.
I wanted to see your eyes
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as soon as the words competing for space

are led into the maze
then out into the open.
Silence had your eyes distracted
but the leader of the pack of words
gave instructions to disband into little groups
like fugitives evading a manhunt.
You don't care despite the glow inside
your bag. The terminal is you where every letter
gets off the ride. I paid for their fare,
a one-way ticket from my thoughts.
FR I DAY, FE BRUAR Y 1 6, 2007
O God, If You Were A Song - Featured in

EmanilaPoetry.com
Oh God, if you were a song
can you, please, be a lullaby?
You see, lullabies hug me tight
like hands and arms of playful children
and they sound like my mother
calling out from outside
my door, asking me softly
to step forward into the light.
You see, a lullaby sort of pastures
my disturbed spirit to a siesta.
Can you, please, be accompanied
by a piano with notes to teach me
to love myself, to the point
of self-forgiveness,
a replica of your grace?
Maybe, from this gutter of sin,
shivering in the cold darkness
of guilt, your voice can pull me out
despite stinking in disappointments,
and with wounded knees, bleeding
in hopelessness.
Let me hear you, my lullaby.
Hush and be still, all of youhe sings.
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Can I, please, lay my head down

to your pillows of mercies
while its hymn fills up my head
like cotton filling up the cushion,
until it finishes,
and silence takes the space
where the lullaby once played,
and I, finally find
my peace?
WE DNE SDAY, FE BR UAR Y 1 4, 2007
A Different Truth
It's the only way
that I can see the world
the way he dida reality different
from what the eyes see,
not the colors
as they appear,
not the shade,
nor highlight.
I love to tweak
our common reality
to mold it as I desireso others see only
what I wanted them to,
even in un-normal ways
with perspectives
that may distort
their truth and confine it
within the perimeters
of a rarely seen world,
my world.
Light travels into it
freely yet constrained,
once capturedWhen released, it no longer
recognized itself,
transformed to my specifications.
It has died on this plane
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of existence,
and buried among the layers
of a thin reality
resurrected to the eye
as a new truth, my truth.
Lazy Day
The boy came up to me
and pulled out from his pocket
a shiny, plastic-covered Bible,
whose pages fluttered in the breeze
outside my door.
He talked with his hands
about the signs of the times,
of Noah, of Jesus,
and something about the earth
becoming a Paradise.
This young preacher spoke
with conviction in his eyes.
It's better this way, I thought,
for a boy to hold
a Bible in hand than a gun
with fierce, tense eyes
with the nozzle aimed
straight at me and with a bullet
breaking through the wind
in a lazy day like this.
MO NDA Y, FE BRUAR Y 12, 2007
Bruises
You must forgive me
for not writing sooner,
not due to absence of desire
but my thoughts couldn't flow
through the constricted channels
of my convulsed mind,
their release every time
aborted.
How do you translate
silence
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on paper?
I thought of sending you
letters,
filled with blanks
from edge
to edge,
silent like signs
of the hands.
Perhaps, one day,
the thoughts
will find the open gate
to walk free,
or even
to meet up with you
on parole.
If you find
such letter to be
of good behavior,
give me my freedom
by your good report.
But my thoughts
are clamped
in its limbs,
their weight increases
the pain.
I really wanted
to write you sooner,
but I rather
that you see the bruises,
yourself,
left by the clamps
holding down the words.
Accessibility of Olympus
I was told this mountain
is better than Sinai.
Here, I will meet, not one god
but gods and goddesses
who in their boredom
might teach me poetry.
The climb all these years
to reach the clouds
that crown their heads-
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The view of the dull plains

from this height,
the river below unsure of intent,
my poems dotting
the landscapebut now I look up to burn myself
in the brilliance
of their light.
It's a foreign sound,
this speech of the gods,
as they held court
while their semantics changing
like the amoeba's shapeless form.
There is no room here
for koine, speech of mortals.
I swear my confusion
lies in the absence of the gift
of tongues,
else I could have traded
my shadow with theirs.
I descended the mountain
unable to decipher
its sound:
it's no place
for mortals
of plain speech.
'I Will Stop Writing Poems'

So I told myself.
I promise not to hide
pieces of thought
under my bed,
the way alcoholics
hide their bottle
behind curtains
of denial.
And when verses flash before me
like headlights,
and my hands begin
to crave for key strokes,
or paper
I vow to distract myself,
like the cataract
in my eye.
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Perhaps I should confine myself

to a rehab center
or better still
seclude myself in a mountain,
to come out later
like Moses or Buddha,
after 40 days of reflections
or meditation
or whatever it is called.
Except that in mountains today
a stranger is an enemy.
When soldiers comb through mountains,
searching in the obscurity of my purpose,
an explanation for my presence,
caught with books in hand
I will confess:
I am here to heal myself,
to stop writing poems.
* Rated as one of the best for several weeks in PoetryCritical.com

SUNDAY, FE BRU ARY 11 , 2007
Spinning
When you disengaged
you left me floating in this darkness,
alone in my world whose stars and nebulas
and their light all seem to race
away from me,
whose brilliance
magnify their distance like pin heads
dropping off a table cloth.
I am sucked
into a black hole of whys,
pulled into its depth
by the vertigo of confusion.
No big heart is close enough
to alter the space,
dent it,
and shift my weight
toward its pull,
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and shield me from wayward hearts

crashing into my inner space
leaving behind
memories
deep like craters.
I spin away towards the edge
of oblivion
where there are no horizons
to disappear
into the black.
THU RSDAY, FEBR UARY 08 , 2007
The Sea Poster
TUE SDAY, FE BRU ARY 06, 2007
Worth More Than Twenty-One Roses- Featured in

EmanilaPoetry.com
The flower vendor called up today,
asking for my order of twenty-one roses,
one rose for each year.
The first rose came with a promise
of longevity in its long, deep green stalkmy simple, unadorned vow.
I learned to evade the thorns of life
while I held you, my red rose, sprinkled
with little white flowers, like children and mother.
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We were bound together like a bouquet

of twenty-one roses, artfully hiding
the complexities and compromises of our lives.
Twenty-one years is a long journey
from 'I do' to I still do,
our very own endurance race.
You went from lovely to lovelier.
I will join you to loveliest with this hand
and eyes for you to hold and behold.
I thanked the vendor for remembering:
our twenty-one years is worth
more than twenty-one roses.
SUNDAY, FE BRU ARY 04, 2007
Whether Pressed Keys Really Matter

Does it matter
when some keys get pressed
more often than others
while some folks honk
like car alarms
at the slightest pressure
of the wind?
Who benefits
from the glow of the tablet PC
in the dark,
while someone else
waste their time
watching a TV talent show?
Do you know?
Ruth Padel published
that modernism,
that movement in poetry
of recent years,
lost its popular audience.
Why not?
Modern readers
can no longer relate what they read
with the high scores of their games
in their Pocket PCs.
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What would Ginsberg say about this?

I've got an anthology
of unread poets and poems in my library,
piled up like the dead
in cheap apartment tombs
of the South Cemetery.
Will it help?
Google has just returned some pictures
in high pixel resolution.
My kid just completed his Firefox download
over a WiFi connection.
It's half past ten.
Someone is snoring in bed.
I miss HBO.
WiFi is my best friend
floating up poems
in the air like fireflies,
beaming them like Star Trek personalities
from iPAQ
to tablet PC
to myself.
Perhaps it mattersthe rush from screen to blood,
awakening sleep-weary eyes.
I'll sleep with Sylvia Plath
in my bed.
Perhaps I'll figure out
whether pressing keys
really matter.
Downpour
You used to visit me in my garden
of thoughts where a fountain used to be
sprinkling ideas all over.
I used to run catching them
with my right hand while my left, held yours
filling the air with our laughters
until we ran into the night, the fireflies
lighting up our way like little fairies
floating brightly in the garden.
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I remember the warmth of your hands

as we raced around the flowers
lined up like verses of a poem.
I remember your generous smiles
and the blue sky in your eyes,
our foot denting the soft soil.
But you no longer visit me
in my garden
where the fountain one day dried up.
My left hand missed yours as I ran
into the night without fireflies,
nor the moon, nor the stars as lamplight.
The soil has hardened so much
it cracked and broke up like my heart.
My muse, return to me, like rain
And pour generously on this ground
your smiles, your laughter,
and let me see the flowers rise
the soil softened,
and the fountain once more returnlet us run again in it.
THU RSDAY, FEBR UARY 01 , 2007
Cold Weather
I whispered, "The cold weather is upon us."
The cold breeze breathed to my face when I opened
the fridge's door. Can chocolates really make one
happy?
But what if they are cold and stiff like a wife?
Can the warmth of my palms melt her
even while mercury drops inside its glass tube?
So, I went back up the stairs into a dark, quiet room.
The thick blanket parried against the cold while you
curled yourself up into a fetal posture. Were you
conserving whatever remained of your love's heat?
Turning off the air-con unit, I slide back into our marriage
looking forward to exchange body heat with you.
There you are with eyes rapidly moving-
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were you dreaming of someone else keeping you warm?

WE DNE SDAY, JANUAR Y 3 1, 2007
Gantt Charts
We never made plans nor Gantt charts
to forecast our time together
or allocate any slack for our laughters.
But we had milestones, didn't we?
The first smile,
the first glance,
the first time we held hands,
the first time we shared a laugh,
and the first tears over some petty item on a listyou still remember, don't you?
We never computed the cost
and assessed when we should have stopped.
Was it after the problem tickets piled up
with no ready resolutions?
The delays didn't bother us.
Instead, we forgave each other's lapses
and vowed to do better in the next phase.
But it never happened.
Instead, we started counting
the last time we met,
the last time we talked,
the last time we held hands,
the last time we shared a laugh,
the last time you or I cried over something, anythingwe don't remember anymore, do we?
Neither did we close it down properly
nor did we sit down in a conference room
and went through an audit to ensure
this never happens again
to you or to me.
We left each other, never looking back
leaving the janitor to clean up our trashthe love notes,
the Valentine cards,
the printed emails,
the chocolate boxes,
the picture frame.
We don't care anymore, do we?
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Kakaibang Mga Umaga - Featured in

EmanilaPoetry.com
Binuksan ko palabas ang salaming pinto
ng banyagang terminal. Hila-hila ko ang mga
bagahe ng nakalipas at pasan ko sa balikat
ang bigat ng malayong asawa at anak.
Sa labas, napakalamig pala ng Amerika.
Mas malamig kay sa chill factor
ng humahampas na hangin ang pagi-isa,
wala ang pamilyar na mga kulay at tinig.
Kaiba ang ingay ng paligid, ng lawak ng mga
lansangan na maghahatid sa bagong mga
pagkakataon. Minsan mailapag ang mga
bagaheng nagpabagal sa paglakad, at iidlip
ang hapong katawan upang panandaliang
kalimutan ang iniwan, kakaibang umaga
ang gigising sa akin bukas at sa marami padahil aking sinundan pag-asang umalis sa bayan ko.
MO NDA Y, JANUA RY 29, 2007
The Image on the Glass Window - Featured in

EmanilaPoetry.com
A vague image
appeared
on the glass window
but the receding daylight
brought the image
to focus,
a silhouette
against a darkness
proceeding from grey
to black.
The ambient room light
threw itself
softly
against the glass,
bouncing
on the image
resembling a man
whose eyes first
caught my attention.
Eyes that doesn't strain,
blink, or squint
to look at the darkness
outside,
that doesn't seem to look at,
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or looks for
something,
beyond the window.
As I come up closer
I see eyes
looking at mine.
With a lamp
against the window,
I see a man
held immobile
for hours
who neither care
about the day
nor night,
nor me
nor himself.
The image
stucked
on the glass window
all night
until morning came
to roll away the darkness,
dispersing the image
with a bath of daylight.
I stand alone
in full light.
SATUR DA Y, JANUAR Y 27, 2007
This Will Not Last Forever

Quiet eyes
that will not open to see the sunlight
of the first spring day,
sealed lips
that will not open to say a prayer
after the last winter nightthis will not last
forever.
Your heart
may have stopped beating for me,
and their veins
though cold and dry like the air
by the window where we had
our chatthis will not last
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forever.
I shall see you again
to open your eyes, and fill it
with all of me.
I shall hear you again
to open your mouth and fill it
with my kisses.
By Jehovah,
this will last forever.
THU RSDAY, JA NUARY 25 , 2007
In the Blood
After her scent dispersed from this space,
and with her shadow and her voice faded away,
and the euphoria level declining rapidly
it finally happens, again:
This craving for her presence
crawls out from these nerves already restless,
the eagerness to hear her faintest laughter,
the anxiety in my eyes for her cheek bones rising.
The tension in the muscles escalate
to a shaking, the heart pumping blood as hard
as it can. The muscles remember her touch,
feel the press of her fingers in my hand.
Her prolonged absence makes my skin
burst out tears all over, while my hunger
digs her remnants in my stomach
recycling it in my mouth.
Like a drug filling up my head
she finds her way into these eyes dilating its pupils,
coloring this skin red. Her approaching footsteps
is like needle dipping into these veins.
The moment her eyes interlock with mine
my senses fail to cope with the overload
and I end up immobile for a while
sniffing all of her.
Your Absence Bites
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Your absence bites

like ants
that swarm
on my skin,
overloads
my nervous system
and holds it
captive
while the longing
lingers
in every synapse,
every neuron
where you
used to be.
I tried the shower
to wash away
bites of longing
for you,
to cool it down,
drain it off
from consciousness
like water
to the sink.
But your absence
left its marks
all over my mind,
painful
and itchy.
THU RSDAY, JA NUARY 1 8, 2007
Glass Enclosure - Featured in EmanilaPoetry.com

A decommissioned body
is enclosed
in glass.
Friends examine
how close the resemblance
of was to is,
comparing notes,
and pointing fingers
to petty discrepancies,
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as if it were
a document examined
for fidelity.
Visitors
queue up to see
the glass enclosure,
to check how worn out the life
displayed. Perhaps the signs
will be self-explanatory.
Around it,
dissonant voices
mingle with the yellow light
cast on its surface,
where both noise and silence
kiss.
The layers of wisdomthe thin white hair,
the wrinkles in the forehead,
the sealed lipsare like a sequioa tree
and its concentric circles
while it lay fallen, cut in two
just like him
unable to sit, nor rise
until Death gave the coup de grace
while he slept.
The visitors find their way
along the seats
before this enclosurerelatives up front,
close friends next,
then everybody else
clustering around
the coffee, juice,
biscuits, bread, and nutsgood reasons to shut up
until it's time for one more look
to say good-bye
after which things change abruptly
when loneliness wakes up
and the dead disappears
from view
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from their lives

from what still matters.
TUE SDAY, JA NUARY 1 6, 2007
The Knife In My Throat

The sharp knife
pierces through a malfunctioning mind
where once inside,
the opening encloses
an anger
that has ruptured within
as violent as the blood filling up my lungs
to an overflow,
crowding out the life-force
until choked,
the gasping for breath
as if drowning,
all entry points
sealed,
all doors opening to life
locked,
the warm sensation
of finality
as the full blade goes through
my throat.
MO NDA Y, JANUA RY 15 , 2007
Seeds of Trees - Featured in EmanilaPoetry.com

I am a wilderness,
where even wild winds do not blow
to bring rain clouds overhead
and cool my parched earth
breaking up in the heat.
I am no ordinary wilderness.
Not even wild animals howl at me,
no full moon to cast light
on my barren soil.
No roads ever lead to me.
I howl in my loneliness
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but the heavens are indifferent.

The star's hide their shine
behind clouds that hold their rain.
I couldn't even produce my own tears.
I wish seeds of trees find their way
and bury themselves deep in me
so deep, I can feel the roots
crawling like earthworms
breaking up this hardened earth
to force its way out,
pulling itself up, stretching forward
its branches wagging before the sky,
against the stars, the rain cloudsI will become an orchard garden.
FR I DAY, JANUAR Y 1 2, 2007
Of Songs and a Lift

I listen to you
like you were
my radio
playing songs
one after the other,
like love songs
playing in my headset
endlessly.
But songs don't smile
like you do.
They play for two minutes
in your ear
and they're done.
Even portable radios
lose their signal
inside a lift,
filling my ear
with static instead.
But, your smile
lasts longer,
inside
or outside a lift.
Inside it,
I say much longer.
As the lift's doors close,
I feel like
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being lifted up
by your smile,
that I forget
if I were ascending
or descending,
as if I had lost contact
with gravity,
floating lightly,
while anchored
on your gaze.
Don't look away
abruptly,
please
or else I
might sink
back to my shoes.
When the doors
opened,
the songs rushed back in
like breath,
escaping from a cave
like bats,
distracting me,
losing contact
with your smile,
from your eyes.
Apokalipsis
The unveiling, a formal moment
everyone in attendance came for,
politely waiting, keeping watch
of an object shrouded in black cloth,
details undefined but the height
and shape, until the moment resembles
a new day's revelation when
dawn lifts up the darkness
veiling the garden, underneath
the newly bloom, red rose
awash with dew.
I came forward to touch her jacket
when she turned around to witness
a different unveiling:
my unexpected presence.
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SUNDAY, JANU ARY 07 , 2007
A Red Rose
A red rose
held in my hand
caught
my tears
on its petals
like dew
shimmering
from the sunlight's
kiss
leaked
by rain clouds
above
the garden
where I
stood.
The Sea
I stand close enough
to where the sea
can reach
my feet,
breaking
into white foam,
in a tug-of-war
with the wind,
my shadow too
the waters
disrupt,
burying my toes.
I look at you
from this safe distance,
keeping watch
for your return,
aware of the strength
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of your pull
the power
you have over me,
there
in your eyes
that you coldly
withdrew
while I
wade farther into
the waters
to follow you
deeper into a sea
that I fear.
Now, here you are
swirling around me
confusing
my thoughts,
my bearing,
my balance.
You can bury me
with your tides, and
with your waves
until I
have no more space
to breathe
between
your crests and troughs
that pulsate
like my heart
in these waters,
in this sea.
FR I DAY, JANUAR Y 05 , 2007
Work Space
This work space of a desklaminated, smooth,
and matte-yellow-
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faces the wide

blue-tinted glass window.
The grey-checkered chair is turned away
from skycrapers,
away from the shifting shadows
of shoes
on the street pavement,
away from fickle-minded
thick, white clouds.
Instead, on the desk
from left to rightthe work, the job,
the customer, the deadline
and a few other things
placed there for a reasona framed family photograph,
for example,
where everyone smiles,
proud of their white teeth,
a fixture sitting there
for years beside the clock,
a family to go home to.
But, the work space is neither home
nor family,
despite the long hours,
the friendships,
the thousand meals.
Another thing
placed there for a reasonthat pink slip, for example.
After Dinner, the Woman

I caught her gaze
across the table,
her eyes
lingering
in mine.
Her lips
lighter than the cabernet sauvignon
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we share. I wished
I were the glass
she sips from
and that
she would sip from it often
while her hands
envelop the glass,
holding it firmly,
tight,
bringing it close
to her breasts,
as her eyes remain
fully-locked
on mine.
The entre is served
as I glanced
down
her thighs,
both of us
anxious
to be satisfied.
The Tree Across the Street

There's a tree across the street that grew out of a sidewalk's hole. Taller
now after ten summers with branches extending past the electric and
cable-TV wires.
Its leaves fall off to die every night. By morning these will be swept away,
dumped and picked up by a garbage truck.
It is home for small brown city birds perching on its thin branches near
the crown, and from there one can hear their tunes as they hop from one
branch to the other.
Its shade is a shadow street peddlers run to. Sunlight wades down among
the leaves, zigzagging, losing energy, as it filters through the tree.
One night, the house alongside it catches fire. The poor tree became like
Moses' burning bush but without God to protect it. It burned bright that
night, leaves sizzle to a crisp and branches break off from the tree.
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So much for the tree across the street.

MO NDA Y, JANUA RY 01, 2007
Love is a Bleeding Wound

Like a bleeding wound
from bullet holes,
of the ambushed soldier
in the street of Mogadishu,
passion pours out from love.
The black Mogadishu boy smiled,
after firing his rifle
at the right moment,
his target within range,
a different Cupid but as sharp.
Like black smoke ascending
from the burning military jeep,
with a wounded soldier on its seat,
and rebels dancing around him,
love knows when to claim victory.
Like burns from an explosive,
love can scorch your heart
with passion, leaving behind scars.
You will remember
even after the wounds heal.
When the New Year Comes - featured in

EmanilaPoetry.com
When the new year comes, will I wake up again
to a morning, just like yesterday,
and the day before, one year running? The sun
has returned from its slumber but your affection
stayed away from keeping me warm.
Time doesn't have the sense
to look back, isn't it? It has no awareness
of my keeping count, to the limit of exhaustion,
the times you never came homeyour affection has grown cold
as cold and as dark
as the early morning.
Is there a new dear one in the new year?
If it were only true of you. Had you desired it
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intensely so, I will have lingered, to cherish the fruits

of your struggle, shared happily between us.
Yet, as of now, I'll no longer wait
neither for a new year or for a new dear one.
Time is precious like the merchant's gain,
too valuable to squander or be stolen away
by your selfishness. Next year, even without you,
I can carry the weight much lighter
by myself, without tiring out this time around
for waiting, for the coming
of one more new year.
Fireworks haiku
in the evening sky
lit by fireworks,
the moon shines.
THU RSDAY, DE CE M BER 21 , 2006
Included Poems in "Another Morning" book

Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos called up for submission of poems for a
self-published book of poems for cancer patients. The book is on sale at
www.lulu.com. Below are the included poems from my work
Life Is To Be With You
by Joel Josol
Sometimes life is like a road whose Exit signs we sometimes miss.
We are compelled to drive ahead for the nearest exit.
Sometimes we think that that Exit is the one, only to head back to the
highway.
Now we are lost, the diner along the way is the next best stop.
Sometimes life is like a diner's place where we can slow down our pace,
look at our watch and observe the lengthening shadow on the ground.
Sometimes life is like an unconsulted map, always driving in a hurry,
wasting gas and time, only to pull over by the service road, to finally
read the map.
Sometimes life is just about moving on past the roads,
Past the exits we went through, the diner or service road where we once
stopped.
Often times life is just about being here, now, where ever it is.
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Forget about the spent gas or the missed exits.

To me, life, is to be with you, anywhere you choose to be.
Its OK to miss the exits, waste the gas, and stopping by service roads.
Rush of Life
By Joel Josol
Take time to listen
To the chirping of little birds
In the morning,
Watch patiently the dew
Gliding on the blades of leaves,
Hold on a little to the warmth
of a child's embrace ...
For life
Isn't realy about rushing
From one calendar item to another.
It isnt money that can be saved
And later spend.
The birds little feet may stand
On a dilapidated window,
Or the blades of grass grow
Beside a garbage dump,
Or a beautiful child
Falls illChoose to see the beautiful, the good.
SoGive out your smiles generously
Even to strangers,
Hug your friends
And hug them warmly, tight.
Say your I love yous
Often, and while you canFor in the rush of life
Things do change abruptly.
Tender
by Joel Josol
tears
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when they roll down

your lovely face
sends
alarm bells in me
my blood rushing
like warm liquid in my veins
bowed head
your lovely head
your silky black hair
beautiful like cascading waterfall
are lost in your gloom
my heart sighs
silently
sobs
when you groan
like a fatally wounded soldier,
you fight fiercely back
i am here
find comfort in my arms
find strength in my tenderness
trembling hands
your soft pale hands
though weak and in pain
doesnt diminish their pleasure when held
i will be here
tap the strength in my hands,
to wipe away the tears .
WE DNE SDAY, D ECE M BE R 20, 2006
Wide-Open Eyes
A regret is a self-incriminating tool,
a self-confession under the harsh light
of constant self-interrogations
up all day and night with wide-open eyes;
a self-imposed confinement,
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shackled by the weight of memories,

and constrained by the four walls of ones introspection.
Half-wanting to see the glimpse of daylight
to shine its light onto a persecuted life
and perhaps salvage anything worth recovering
to bring out into the lightperhaps a stretched, frail hand reaching out
from some dark corner,
asking to be redeemed,
to be resuscitated,
with barely audible words
forgive me.
MO NDA Y, D E CE MBE R 1 8, 2006
Breakfast
With half-engaged brain,
I woke up to this day.
The cup of hot coffee
can't explain away
the cold space between you and me.
The warmth from my omellette
did not reach you
to thaw the icy silence
from your lips.
I wished I had remained
in some dreamscape
where stories can be altered
to bring up
better endings.
Instead, I have a pair of shoulders
served cold for breakfast.
SATUR DA Y, D E CE MBE R 1 6, 2006
Time Exposure
Light
disrupts the flow of time,
suspends it
like the water held
in my hands,
like frozen water.
Time
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flows like water,

surging towards the edge
of a steep fall.
It hurtles downward heavy
with certainty.
Looking down
at my reflections,
myselves
are all lined up
across a time dimension,
but fixed in 2-D space.
They are like ripples
travelling in time
in a succession
of waves
away from its epicenter:
I,
was born
from the trinity of
time, light, and water.
I am a son of light,
made of silver dust
and exposed in time.
WE DNE SDAY, D ECE M BE R 13 , 2006
Treatable Condition
Treatable Condition
- My condition was said to be treatable and its dimension
is so observable- larger and heavier.
- Is it painful? People are prone to ask.
- Not really I'd say but I'm doing what's needful.
I'm not as agile as before.
- You ought to lose that weight. Purge your memories,
friends insist. Not everyone deserve the space.
They only pile up memories that adds up to the weight,
friends say.
- Can I purge them on to CD-ROMs? Or on to USB memory drives?
Is there a safe vault that I can store them up then
retrieve them if ever again?
- Wherever, just purge them, and you'll start to heal,
friends reveal.
- Can I keep my wife and kids safe from purging? Perhaps
I'll defragment my mind's compartments and sort them
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from happy to sad after?

- You can keep wife and kids. Sort your contacts urgently
and purge the data from your mental vault. Work
to lighten up first.
- I did as told. But, there were no CD-ROMs nor USB drives
to purge them to. Not that its worrisome, as I started
with memories not worthy to store. Anyways, they're gone forever.
- The change is evident. The swelling is nearly gone.
You're nearly normal, friends say.
- Does it hurt? People curiously inquire.
- Not that I know of I'd say.
- Does it hurt not being able to recall what was forever lost?
The people probed.
- My mental BMI is actually better. That's good, isn't it?
Overtime
As five thirty came along, the task list is still long, while the pile of paper
is still in disarray, the law of entropy working against me. Didn't it say
that order should come from disorder? The decibels of nearby cubicles
have been reduced to a hush, you can actually hear the quiet wind rush to
your ear. I briefly stared across my window to see the day walk away
while
as dusk approaches,
the sun sets
on my neighbor's window.
TUE SDAY, DE CE M BER 1 2, 2006
A Warm Dim Light - featured in EmanilaPoetry.com

A warm dim
light,
a nova trying to
burst out
from behind a
dense gas cloud,
a candle with
flickering light
in the first light
of dawn
bring you to mea warm but
fragile soul,
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inviting me to
study you
to capture, nurture, or cover
before you are reduced to smoke
like the fading darkness
after the sun's first glow,
before all the other bright lights
are reduced to a flat white
in a firmament of blue.
Your warm light on my skin
makes mine more desirable than it is.
I want your light
lingering across the length of my arms,
just beside the shadow
on my neck.
I am your hero,
your prince from a fairy tale book,
out here to protect
your flickering light,
to blow away the cloud
and reveal your glow,
retained its warmth
as I behold every colorblue, yellow, orangefrom your flame.
There is something about your light
that ignites a fire in my eyes
shadow and light
competing
in a small space of a couch.
I don't mind being fused as one
in your light,
and together burn as one nova
until the fuel indicator
turns leftmost.
Let us, then, fade away
into infinite darkness
and allow ourselves to be re-born
as new stars,
breaking forth once more
from a nebula
that kept your warm light dim
and enclosed.
SUNDAY, DE CE M BE R 1 0, 2006
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Forget the Poor

"You will have the poor with you always."
- Jesus
I live
in this city by the bay.
The salty sea water
is above the land,
seeps through the land,
held by the land,
but the waves
were unrelenting
breaking through,
but falling flat
on the rocks,
just like the city's poor,
the way the poor
kept knocking
on my window shield.
The bay lets me forget the poor.
There,
I'm comforted by the wind,
cheered by the sea,
and caressed by the warmth
of the golden setting sun.
Away from a bunch of kids
with famish faces
whose arms and legs
are home to an empty future
parched and scorched
in the asphalted road.
There, my eyes
capture picturesque scenesthat white yacht
sailing in the distance,
the only object in the green sea,
against the sun,
the only object in the blue sky;
those tall buildings
dotting the shore,
their glass windows
shining like gems under scrutiny,
behind them
white clouds hiding;
those various couples in silhouettes
who each take their place
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before the violet sky.

Such lovely sight helps me forget the poor.
I want to forget the sight of trash
that previous revelries piled upa confetti
of tin cans,
plastic wrappers,
and pedophiles,
who sapped the youmg
of their dignity
from midday to midnight.
I want to forget the river
in the city's midst. Its water
is as black as the skin of infants,
the blacker the better,
the poor man's exhibit
in the living museum of the street.
Its water is as foul
as their breath
under the harsh sun.
I want to forget the opened doors
exposing shapely, flawless skins
gyrating in despair,
eyes trained to stare,
teasing hope to come forward
with every dollar and yen,
dreaming of freedom
from an abused existence,
and from a thousand deaths.
I want to forget
the sounds and lights of the citychildren sniffing substances,
asking for alms
with stretched hands
outlined by the lights,
the painted young
negotiating their price,
business-like under the neon lights.
I want to forget
the picture of famine
in this beautiful city by the bay
whose left-over food
fill up the city's trash cans,
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the poor man's dining room,

where they dig in
for the evening meal
of hamburgers and spaghetti.
I want to forget the poor
and just stare at
the beautiful setting sun.
FR I DAY, D E CEM BE R 08 , 2006
To Me
You're the snow-filled earth that keeps me home,
the sun low by my garden in golden colors.
You're the river falling from the height as I stand in awe,
well-dressed like the rainbow across the fall,
sweet as the white sampaguita inside my car,
with the voice of a child constantly chatting.
You're like a warm kiss for the lonely heart,
elegant like a princess with a royal gait.
You're the soap opera that I can't make myself
walk away from,
the SMS message that I've been waiting for,
the line from a movie that stuck in my head.
You're diligent like machines that just kept humming
and ever watchful as an alarm clock.
You're tireless like my iPod, playing tunes endlessly,
shining like the moon until the next day,
ready for a new hello and a smile.
Where is Elohim?
Theres a cosmonaut floating in his faithless space who failed to find you,
looking up instead among the technical luminaries of his sphere for the
computed answer.
Theres a woman in bed who raises not her hands but legs, in ecstasydivine intimacy she claims- while locked in embrace with your lustful
minister.
There's a politician praying publicly in paid TV. At the end, he sent word
out to doubters that you want him to be president. What to do then with
doubters and unbelievers? He showers them from funded coffers so much
charity.
There's a father from afar, wailing. In the bed, lying dead cold is his
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child. He wanted a word or two from you why would you a father
yourself take away anothers child.
There's a book on the shelf, yellow in its pages, showing its age, and dust
filled on its edges. It claims to be your written word. Wouldn't it be better
if it were to speak and lead us to where you are?
THU RSDAY, DE CE M BER 07 , 2006
This Bed
This bed is different without you.
I'm not used to its silence, nor inactivity
Nor to its well-arranged bed sheets
and pillows over it.
My body sinking into it
is not the same as yours
sinking into it too.
I prefer it to be creaking,
as we heighten its sensual sound
in the night,
while the full moon peeks through the curtain,
wondering what we are up to.
I prefer it to be disorderly,
as we play love's games
with the blanket removed,
exposing our skin to the moon,
so that he may envy us,
sending his light to hug your desirable curves.
I prefer it to be filled up with you,
your sound bite in every corner,
in the pillows,
in the bedsheet,
with each space
locking your scent,
your laughter.
I prefer it to be filled up with our conflagration,
our cries mixing with the embers
of your passion heating up mine,
as we ignite a brilliant glow
shaming the moon's pale light.
This bed is different without you.
I am not used to a space draped with loneliness.
The blanket is not as warm as you,
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from where you would have been

staring at me with the moon in your eyes.
MO NDA Y, D E CE MBE R 04, 2006
The Library Tour

Come
inside my ear.
I'll lead you past the inner ear
into a secret passage way
to a place where you can listen
to spoken thoughts of me,
in my virtual library.
There is a section
devoted to you,
browse them, play them
at your own risk,
for these spoken thoughts
are sorted
and well arranged.
Take care when you walk
along the rows of racks
of recollections,
for there is a door
that opens into a hole
the end of which
takes you to my heart.
My heart is a secure vault.
Seldom is it opened and
very few find the way. Inside
are sealed boxes of sentiments
in their own pigeon-holes,
indexed by entries and
cross-referenced in the library.
I have a box for you there
sealed and well-kept
and heavy with emotions,
all the sweet
and bitter thoughts
compiled,
unedited.
When you're ready
I'll take you there.
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But, first, listen to yourself,

here, in this libraryyour thoughts
about me
inside me.
Pleasurable Incoherence
My Lord, shall I
commence my confession,
the content of which
is consistent
with my inconsistencies,
a monologue
chanted countless times?
Will you listen
to a jackhammers noise of a prayer,
savor the smoke ascending
from a heap of this burning garbage of a self,
despite the evening bath
that cleanse my body
but retained my souls impurities?
Not even an incense smoke
can cover up
the pungent odor of my errors.
My sins, Lord,
is like a recurring fever,
as waves of the sea
that raise themselves up
and crash down
against your holy feet.
O, my Rock,
will your affection be
as stubborn as the waves?
Or as cold
as the chilled air blowing stilly?
I am a set of scrabble pieces
that could have formed
a word.
Instead, my sins
chose to be
a pleasurable incoherence.
TUE SDAY, NOV E MBE R 28 , 2006
What Is It About Mommies? - Featured in
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EmanilaPoetry.com
What is it about mommies
that left us as little children
for the rest of our lives
with a longing
imprinted indelibly
somewhere in our hearts
that floats
at the most ungodly hour
when the candle
of our spirit
flickers
nervously?
what is it in their embrace
that warms our soul
when we
are aching
in our spirit,
when a heavy cloud
hovers above us
which shadow
lingered
until a teardrop
is squeezed
from our loneliness?
is it in their hands
or fingers
that passes on to our spirit
when we are enveloped
in their grasp?
or, could it be
in their smiles
or tears
whose images our memories
kept regurgitaing
when we wanted to smile
or cry?
what is it about mommies
that leave us begging
for their kiss,
wet and warm like hot springs
soothing to the bones,
fitting after a long day's work
alone, in some world city
in need
of love's affirmation,
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consolation
be it in writing,
voice?
is it
in their soothing voice
calming the restless storm
in our hearts,
the unsteady wind
of our determination?
or about the time
that mommies has spent
with us
after pulling her away
from what we thought
were inconsequential things?
is it about the times
when we missed the train ride,
where we could have confessed
our love,
but we were late, late
for the rest of our life?
or those harsh words
you wish had not been said
but were thrown out
on the floor, to crash,
and break to pieces
her heart?
what is it, really, about mommies?
Late for Dinner

I'm supposed to be there by now.
I'll be late for this dinner.
I need to call up my girlfriend
and let her know
that the road has stretched far longer
than we both expected.
What time is it now?
Ah, there's the reason whypolice cars rushing to the scene
where evil has chosen to camp.
While passing by, I studied the scene
when death's eyes stared at me
and lingered as if surveying me equally
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after ripping apart a bus midway.

How so convenient. Available bodies
to burn in a makeshift pyre,
converting the highway
into the altar of modern-day Molech.
Cameras with their flashes blinking on and off
scattered parts of dads, moms, and friends
in rotary presses before the Valentine deadline.
I recognize that shirt
clinging on a burnt body,
that finger, that ring,
that bagpack on the floor
with an open planner thrown out,
that dinner appointment on the page
before I lost track of what happened.
SUNDAY, NOV EM BE R 26, 2006
Katabi
Hindi tumakas sa aking diwa
Ang haplos ng makinis mong balat
Naalala kong bigla ang dagat
Na minsa sa aki'y humampas-hampas.
Ang lapit nating dalawa'y nahayag
Sa aking matalas na pang-amoy
Hinigop parang hanging dagat, ang simoy
Habang isip ko'y pilit sa iba maglayag.
Dumampi ang malamig, basa mong buhok.
Sa aking mabilis na pagsulyap
Kita kong ubod ng itim, makintab
Isip ko'y sumuko at sa iyo'y tinutok.
Dito ang ating tagpuan
Tuwing umaga'y pinagsasama
Parang dagat at buhangin, magkasama
Na nagsimula sa walang imikan.
Napawi ang bigat ng dibdib
Mundo't trabaho sandali'y naglaho
Parang alon ako'y lalayo
Minsan ako'y bumaba sa dyip.
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Ang Yapos (isang pagsasalin)

Ang Yapos
(mula sa "The Hug" ni Thom Gunn, isinalin ni Joel Josol)
Kaarawan mo noon, tayo'y nakapaglango at nakakain
Kagitna ng gabi kasama'y ating matagal na kaibigan
Na sa katapusa'y sa ati'y nag-akay
Sa isang higaan na inabot ko sa isang langong hakbang.
Matiwasay na akong nakalapat,
At hilo sa alak umidlip sa isang panig.
Umidlip, natulog. Ang pagtulog ko'y naputol sa isang yapos,
Bigla, mula sa likod,
Kung saan ang buong haba ng ating katawa'y naglapat;
Ang arko sa iyong paa nasa aking bukong-bukong,
Ang aking balikat laban sa iyong dibdib.
Hindi siya pagtatalik, nguni't nadadama ko
Ang buong lakas ng iyong katawa'y nakatutok,
O nakasandal, sa akin,
At ginapos ako sa iyo
Animo'y tayo'y beinte-dos pa rin
Nang ang ating dakilang kapusuka'y hindi pa
Naging kasing-lapit.
Ang aking mabilis na pagtulog ay nagbura ng lahat
Na namamagitang panahon at kalawakan.
Ang batid ko lang
Ay ang iyong nanatiling tiwasay matatag malamig na yapos.
The original English poem is readily searchable on the Net.

Tubig sa Dingding
Parang ritwal, sa araw-araw ay ginawa
Sa dingding na ito ay haharap.
Hindi madadaya ang sarili sa kaniyang
mamamalas. Tibok ng puso ay malakas
tuwing sa kaniya'y haharap.
Maraming tinig kung papansinin
Mula sa kaniya'y aagos, na parang tubig
Na babasa sa mesang nakadikit
Na kung hindi pipigilin, tutulo
Sa sahig, ang alpombra'y mamantiyahin.
Ang kalansing ng bakal sa bakal
Sa likod niya'y tubig na bukal.
Matamis tulad ng magandang balita
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Sa pusong kakaba-kaba, nauuhaw

Sa pagdating ng umaga sa kaniya.
Mga yabag na papalapit
At tumigil sa likod ng dingding
Parang umaapaw na tubig na
Tumagos na sa dingding
At pinakislap ang liwanag ng araw.
Isang tinig ang pumailanlang
Parang gripong binuksan, pinaagos ang tubig
Tumulo na sa mesa mula sa dingding.
Napangiti ako, nasiyahan, at lumukso ang puso.
Na-igib ko na ang tubig na aking kailangan.
Paradise Lost
I used to stand on Paradise
an earth filled with fine-grained pleasures
warmed by smiles and blue skies.
From the coast approaching the beach
I see, lined up are brave coconut trees
spreading and waving their open palms.
The deep is as blue as the clear sky
while a kaleidoscope of corals play
hide and seek with the current.
The scent of the blue-green sea
embracing me from all around
coming and going.
Until folly crashed into Paradise,
reducing the vibrant colors to a black,
floating putrid scent
of fowls, fish, floating life-less,
the flora looking for its green
that once was Paradise.
SATUR DA Y, NO VE M BER 25, 2006
Why I Love You

Your eyes offered a handshake that lingered, before your hands ever did.
Your gaze is as tight as your grip. That is the first reason.
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Your lips are a cold mountain spring from which I often drink of your
affection flowing out endlessly, abundantly, until my desire is filled. That
is the second reason.
Your breasts, dear, are the third reason. I find comfort in its scent and
tenderness, like a roomful of incense for the quiet monk in reflection.
Your hands, dear, are the fourth reason. Let them lay siege against me,
and quicken my fall in them.
Your thighs, my dear, are the fifth reason. With them, our intimacies are
locked tight. The rapid pulse escapes your thighs to blend with mine.
I love them not, for their own merit, but for helping put together, you.
Ribbons of Flesh - Featured in EmanilaPoetry.com

These wounds,
punctures all around the head,
dried blood masking his face,
must have been pierced,
all at one time,
by the mockery,
and by the thousand spiked insults
weaved in the thorn branches
to serve as crown on his head.
This skin, these lesions
sank death closer to the bones.
These multiple bruises,
must have come from the lies
so wicked and so many,
enveloped in the fists
whose blows spared
nothing in the body or limbs
all black and blue.
This back,
Is completely disfigured,
lacerated and ripped apart,
ribbons of flesh,
torn open again and again,
by the sharpest,
vilest of hatred,
wrapped in the flagellum
unforgiving in intensity.
This rib cage,
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this open fissure,

jabbed deep,
pierced fiercely,
by the indifference
of a soldier's spear,
and from which poured
freely a stream of forgiveness
to cleanse the murder-soaked earth.
If this man
were of lesser strength,
of lesser will
after so much injury
and inhumanity,
then amid his dying groans
a word like 'forgive'
will have been lost
in the anguish.
THU RSDAY, NOV E MBE R 23, 2006
Papa
You do not write, you do not write
Any more, letters
Where we often met, like in a city park
where lovers meet, for twenty years.
And who was always late? You.
Papa, I have had to hate you
You died after it simmered downHeavy like the urn, the ash
Of what used to be you.
Fiery end, yours.
Your feet stood in Hollywood
But they havent taken root,
The trunk is dry, the leaves had dropped off,
A foreign tree on a foreign soilThis was you.
I sought you in every older man.
I thought every father was you.
How many wise hands
Led me to pathways I never knew?
But, I forgot. They werent you.
You piled up mementos
of unshared memories,
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of expired spirits of the lost years,

from unsealed bottles of affection
long abandoned, by you.
You drove me in the L. A. freeway
As we raced back to yesterday
All the way to San Diego and back
To the present, where theres me,
and theres you.
I was never scared of you,
With your violent temper and heavy hands
Tougher than a master sergeant howling at cadets
Ordering hundred push-ups.
No one else knew.
You stand on a flight of stairs, Papa,
In the photograph I have of you,
Grinning, beside an airplanes door.
Was there something subliminal
About the smile? About you?
I never knew what it was like.
No one asked of you to take a hike.
I was eight when you went away.
At twenty-five I had a child.
Finally, a father myself but not like you.
I promised to survive
And this Ill do- to tell you
That we can breathe on our own,
thank you, without the letters, the letters
That came late. Without you.
We love to hang you up,
Using nylon strings,
by the wall. You look
Very much still alive
Hanging like that.
I killed the father who I once knew.
I burned, reduced him to ashes.
Now, let my real father rise
from the ashesThe one who loved me true.
WE DNE SDAY, NOV E M BE R 22, 2006
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Starry Nights (a villanelle)

There is sadness in the midnight sky
Starlight trapped within the circles of the night.
Have I seen a bird fly on your canvas
across the coarseness of your strokes?
There is sadness in your midnight sky.
You love stars decorating your canvas
White and blue against the orange lamp light
Why so much red and green on the canvas
Inside a caf room with estranged folks under the stars?
There is sadness in the midnight sky.
Were you the lone, black tree on the canvas
Strong, upright, touching the stars?
There is sadness in the midnight sky.
Sweet Conversations
I don't desire as much that we speak
Just let your eyes meet mine
And in it's own peculiar language of the soul
Let's carry on quiet conversation. Sweet
Across crowds in between
Love's small talk for you and me.
My wish for you is to be by me.
Let me savor your smile. Speak
Not, for love is strong that stands between
The silence of your heart and mine.
Let your glances linger for they are sweet
Fit like angel's bread for my soul.
In the private corridors of my soul
I nimble on thoughts of you loving me
I hear love songs play, their melody is sweet
With words that's fit for me to speak.
What better prize can ever be mine
Than to have you near and nothing in between?
Will fate disrupt this joy, come between
Our vows and cause this soul
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To lose its only wealth, love that's mine?

And if ever fate is inclined against me
Facing love's misfortunes, wouldn't I speak,
And defend you bravely, death be sweet?
Your glances - such is love pouring freely. Sweet
Are your eyes, perfect go-between.
Without hesitation I do speak:
Here dwells enchanted, my enamored soul,
In a virtual paradise for lovers like me
In having you, lovely red rose, as mine.
Silent lips confess that indeed you're mine.
Let my eyes linger on yours, my sweet.
Don't stray on another's, save for me
No matter they are few and far between.
O my elated, beloved, and dearest soul
With love let your eyes not cease to speak.
I hear your heart speak, heart that's mine
Let's fuse our souls together, that would be sweet
Now, tomorrow, all the years in between, for you and me.
MO NDA Y, NO VE M BE R 20, 2006
Macabebe Villanelle
This is the corrupted villanelle version...
The landscape has changed after Apo Omeng died.
Lahar came to bury the memories in mud, sun-dried.
Where is the "magtitinapay's" honking horn, in his morning ride?
It used to be the day's curtain call, a summer morn' has begun.
Where now is the "aplaya" that was green far and wide,
and the prettiest lass, her handsome lad, both in bloom?
Where will the "anaks" play under the watchful guide
of an apo calling each back when the day is done?
The old river carrying the motor bancas lost its pride.
In the mud, heartaches, frustrations took residence.
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Macabebe Villanelle
As pallbearer, I carried her memory under the sun.
Lahar came to bury the rest covering them in mud, sun-dried.
The "magtitinapay's" honking horn, in his morning ride
Was the day's curtain call, a new summer morn' begun
Where now is the "aplaya" that was green far and wide
where the prettiest lass and her able-bodied lad ran?
Where will the "anaks" play under the watchful guide
of an apo calling each "anak" back when the day is done?
The old river carrying the motor bancas lost its pride
In the mud, staying behind, heartache and frustration
The old house is gone but the visita stands. No one cried.
The capiz window, my daily glimpse of the world, is gone.
Lahar came later to bury the rest covering them in mud, sun-dried.
SATUR DA Y, NO VE M BER 18 , 2006
I'm
Childlike, joyous before your eyes,
feet on the bathtub, and starry-eyed.
wish we had fins so we can stay immersed
on our make-believe sea. We enjoy
the insipid rubber-duck as it gets
tossed, every where, in our small
space we call happiness. Wrapped up
in our carefreeness, life's trawl
awaiting in the depths, to catch
you and I unaware. Mute as the rose
floating on the water, ephemeral
but glorious in its redness, red
as blood that once floated in the
river Nile.
Warm like heated water, hidden partly
by warm vapors, like bubbles children burst
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in laughter, one by one, you and I.

This is intimacyto be cramped in tight spaces,
bathed in laughter, teary-eyed.
Children soon grow up. Not long after
soon to dry up, to wrinkle, life-less
on sun-baked ground. Before death
finally makes its call
on you and I,
let us in this childlike pleasures
stay awhile, like gold fish
that just swim here and there,
within the perimeters
of their predefined life. We
may have invisible walls
around this bath tub
but we can be
childlike
for an hour.
Ode to Omelette
I see the omelette,
in this skillet,
sizzling.
I know
folks
will never believe me,
but
it is dumb,
the omelette is dumb,
its tongue
never ever came to fruition
its mouth
dissolved into nothingness.
I don't shudder
in reflection, of life's preciousness,
obliterated
in the form of an omelette.
In the poultry farm
the hens chat
their voice
can be heard from the distance:
none lament
nor fall in grief
over an egg
that became an omelette.
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And then on every plate

on this house,
omelette,
your bright color
lights up
the dining table,
your scent
mixes up
with coffee,
birghtens up
the breakfast.
Life unpreserved
collected in crates
packed in provincial jeeps
from poultry farms,
gems of yellow
in white vessels,
that will end up
on my kitchen's skillet,
sold a dozen
in the public market.
There, in various sizes
some small, some big
host the dreams of
a tasteful omelette.
When the skillet
is done with its cooking,
the omellete is lifted up
in all its magnificence,
life is well-served:
bon appetit!
FR I DAY, NOV E M BER 1 7 , 2006
Burn-Out Apparitions
The phone scolds me for inattention.
It screams, sends shock waves
across my office desk.
The papers chill, restless
in one corner.
The screen looks absurd,
It's nodding in agreement.
It's throwing alarms my way,
Left and right, one on top of another.
Its glass kept it from reaching me.
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Cell phone is vibrating, biting my cloth.

Happily restrained though it continued to wrestle
To get out of its holster.
The way the vibration goes
someone must be terribly upset.
Ring, ring, beep, beep
The table is shaking, the papers running.
I've got a to-do list to tick,
as the desk clock ticks,
while blood races in my veins.
Welcome Intruder
You come up to bed uninivited,
and my slumber you interrupt.
You pass through my window like a spirit,
but walks on the floor like a cat.
Some days you're gentle, some days rough.
I remove my blanket from me
the moment your hands caress my body
from the strands of my hair down to the toes.
You make me sweat in bed effortlessly.
I toss and turn, to the left, to the right.
I sigh, I surrender to your welcome warmth
embracing me tight. Burn me in your light.
Some days I miss you when the rain comes,
When gloom is splashed on my window.
I lie in bed lost in dreams
of you, your light, your glow, your shine.
WE DNE SDAY, NOV E M BE R 1 5 , 2006
Airport Haiku
the morning sunits brilliant light
piercing the glass wall.
on a clear day,
the sunlight
behind the glass wall.
on a row
of cold chairs,
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I sit alone.
TUE SDAY, NOV E MBE R 1 4, 2006
Like Superman's Return

What is there in this chance encounter
That makes me feel like Lois Lane
After Superman came out of retirement?
What is this pleasant confusion,
My neurons and synapses and million pulses
Finding their way from arteries to skin?
My hidden joy is undressed by your smile.
Ask me not to walk any closer,
My wobbling heart sooner might falter.
Your arms, their strengths, I once relied on.
But, now, Ive learned to improvise where I lack.
Unlike you, I dont have a heart of steel.
You left me once for a universe of your own
Hastily, without notes, nor poem that rhymes
The moon became lonelier, the light dimmer.
Let me untangle first myself
From life's complications, maybe then
From me a confession may freely out.
Or better still, disappear will you please?
Don't ever glance my way again
For yearning has strength that I can't define.
NAIA Haibun
I'm seated on a row of white and cold boring chairs strung
together by metals on black painted pipes. I am cold
but these don't care. Each chair stood on grey-colored
carpeted concrete, the color of funeral parlors. The minutes
went on as men, women, and children carried on their parallel
lives on the same physical plane, tied down to these cold
chairs, keeping watch, of announcements. My eyelids are
getting heavier. I turned to look at
the morning sunits brilliant light
piercing the glass wall.
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SATUR DA Y, NO VE M BER 11 , 2006
An Appeal to My Muse
Your constant visits delight me.
How we ran together into the broad spaces
Of a white canvas yet empty
To be sprinkled with petals of your roses.
We filled it together with words and lines
Throbbing in rhythm like in a dance
The curious followed the trail of our vines
To the heights and depths he runs.
Our readers drank our potions
Sometimes sweet, oftentimes bitter.
But drink they did from our concoctions
Until they empty our words down to the letter.
But, today, my muse, I worry
Your cheekbones no longer rise
Your eyes are not anymore for me
The sight of me you despise.
For whatever hurt I caused you
Whether you confess or keep them
This I need to tell you
Before the rose is plucked out from its stemYou are dear to me like a child, a sister,
An intimate friend, the sweetheart of my poems.
Strike me a hundred times, let me totter
But, please, stay, sweetheart of my poems.
Sadness
Sadness.
'Tis when you let my hand slip away
from yours, first from your fingers grip
then through the length of your palm,
sliding past your finger tip.
Gloom.
'Tis when your eyes turned to look at me,
and they studied me like I were a stranger,
like we have never ever met before-
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I am now, to you, a stranger.

Pain.
'Tis when you whispered good-bye,
leaving your tears warming my cheek,
after being kissed by your soft, warm lips.
You left me shaken and weak.
Despair.
Tis when you walked away
after you turned your back,
I prayed to God, just this once,
but you didnt look back.
Remorse.
'Tis when I lost you- eyes first,
hands next, your lips, then your heart.
But you kept me in yours
Though now from you I depart.
FR I DAY, NOV E M BER 1 0, 2006
Eyes senryu
a cold afternoon:
a pair of eyes
avoiding me.
Earthrise, Moonrise
The old seed used to roam under a deadly sky, home of fatal gases and
potions, the color of which is death. Lightning cooked up the potions while
the visible darkened heavens served it for then earth to drink until its very
mouth was frothing. The trees died not long after.
The old seed were fools for being unafraid of the sun, mother of killer
cosmic rays. The sun melted the ancient polar ice which overwhelmed the
indifference, which buried their folly under water, Atlantis multiplied
many times over. The grass has no shade to hide under. Instead, it
drowned in the water.
The thousand year of earth rest has ended. The sky has washed off all its
deathly impurities and the earth has purged itself of all the poison it drank.
The grass sprouted again, and so the trees. The sabbath has been paid.
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A new seed from among mankind has risen who have never seen a tree or
grass grow. Neither have they seen what a real blue sky is like or how green
the water can really be.
In the world they grew up with, the skies have always been black. The sun
has always been harsh. The landscape is filled with craters and dust. No
falls, lakes, streams nor seas. This new generation will plant their seed on a
new earth. Instead of waiting for an earthrise, these will see a moonrise.
Warming Up
I love it when she works me through.
This lady drives me crazy.
She bangs my doors so hard
I ache when it shuts.
Was she angry
with someone else, taking it on me?
When she's angry
she comes down
hard on my leather seat
her full weight depresses
the foam underneath the leather,
You can hear the air pressure
sighing underneath.
She held me immobile
Until the key unlocks me.
She grabs my stick
and pulls it hard.
Is she going to break it?
Her legs stretch themselves apart.
With one quick, heavy push
She steps on the pedalHow my engine roared with pleasure.
An Unfinished Poem
In one instant, night became day. A flash of brilliant light burst out in the
sky.
The blast wind came from a serene midnight sky descending, pushing, and
destroying like a rampaging train that jumped off its tracks. Houses, lamp
posts, signs and cars folded themselves in submission before this volley.
Death came to collect what's his by the breath of fire that came next,
devouring all things left standing. All colors were instantly reduced to
three- yellow, orange, and red.
The stench of burnt flesh is in the air, mixing with burning wood and
fabric, the sort of odor and smoke from barbecued meat.
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Then, silence inspected whatever remained, if any. The town was forever
muted - neither wails, nor moans. The stillness was eerie.
And from where I fell, from the table where I used to write a poem, there
was horrible heat all around. Nothing matters anymore not the walls nor
the ceiling, only the burning, the smoke, my burnt flesh, my ebbing life and
an unfinished poem.
THU RSDAY, NOV E MBE R 02, 2006
The Office Air-Conditioning Unit

The air-conditioning unit in the office blew cool air all around, one that
wouldn't quit following staff around. The air flowed around the office
complex, cooling all spaces it can find, and it blew admittedly
uncomfortably cold. Many at the outset felt that the discomfort was fine
relative to being money-less or homeless. The latter just being supremely
the coldest.
This afternoon, someone caught a cold. Maybe because their work has
become two-fold. Now, there were only two of them where there used to
be four, to warm their corner in this floor. Cool air is heavy and it stays.
It has a way of forcing staff to leave the place. Perhaps they found new
ways to pay rent than put up with the cold.
After more staff left, the air, already deathly cooler, is more so now.
Unseen and yet dominant and imposing in the wide empty space.
Nothing can compensate for the chill air it blows, not even the afternoon
sun blasting its way through the large windows. There is less heat from
fewer warm bodies that can work the extended hours until work's
complete, less laptops or work stations that ran all night, and less print
jobs for the laser printers.
Is there a second Ice Age coming? Who knows. So far, the office has
resembled miles and miles of wilderness, dotted by a few campers here
and there. All that one can find is the litter of those who left for warmer
places in a hurry vacant seats, used colored pens and markers, piles of
unused brochure, boxes of unused business cards, Ethernet cables, power
adapters and laptops in their bags on the floor. Even their business card
holder was left behind in this cold floor.
Somebody has to make serious calculations on this place's BTU
requirement. This office air-conditioning unit is blowing cool air way too
harsh and cold.
Empty Garden of Dreams
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A slim, silver pen, full of the seed of dreams, is on the study table.
Underneath the pen is a white sheet, a garden waiting to grow one's
dreams, from seed to full soul.
The soul will ignite the pen like lightning's work for the earth, releasing
nitrates, mixing with the rain, preparing the garden for the seed to spill
on the sheet. Yet, the entire empty space lingered to the point of
restlessness. No seed spills out from the pen. Neither rain nor lightning
ever came to water the garden. It is dry. The soul is lost in the forest of
the mind, in a feared black hole, in the brain. It is enclosed so tight neither
its light nor its sound ever came out.
Detained in an unmarked isolated neuron, is a thought, with dying
embers of a little piece of the soul, its light forever enclosed.
Fly Leaf
What do I do with this Bible, on whose empty leaf I confessed my
affection for you, in black ink, over a couple of lines, had we not met, not
introduced, and at that certain intersection in time I took a different path,
and instead found another? Would my eyes sparkle still for her just like
when I caught sight of you? Would my heart leap in quiet joy, and will I
hold her hand the way I held yours, and will she let me the way you let
yours? What would she think of this Bible, this, my gift to you? Would she
say `thank you' with cheekbones rising, and will she open the fly leaf, and
read the words? Will her eyes lit up as she read the lines, and her color
change, blushing, as she concludes?
What would have happened with this Bible had I not found you? Would
the fly leaf remain empty? and for how long? Will I just file it away until
a kind angel bring you to me? Would I have retired my old copy instead,
the one filled with colored markings on thousand verses I came to love,
now worn with use? Would I have just started reading from it, all over
again, from Genesis to Malachi, from Matthew to the Apocalypse, looking
for new paths I have missed, noting down new places where a light shone
anew? Or, will the Lord instead bring you forth to me, to take this Bible
from my hand, and on the fly leaf, write your confessions in black ink,
that you are my Rebekah and you have found your Isaac? Would the
Lord?
WE DNE SDAY, NOV E M BE R 01 , 2006
Why I Love You

Your eyes, dear, is the first reason. Your eyes offered a warm, firm
handshake that lingered, before your hands ever did. The sparkle from
them is inviting like the light reflected from a glass of red wine. Our eyes
since locked in tight embraces.
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Your lips is a fountain of pleasure, from which I drink again and again,
the sweet juice of your affection flowing out endlessly, abundantly, as my
desire, my thirst, is never satiated. That is the second reason.
Your bosom, dear, is the third reason. I sleep well when I'm buried in
your bosom, a place of refuge for a weary worker, comforted by the scent
of your body, just as an incense's pleasant smoke ascends while the mind
is deep in reflection.
Your hand, dear, is the fourth reason. Hands that never tire in reaching
out to love's call- by embracing it, coddling it, and pressing it. No gap
between us can widen with your lovely hands holding me tight. I love
them for holding me close to you, skin to skin, breath to breath.
Your thighs, my dear, is the fifth reason. Their strength keeps me bonded,
to you. With them, our intimacies are secure, the centers of our ecstasies
in alignment. Your rapid pulses escape through the skin of your thighs
blending with mine. They bring me closer to the joys of intimacy- of yours
and mine.
But, it's not the pieces, dear, while apart, that makes me love them all. It's
what they present to me as a whole. And the whole is you. And only
because they are you- so I crave for them.
Of course, we both know, that I've just started with the less important
things about you.
TUE SDAY, OCTO BE R 3 1, 2006
The Bayabas Tree

The top of the bayabas tree
brings me closer to you.
Each branch, an arm
that reaches out
to pull me up
to you.
The sweet fruit that I pull off
from its tree, is like you
fresh, pinkish, and soft
but its seeds keeps me
in every bite
cautious.
You call me forth every weary day
that I may ascend this tree.
See me cling to it
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for dear life

as I do
you.
The older folks, in the house, chose
to cut down this bayabas tree.
But, I couldn't wait for it
to grow tall, to be
once more closer
to you.
Perhaps, when this tree grows taller
I will remember the former days
how from a screened-window
your smiles lit me up
under a full moon's
shine.
MO NDA Y, O CTOBE R 30, 2006
The Morning After Halloween

The masks last night
Worn under the Halloween full moon
Were kissing each other on the floor
Unmindful of the beer cans
And confetti lying around them.
Strange masks of various shapes, colors
Each one celebrating death, blood, gore
When the wearers meant to enjoy life
To catch a glimpse of wandering eyes
That may find themselves locked in yours.
In this side of town
Every night is Halloween
As hands catch another
Lips locked with another
Sucking life in from each other.
Every morning
Exposed by the window light
Are bodies littering the floor
From another night of revelryBare and unmasked.
SATUR DA Y, O CTOBE R 28, 2006
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Broken Bottle of Beer

This table, like an Egyptian wall, contains history. Etched on it are
markings like the hieroglyphics - the memory of the laughter, the stories,
the meals and the beers. Every friend who thought himself a pharaoh
etched their name on it using a piece of glass from a broken bottle of beer.
This little niche- this table and these chairs- is where friends make
history.
Let us make this bond stronger. Let us first down a couple of bottles of
beer.
One more beer bottle and the floor became the table. I let go of the empty
beer bottle on the table and it free falls to the concrete floor. The bottle
breaks up to pieces: some small, others big pieces.
Our friendship is now littered with a broken bottle of beer.
The folly distracts me. The hundreds of little pieces from one drink too
many. Like a humiliated and furious opponent, the pieces bite back and
stick themselves to the flesh until their memory burns in the neurons. The
other pieces dream themselves as pharaohs, lying in wait to etch
themselves in our flesh.
Yet, on the floor, the spot where the bottle broke, I watch as each one
remove the broken pieces, each friend their find - that is precious.
Someday, in one very sad moment, friends will gather `round my grave,
to lay as a wreath, not a flower but a piece of that broken bottle, each
friend, one piece, that they had hidden away as memento. They will
mutter words only they themselves will hear.
THU RSDAY, OCTO BE R 26 , 2006
Sunrise, Sunset Haiku

morning sun
so close to the earthhead bowed, knees bent.
bowing head
to the earththe sunrise.
daylight has dimmedthe clouds glow
with city lights.
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An Invitation
There she is, along the counterA black river flows down her nape,
across her exposed shoulder,
like a lovely oil spilling down her backHer glass is making out with her lips,
while my eyes caresses her arms, shoulder,
cheeksI caught two beautiful, shining stars
reflecting the room's bright lights
both set towards me.
What have I done to deserve her inspection?
I laughed with friends feigning disinterest,
for the unexposed fair skin under her dress,
seemingly unmindful of her eyelashes,
smiling in concert with her lips,
still set towards me,
discreetly I must say.
She turned away.
She stood up, finally, as if with a royal gait
A queen already done with her business.
She walked away but not before
Those pearls of hers once more caught mine.
Is this a summon? a command to comply?
And off she went her way.
A strong hand held my arms
Gently disclosing in my ear,'Go, she's yours.'
I laughed once more.
WE DNE SDAY, OCTO BE R 25, 2006
LAX Terminal, 1995

Airport terminals are host to hellos and good-byes. LAX terminal is no
different if you know why. In 1995, a son bade good-bye to a father he so
wished he had the way other sons had theirs. Hollywood and its freeways
are but a memory now. But, yesterday, it was like being there all over again
somehow.
The terminal is already filled up with people - including kababayans with
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their boxes. Indeed, all of their accumulated stuff - in all the years living
out an American dream including plain, trivial souvenirs. My Dad's
aren't ordinary boxes. Inside each of them neatly packed is a life of
unshared memory. Each item has their own unshared story.
I hated lugging around, from airport to airport, these boxes. `They slow
you down,' I complain but `You'll manage', he says. How true in every way
possible.
Some memory I would rather not keep. I prefer to travel light with just a
soda in the extra hand to sip. Back then, I thought, we had said our
good-byes, preparing for another hello, next time I come by. He already
gave a parting smile amid all these other boxes in the aisle.
There's a photo of my Dad, in black and white, all dressed up in a suit,
about to board a flight. I don't ever remember fetching him there, or which
day he left in December. All I know was that it was 1969, before the
country apparently lost its mind.
"The United flight bound for Manila is now boarding."
Inside me, swelling, bubbling forth like a mountain spring, is an earnest

bitter-sweet longing. While the passengers lined up to the opened gate,
`Could it be,' I asked myself, `that it's too late?' Looking up at the board, I
told myself, `To miss this one, that, I can't afford.'
`I may never see him again.' The thought played out like a mantra in my
head. How prophetic, indeed. It will not be until 2006 will I ever set foot
on this airport again.
I have never seen him since 1969, until one day in 1989, nearly six years
after the country came out of its coma, he popped back into our lives like a
Jack-in-the-box. The years in between were littered with tapes, letters, and
many a box. If all of these were immersed in tears collected over the years,
these will be soaking wet, drenched indeed.
A tug-of-war plays in my head.
This is the final boarding announcement for United flight bound for
Manila. All passengers ,'-
Urgent words. And so, I looked back and saw my Dad by the exit door.
`Dad!', I cried out like a toddler abandoned in his first day of school. He
understood what the call out meant. And words that pride and anger held
at bay for years were finally let go.
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And the child finally found his Dad, all the years of longing satisfied,
compressed in a tight embrace at the LAX.
(My father died sometime 1997, at the Martin Luther King Medical
Center, in Los Angeles, over a suspected overdose of pain killers causing a
massive hemorrhage in his stomach. This is for him.)
The Pretty Young Girl In the Day of My Circumcision

She sits like a princess,
An Eve of God's making.
This pretty lass,
With fair, unblemished skinVisible from shoulder down to the fingers.
A sweet and generouse smile
Crowns this pretty sight.
She is a lesson in adolescence,
of coming into manhood, the new Adam.
Am I ready for such pleasures?
Transfigured and transferred into Paradise,
There were only she and I, like the first man, the first woman.
An Adam helpless before an alluring Eve.
I wish this trance never ends.
The only sound you'll hear
Is the two of us in this enviable Paradise for two
Eyes conversing, cheekbones rising.
If only the space between us were to vanishThis eager of hands of mine will grab
Her lovely hair, and revel in its scent.
She probably wouldn't mind.
And then I paused- her name she failed to sayI moved to asked it so but then
The doctor's door opened and from Paradise
I was expelled, I looked back at her,
My unknown princess still all smilesA tease I will look for
in every Eve until this day.
Here I am, finally,
Lying on my back
On top of a doctor's operating table
Aching with thoughts
Of this pretty young girl
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This unknown princess, my Eve,

This day of my circumcision.
Collection of Poems for the Wife, 20 years ago

My Belle
by Joel Josol
I
Rise up from slumber, O gentle wind
And blow your gentle breeze
Carry in your wings a lovely song.
Today will be my finest morning
The brightest sunrise that I have ever seen.
Tender and sweet are the eyes
That will see me, joy enveloping my being.
The flowers in the garden make inquiries
As to what causes all this gladness.
I tease them and say, 'Loyal love has come to claim me!'
'Take some of us with you to your loyal one
And there we'll scatter all our fragrance
Even butterflies will come and witness your rejoicing,'
Cry the flowers.
'Come, I invite you,' said I. 'Come, see my belle.'
II
The little birds with their brown wings
Come landing in my shoulder asking
'Why all these flowers fragrant as they are
Come along with you?'
I tell them,'They are happy for me
for loyal love has come to claim me
and they wish to see my belle.'
'O, please,' said the birds
'Let us go with you
And there we'll sing our sweetest songs.
We'll dance and make merry
As fragrant scents are about
And butterflies all around!'
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'Come, I invite you,' said I. 'Come, see my belle.'
In Moments of Silence
by Joel Josol
In moments of silence as this night is to me
When my fellows are deep in their slumber
You don't know how that miles of sea
Press heavily because we're not together.
These arms by habit reach out to you
They squeeze you close to me with all my power.
Now impulsively arms flex too
But discover your presence is nowhere near.
Sometimes the sadness is overwhelming, dear
Most especially so in moments of silence
But I summon spiritual strength rather than fear
Because I know that you love me ever since.
I Yearn for Her Company

by Joel Josol
What is here, inside of me
That finds delight in your round
Red shape that falls beyond, behind
A long way there,
In the path where you glided once
Now but a glow?
I see above you
Wandering aimlessly
Clouds of various shapes
Like vagabonds hurrying
To their nearest inn before dark.
How pleasant your reflections
As it glimmer on the shallow waters
A lonely fisherman rows quietly
Before you.
What serenity in your light!
The cool breeze of January
Cheers me.
In a moment,
As the purple sky
Flash the remnant of your warm light
A longing for her creeps inside me.
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Of this fact I learn:

To behold her is far deeper pleasure
Than beholding you.
How I yearn for her company!
Sonnets from 20 years ago

If My Friends Inquire of You, My Love
by Joel Josol
If my friends inquire of you, my love
Why I love you still and will, shall I
Speak of winds that blow so late, my love
Bringing scent of dama de noche nigh.
Shall I explain to eyes untrained, to wit
Secrets of your soul? The fragrant scent of truth
Spoken in conviction by your lips to me so sweet
Unrivaled even by the mango fruit.
How will these learn of your silent thoughts
Serene, noble, holy? Let them partake
Of whatever your humble and noble speech has wroughtWhat constancy, chasteness, cheerfulness and godliness can make.
To them, I'll say that you are my only treasure.
So may God fill up then our love's measure.
2.
With these words be comforted child
by Joel Josol
With these words be comforted child
In your hour of misery, like a lone seagull at sea.
Do you see yourself an only flower wild
Sown on an alien soil but your presence
Unnoticed? A lost lamb in a strange place
Your master's voice faint, you can't hear?
Have you become a stubborn ground, where graze
No longer the flock and its sheperd?
O child, have faith in your dear Lord:
A lost lamb he'll always seek to find
An only flower sweet to your Lord
He'll give to another to cheer a restless mind.
Comfort them all who need it, my precious Child.
Then, you'll find, your sorrows no longer wild.
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Macabebe of My Youth
That sliding capiz window by the floor
is my coveted place in the old nipa house,
our 'bale'from it I saw life lived out
like a play repeated
every day. Every morning
passing by the dusty road
beyond our wooden gate,
is the day's curtain callthe 'magtitinape' honking his horn.
There's the boat men,
motors roaring loud.
On the old river,
these come and go.
Funny, they always looked
like sliding away. Next are my peers.
I race down the bamboo stairs
to the aplaya,
where we, the 'a-nak's, play our games
within hearing distance
of an apo's call. It's another playful day
after a scary night
of endless stories,
of aswangs, antikbalangs, and kapreschasing you in your sleep.
The sliding window is gone;
a new house stood over my memories.
But in the aplaya, we played new games.
There the prettiest lass
and the courageous lad discovered
their adolescence. In time,
the landscape changed and with it
their memories. Apo Omeng died.
And Lahar came
to bury what was left over.
Introduction to Seduction
I laughed heartily.
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There you were by the long table

unabashedly looking my way.
What have I done to deserve your inspection?
I laughed again unmindful of your eyes
now smiling in concert with your lips,
discreetly I must say.
You turned away.
You stood up, walked away but not before
Those lovely eyes caught mine one more time.
And off you went.
A strong hand held my arms,
'Go', my friend said. 'She is yours'.
I laughed heartily.
SUNDAY, OCTOBE R 22, 2006
Our Black Hole of Desire

"License my roving hands and let them go
Behind, before, above, between, below."
- John Donne in his Elegy: To His Mistress Going to Bed
Let there be darkness

In our self-contained universe of passion.
Lay bare yourself
Within our darkened finite spaceMy desire will orbit around it.
I will meander over your virgin landscape
With the eyes of my hands
Surveying soft, round shapes
The curves of which
Constrict tighter the flow of desire.
Let me traverse all the corners of your terrain
and remember each their detailsits texture, odor, and warmth.
I am a determined voyager
in your passionate space.
Let there be light in your eyes so intense
Let me see them twinkling in delight.
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We are galaxies of pleasures

Pulsating hard separately yet interlocking,
Colliding in new heights, enraptured.
The exploded star of our passions
Has spent all its energy.
It collapses into a sleep so dense.
Our eyes shutdown
By our black hole of desire.
SATUR DA Y, O CTOBE R 21, 2006
The Cat Taught Me How to Write Poetry

In my sleep,
I waited for words to come
To burst forth like a spring
To wet me generously
And with a paper cup
to catch them as they spout.
Now, awakened,
I am dry.
A commotion
In my bedI rise abruptly, sleep disrupted.
Jumping all around
Is my black-striped cat.
With head raised,
And vigilant eyesI am puzzled.
Whizzz, whizzz, whizzz
Goes this black bug.
Jump, jump, jump
Went my cat.
FR I DAY, OCT OBE R 20, 2006
Her Empty Seat Makes Me Lonely

Her empty seat is a dark overcast sky.
No birds care to fly in it.
It threatens to unload rain, lightning, and thunder.
'Tis the moment I go out.
Cold and drenched
Against an unyielding darkness,
The heavens finally weep.
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Her empty seat is a morning deprived

Of the radiance of the early sun
That used to make the garden shine brilliantly
With the multitude of dew drops
Among the leaves, petals.
Even the garden flowers miss their bees, their butterflies.
After the rain, the darkness remained.
On the Road (haiku)

a warm day:
sun peeks
through my windshield.
autumn morning:
a tree branch
reaches out to touch me.
overcast sky:
a vibrant leaf
drops to its death.
THU RSDAY, OCTO BE R 1 9, 2006
Faith (haiku)
a conscience is white
as petals, only because
of the Christ's shed blood.
Nursing and Exams (senryu)

news alert on examhot coffee
burns lip.
turing on, turning offpresident flip-flops
on the radio.
nursing oathwriting 100 times
'I will not cheat again'.
Mother and Child (senryu)

infant sleeps,
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mommy's eyes close

releasing a prayer.
infant in bedmommy's eyes wide open
as daylight approaches.
in mommy's arms
infant falls asleep
by the hymn of a sweet lullaby.
Airport and Travel (haiku)

large window light,
three women chatter:
a long bench warms up.
expensive watch, belt
and phone in traysigns of security.
an open book,
a womanan unfinished story.
lady reclines,
her eyes closeboredom wins.
cloudful skya wing flaps
among the clouds.
starry skyon the ground,
thousand twinkling lights.
Terminal Moment
The sound of other's laughter, voices, and chatter
is like a sudden whirlwind that lifted dust
off the dry earth to pierce my bare eyes.
I am alone. With my soda, on a long bench, thirst unquenched.
Sweet is the sight of a bench warmed by strangers with beaming faces,
by lovers who can't wait to get laid in the mattress, and
by businessmen dreaming of the green.
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I have so many stories untold, poems unread, unshared.

I gave up my bench, stood up, and stretched. I caught a glance.
Her eyes lifting itself above her crowd of peers,
a beautiful butterfly she flutters.
I held her glance captive, for a moment. Like a leaf blown away,
she is gone into the chamber. I lost her in a labyrinth of seats.
On the seat by the window, I am still, alone.
SUNDAY, OCTOBE R 1 5, 2006
Gazelle (haiku)
sun climbs to the peak,
warms the mountain air, panting
a gazelle pauses.
sun at zeniththe mountain carries
the gazelle to its peak.
sun climbs to the peak,
warms the mountain air:
a gazelle breathes.
Morning Star (haiku)

day breaksthe morning star
draws a line on my eyeglasses.
by dawn's first light:
a morning star
drops down to the earth.
dawn lifts up
the evening of despairthe morning star shines.
Corals (haiku)
a kaleidoscope of corals
dancing in the deepa diver is watching.
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colorful corals
moving with the currenta diver passes by.
light pierces the deepriot of colors
among the corals.
SATUR DA Y, O CTOBE R 14 , 2006
Mighty Babylon
O mighty Babylon
The city which sat on many waters,
How swift your fall was
In one night your glory faded!
Where was your army
Who pillaged the towns of Judah
Who burned the walls of Jerusalem
And who scattered its children across the earth?
Where now was your mighty river
and the double walls behind from which you hid
And the gates that kept your enemy at bay
While your women enjoyed their dancing?
Are your able-bodied warriors drunk
Drunk with wine, and asleep in women's arms?
Why were the gates left open in a full-moon night?
A foreign army has marched up towards your gates.
Where were your gods?
Were they asleep in your towers?
A Persian stood to watch over your walls
Whose army spread themselves in your main avenues.
Did a runner run to call out an alarm
Your king and his army were feasting
While his city fell undefendedWhat a shame!
O mighty Babylon
The city whic sat on many waters,
How swift your fall was
In one night your glory faded!
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Babylon (senryu)
shadows on the rivermarching army trounces
the full-moon.
full-moon lightcity's open gate
is undefended.
feasting in the palacethousand enemy boots
approaching.
noise in the palacea king falls over
meat and wine.
Snapshots (haiku)
autumn light:
abondoned among the leaves,
a white lantern.
morning light:
a cat naps
in the couch.
noon:
fan cooling
heated laptop.
Resigned (senryu)
one vacated seat:
work left
multiplied.
one empty seat:
more leave later
in the night.
one less seatfewer stories,
fewer laughing.
Closing Shop (senryu)

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Business closed down:

on the street,
protest placards raised up.
Less money
in open wallet.
Workers face down
security force.
FR I DAY, OCT OBE R 13 , 2006
Kaiba ang Gabing Ito

Kaiba ang gabing ito
hindi ako dalawin
ng paghimbing
kaya naghanap
ng sandaling aliw.
Hinubdan ang saplot
na nagkubli
ng mga tunog at himig,
sa kama'y hiniga,
minasdan,
dinama,
malamig.
Matagal na rin
di naglapat
katawan sa katawan:
nakalimutan na ba
mga pag-ugong nya?
Daliri'y hinagod
sa leeg,
sa katawan,
inaalala
ang mga unang pagsasalo
ng mga awit.
Sa malalim na gabi
tanging aliw
kuwerdas niyang
marahan kong kinalabit
at ang tunog na malambing
maya-maya'y
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nagpahimbing.
THU RSDAY, OCTO BE R 1 2, 2006
Pitong Minuto Bago Mapawi ang Lahat

Alingawngaw
ng bomba
mula North Korea
mula kaibuturan ng lupa.
Niyanig
ang mundo
mula sa ilalim
hanggang sa mga bansa.
Lason
ay ulap,
lumilim na nga
sa kinabukasan ng tao.
Taas-kamao
hindi pasisindak
taglay bagong armas
sa isang bagong daigdig.
Nukleyar
na digmaan
maaring maging totoo
Pupugnawin ang tulang ito.
'Doomsday-clock'
sumulong uli
pitong minuto lang
bago mapawi ang lahat.
Worklife (senryu)
snacks on the tableshort quiz
is taking longer to finish.
problem on the boardvoices
filling up room.
tapping the table
endlessly:
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a silent phone.
WE DNE SDAY, OCTO BE R 11 , 2006
Sensual Geometry
Yours is the Y-axis
I take the X, reluctantly.
You're as sensual
as your plotted points rising on your axis,
but I control the shape
of your experience.
I bring blissyou sigh though restrained, as I approach
the positive quadrant of our intimacy
for your Y-axis goes to undefined levels,
perhaps infinity.
Your strength is as good as mine
what a beautiful sine wave of experience
we create thus.
Still, your rise, slow and sure,
is defined by the slope I create,
for the X-factor belongs to me,
and positive factors are your delight.
Together
we can repeat the cycle
going around the center
of our consciousness
to peak, then, to release
the speed is
of our choosing.
Play with me
and rotate our curves
in all the quadrants of pleasure
and perhaps, in the end,
you may yield the Y
and freely take the X.
Burn Your Skin With Hot Black Coffee

I heard your murmuring
unabashedly loud,
so unexpectedly public,
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like a painful boil

on my thigh,
like an unclean muffler's thick black smoke
blowing hard and strong
at my faceI imagined myself
with righteous anger
marching with all of me
and in one swing after another
push the terminal on you
and burn your skin
with hot black coffee
sitting beside your idle mouseAnd I will strut away,
point a smoking finger
and look daggers at anyone
who dare stand in the way
and I will look back
to watch with satisfaction
your flip-over state
unable to wrest yourself from the chair.
Thank God for self-control,
and wisdom, and everything else good
I kept my self-respect
and glued my feet where they were
and my lips sealed
conceding this is not my day.
It could just be your mens,
your hormones, and everything else.
TUE SDAY, OCTO BE R 1 0, 2006
Office Reflections (Senryu)

hands on keys
blank stare
screen saver playing.
pupil dilating
cheekbones rising
warm cappucino.
deep sigh
paper in hand
Amex card billing.
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Vincent
In the clear evening sky of your mind
every starlight ripples across space
one circle touching another,
circles within circles,
a landscape of deep blues
and brush strokes.
Seeing a new world
your hands showed the way
using plain sunflowers
devoid of depth,
only lines and yellows
on the canvas.
Yourself in brush strokes:
the strokes of pale green on your forehead,
the outline of your face against warm violetbut 'twas your eyes that commune with mine
in sad colors,
despite the red and blue.
Were you as lonely as the shapes
in a cafe room bounded by red and green?
Was there joy in your yellows and blues,
dividing light and darkness in your outdoor?
Were you happier with deep blues
dotted with white circles?
Your brush strokes,
your strong hues,
your circles,
your linesa painful life story
on the canvas.
A Pseudo-Dialogue with Bertrand Russel

"If everything must have a cause, then God must have a cause."
I wished that you were here that I may pick your genius brain, or that you
may feasts on the richness of knowledge that today you will find, the
simplicity of the words you so detest ring still clear and profound 'In the
beginning, God.'
"Historically, it is quite doubtful whether Christ ever existed at all."
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Will you find affinity with Jesus Seminar folks? Hard workers digging into
history to prove that you were right. They sought to swim in the poisonous
waters of the gnostic gospels written a century after Christ, and fell in love
with the portrait they found in its depths. They sent to the shredder the
four gospel writers that were statistically closest to his time. You're a
mathematician. You know what I mean.
"It is not that their environment was made to be suitable to them, but that
they grew to be suitable to it, and that is the basis of adaptation."
O, you should see the confusion in the ranks of the Darwinians! It's neither
the noise of victory nor the dance of celebration. Unable to raise any dead
from the grave, or scramble at worst for the unexplainable and the missing
link that was never found, your friends have scattered into various new
theories. Perhaps you will enjoy Karl Popper, for he nearly called Darwin's
theory a superstition, requiring more faith than facts. But then such
language you reserve for religion.
"There is one very serious defect to my mind in Christ's moral character,

and that is that He believed in hell."
You're not a linguist, I see, but your staff work failed you here. Had you
pulled-out a Greek lexicon from your library, you'll discover that Hades
and Gehenna are different.You would not have wielded your intellectual
flagellum at the body of Christ and bleed his flesh anew. Hades in
Scripture is unlike the Hades of Homer, and Gehenna is a forever burning
garbage dump.
"The centre of me is always and eternally a terrible pain- a curious wild

pain- a searching for something beyond what the world contains."
I really wished that you were alive now instead of dead. We could have had
a dialogue
and find what for years you missed in a simple gesture that together we
could dopray in the name of Christ.
FR I DAY, OCT OBE R 06, 2006
Paumanhin
May luha sa mata ng aking anak
na bumulong sa aking kamay,
kamay na nagdala ng virus sa PC,
bawa't tipa sa kibord
ini-eko ang hikbi,
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tinakpan niya ng unan

ang kaniyang mukha,
itinago ang lumbay,
nguni't sa bawa't click sa mouse
at bawa't delete sa file
wala nang masusumpungang mga bayani at prinsesa
na kanyang likha.
Bawa't hikbi niya ay parang
daliring sumsurot sa aking mukha
ini-eko ng liwanag ng iskrin,
at ang pagkawala ng mga gawa
parang mga kaibigang
pinatay at inalisan ng buhay
parang isip na inalisan ng alaala.
Nakatanga ang kibord
at isip ay ayaw na gumana
paano aaliwin ang isang bata
na pinatawa ng isang mouse
at sumaya sa mga tipa ng kibord
upang lumikha at matuwa sa likha?
Paanong isang USB drive ang may sala,
na bigay ng kaibigan na ang PC niya'y
may itinagong ahas na tumutuklaw
ng marahas sa magiging bagong tahanan niya?
Isang paumanhin na lang kaya,
isang yapos na lang kaya,
upang ang PC ay tumahimik na,
upang tumigil na ang luha
at muli sa wala ay lumikha
tawagin sa alaala bawa't isa
at sa iskrin ay bigyan uli ng hininga.
At lipulin ang ahas na gumapang
sa lahat ng directory niya at nilamon
ang mga bunga ng isip na nagpasaya.
Kabagutan
Paikutikot, paikutikot, paikutikot ang elesi
Papalapit, papalapit, papalapit ang hangin
Papalayo, papalayo, papalayo ang hangin.
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TUE SDAY, OCTO BE R 03 , 2006
'Lost' in Featured Poems of EmanilaPoetry
FR I DAY, SE P TE MBE R 29, 2006
Ho logos, ho theos
Ho logos, ho theos
Joel Josol
"ho logos ay kasama ng ho theos at ho logos ay theos." Ebanghelyo ni Juan
Anong damdamin ng Diyos-ho theos

sa araw-araw na pagtawag
sa kanyang ngalan
ng isang nag-angkin ng kanyang pagpapala?
Umiiling kaya isang milyong anghel
sa paligid niya, naawa, nainis
sa pagmamalabis?
Kamusta naman kaya ang Verbo-ho logos
sa tanawing kanyang nakikita?
Mga lider na nag-angkin
ng kanyang paghirang sa kanila
nagtuturo sa madla sa ngalan niya?
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Marunong ba siyang magalit

sa taliwas na halimbawang ginagawa
sa ngalan niya,
Ulat ng buhay niya winalang halaga
pagsamba ng bayan ambisyon nila?
Tulad niya gusto rin yata nila
maging diyos-theos kapantay niya?
Mapayapa sana ang daigdig
Kung hindi dahil sa mga pastor niya
na nagsisilab ng galit sa kapuwa
milyong buhay nakitil sa ngalan niya,
ngayo'y inaakala ang gamot ay
talikuran siya at sumamba sa
mga diyos-theos na likha ng iba
kung iyon lamang ang magpapayapa
hindi bale na kung ito man ay huwad
sa halip na sa Diyos-ho theos
na buhay ng iba nakikitil sa ngalan niya?
Bumangon ka, O Diyos-ho theos
at sarili ay linisin kung ikaw nga
at singilin ang dugo ng milyong tao
sa kamay ng nagkasala na hanggang ngayon
kumikitil sa pagaakala kalooban mo
bomba ay sumabog at kumitil ng kapwa!
Binuwal ng Bagyong Milenyo

Binuwal ng Bagyong Milenyo
Joel Josol
Bagyong Milenyo isang tanawin

na sa bintana ko'y walang awa na humahampas,
Bumalik sa aking mga alaala mga taong dinahas
Dignidad ay inalis, katawa'y sinaktan
parang nangangalit na bagyong hangin
sa mga prinsipyong sing-tigas ng lupang
Hindi binitawan.
Lumabas at nilakad ko ang lupang nanahimik
sa hampas ng Milenyo, di ito naaliw
sa marahang ulan na bumabagsak sa kaniya.
Ilang amang dinugo ang katawan,
At mga anak na babaeng hinalay
Mga binatang buhay ay maagang kinitil?
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Naalala ko sa bawa't yapak sa konkretong daan

Ganito katigas ang kanilang mukha
Nang bawian ng buhay, kaaway walang kasiyahang
Nakita sa nagdusang katawan.
Samantala, mga bubong na yero'y naghihiyawan
Parang tuwang-tuwa at nagpipista
Sa bawa't pako na inalis ng hangin niya
Dahil narito si Milenyo humahagibis na.
Parang narinig ko ang mga pagtuya
Sa panonood sa katawan nilang inalisan ng saplot
ngun'it binalutan ng sugat at dugo
binilad na parang isda sa init
At dinidiligan ng hamog sa umaga.
Malupit ka bagyong Milenyo
Walang pinipili sa pananalasa
Pagbabata lamang ang maaring ihanda
Tulad ng mga may sala sa dugo
Na sa kanila ang pagiging iba'y isang pagkakasala
Binuwal nila sila parang billboard sa EDSA
nahulog sa lupa sa hampas ng hangin
Pinatay sila ng kaliwa, ng kanan
Pinatay sila sa ngalan ng Diyos,
Sa ngalan at dambana ng ismo.
Tumahimik sandali ang paligid
Nanahimik ang Milenyo. Mga puno ay natuwa
sa sandaling pahinga na kanilang nakuha
Samantalang ang iba'y sa daan nahandusay na.
Hindi ko kayo malilimot
Sa lalim ng inyong pagibig at katapatan
Sa sandaling buhay ko rin ay kunin
Isang puno rin sa lupa hihiga.
TUE SDAY, SEP TE M BE R 26, 2006
Reflections (senryu)
rambutan
from stretched, fair-skin hand
ripe and red.
early morninghigh pitch, high tone
a broken vase.
a silent nightwarm breath, soft flesh
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under the blanket.

Iskandalo
Iskandalo
ni Joel Josol
"The growing scandal has enveloped the company's chief executive and
its stock price."- Forbes online
Mahaba rin ang pagsusulit, `di na tanaw ang araw sa de-kulay na
bintanang salamin, kanina lamang nakapinta ang araw sa aking doblevistang salamin. Sa iskrin ng PC, iginuhit ang resulta na mas mataas sa
hininging marka.
"Investors placed sell orders immediately."- Forbes online
Makinis ang terminal ng aking tablet PC, malinis ang aking kibord, at
makintab ang mouse, lahat kasing-linis ng aking budhi. Wala ring kalat sa
ibabaw ng mesa, dahil sa clean-desk policy, kaya lahat ay itinago sa lihim,
kinandado, tinutukan ng kamera, at iniikutan ng guwardiya.
"Instead, this mole hunt involved trying to plant spyware on a reporter's
computer." Forbes
May memo sa lahat ay dumating, pinagbabawal mga computer programs
na umaagaw daw ng yaman ng kumpanya. Susuriin lahat ng terminal kung
may Yahoo messenger o kung ano pa, baka may streaming audio pa.
Kasing-bilis ng kidlat, PC nakorap o kinorap, `di na iyon mahalaga. Lahat
nawala. Na-virus yata.
"The blow-back from the investigation has caused the departure of two
board members."-Forbes
Musika ay di maaring tumigil, pumailanlang pa rin sa pagitan ng mga
cubicle mula sa radyong de-baterya nga lang. (De-baterya nga dahil ang
kuryente yaman ng kumpanya.) Walang kaso dahil wala na ring mga tao
na makikinig sa musika, pina-alis na, at silang humayo hindi na lumingon
pa. Wala ng itatago o lilinisin pa.
Lost
I see myself in every tear
that glides down your cheek
and hear my anger from each one
that drops on the floor-
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I dislike myself intensely

from what I've seen, heard:
A hypocrite that I am for every kiss
that touched your mouth,
from every confession of affection
so declared,
from same springs forth my venom,
poison for your soul.
If one day I fear that your bag of tears
dry up for me and your heart
made more resilient to pain than I,
a butterfly you'll fly away
swiftly beyond reach,
this monster inside of me
will then have won
and I lost.
MO NDA Y, SE P TE M BE R 25 , 2006
Anger management
I am a black car
Speeding at 120 km/hr
from 40,
over a stretch
of opened up space
50m in length,
and the break
will be applied so hard,
everything unattached
in the car
will hurtle towards
the windshieldan opened can of Coke,
an unfinished sandwich,
a folder thick with paper,
her picture.
NOTE: You shouldn't do this with your car or somebody else's :-)
Guimaras (Haiku set)

Death sleeps quietlyOil tanker resting under
Guimaras waters
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Clear and green

Guimaras watersBlack death!
Spreading oil spilla Paradise of clear green,
Guimaras waters.
Oil tankerFish floating, lifeless
In the sea.
Oil spillSick children, parents,
toxic fumes.
NOTE: University of San Agustin short-listed this haiku for
potential publishing in the next year's book about Guimaras.
THU RSDAY, SE PTE M BE R 21, 2006
1972
Dati sa black-and-white TV ko lang nakita
Kayraming nagma-martsa, magugulo at maingay sila
Dala-dala'y mga bandila, sinabi'y di ko pa unawa
Sa edad kong mura lahat ay di pa unawa.
Dumaan sa harap ko nagsisigawang pulutong
Taas ang mga kamao at ang mga bandilang mapula
Tulad sa TV nagsisigawan sila, sa ingay nila
Sinabi'y di ko pa rin naunawa.
Ika-21 ng Setyembre, 1972 nakita ko pangulo
Sa TV ay nagsasalita, mukhang seryoso ang mukha
At mahalaga ang sinabi. Tanong ko sa lolo, `ano po ang nangyari?'
Martial law, martial law raw. Ang bayan inilagay sa martial law.
Sa San Miguel sa Maynila, ay sinama ako
Malapit pala ito sa Palasyo, sa unang pagkakataon aking nakita
Malalaking tangke at mga harang na may sundalong may baril
Parang may giyera sa Maynila sa aking paningin.
Mga tao'y bumait, aba'y mga lalake'y nagpagupit
Parang umayos daw at tumino ang paligid
Nabasa ko sa Daily Express mabait daw ang martial law
Dito sa Pinas kung ihambing sa iba tulad ng Korea.
Isang gabi kami'y naghahatid ng isang maysakit
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Kita ko maraming lalake sa highway ay dikit-dikit

Marami ring pulis sa kanila'y nagbabantay, waring sila ay sinusuri
Pagdating sa kanto mga taga-Metrocom pinigil din kami.
May bagong awit sa radyo ay laging dinig
Bagong Lipunan ang wari kong dinig
Para daw umunlad, disiplina ang kailangan
Kaya pala bayan ko parang tumino sandali.
Pagkapiit (Senryu)
damong sinisingit sa
pobreng amaindemonyong pulis
mas malamig ang hukom
kaysa sementonaantalang pagdinig
seldang walang higaanlahat ng panig
malapit sa paningin
ang pangako ng pulissa pagtatalik
may maagang paglaya
TUE SDAY, SEP TE M BE R 19 , 2006
Worklife Reflections (Senryu Series)

bright screenthousand emails bloom
instantly
afternoon foglong face with pink slip
a tear drop.
evening raingale winds shake the van
the earth moves.
sunriseearly workers walk up
to the lift.
bright sun.
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heat and smog mixes

with scented shirt.
summer heat.
long chat on cellphone,
the phone rings.
lunch timelong list of to do,
watery eyes.
clear skysmog in the distance
the phone rings.
SUNDAY, SEP TE M BER 17 , 2006
Stones
One week ago, last Saturday, I went to the MMC ER to get relief from an
acute pain emanating from my upper right abdomen. It was so painful that
I was perspiring. After getting a pain reliever injection and urinalysis,
stones was the probable culprit. There was a presence of high
concentration of red blood cells and crystals.
After doing an ultrasound test last Wednesday, then blood test the next
day, it was confirmed that I got kidney stones but these were small. The
kidney was basically OK, normal in size. I am now under medication using
sodium bicarbonate and pain relievers for a period of two months to
remove the stones.
Ayala Avenue
Hindi ako sanay sa aking nakita
Dito sa Ayala natipon ang masa.
Libu-libo yata'y sa kalye nag-marcha
Kulay itim, pula, luntian o dilaw
Mga sagisag na dala at wagayway
Iisa ang sigaw, 'Arroyo alis diyan!'
Dati-rati'y marcha ng mga beauty queen
O kaya'y sikat na mga taga-showbis
Na tuwing dumaa'y madla'y palakpakan.
Siyang-siya sila, mata'y binusog nga
Hating-gabi'y abang hanggang mag-uwian
Punong-puno dito ng saya't awitan.
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Nguni't ito'y iba para nang Mendiola

Nakahanay mga uniporme'y bughaw
Nakahanda mga kalasag sa lupa
Dalawang hanay din sa daa'y nakabara
Sasakyan ng pulis ang pila'y kahaba
Ito'y trabaho lang, utos lang, utos lang.
Sa wakas ang drama'y tahimik nagwakas
Nag-uwian lahat pulis at nag-marcha
Ang akala nila'y ito na ang wakas
Bukas ay bago na, nguni't hindi pala
Sa Malacanang ay mayroong dumating
Kaya ang Ayala, heto ganon pa rin.
Senryu
starless eveningunder a warm blanket
lovers hide
Senryu
cool Monday morningdisplayed sales funnel on screen
causes wet armpits
Senryu
light green eyes:
playing James Taylor audio
from iPod
HAIKU
gas station:
low on gas, low-end car
high prices
HAIKU
dental chair...
a bloodied wisdom tooth
gets unseated.
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SENRYU
cold hands:
the brothers and sisters cry
profusely...
SENRYU
pastor speakinga cobweb falls on the spanking
clean floor....
SENRYU
sea breeze
water blast dispersed the crowd
shivering in the cold...
Haiku
rain pours
drenching books and shoes:
ninoy on parade...
THU RSDAY, SE PTE M BE R 14 , 2006
Haiku
life in a cab:
minute hand turning
countless times
WE DNE SDAY, SE PT EM BE R 1 3, 2006
Haiku
umitim ang kanal sa kalye
na puno ng tagas ng langis ng dyipnasan ang itlog ng lamok?
Haiku
diwang kubli
handa ng ihayagpapel sa printer
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Haiku
humihilab
bato sa pantogkama sa e.r.
Boston Sky
The sun climbs up in the Boston sky,
fully-stretched blue arc above me,
spattered with accents of white,
with the sun spraying its yellow light
across the city's breadth.
The silvery-white dome of M.I.T.
is a morning star
in the midst of shining gems
moving across the nearby waters.
My coffee cup is warm
with memories of a French caf
on Harvards side.
The aroma fills me up
with recollection of the cool breeze
under the shade of the trees.
The English houses in Commonwealth
and the brick buildings acrossred, blue, yellow, orangewake up to the light,
so poster card perfect,
accented by yellow
and orange fall leaves
congregating on the ground.
I kept Boston in a tiny tea bag
and filled it up with images
as big as the Boston Commons green,
as small as the lovely, female Caucasian smiles.
I packed in it even the giant Jamaicans
and their boom-box.
There's a time tunnel in the Musuem
of Fine Arts, racing across hundreds of years
partitioned by a painting or a sculpture.
I went back as far as Rembrandt,
lingered in Monet,
and stopped at Picasso.
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I remember the highway of I-93,

and all the pine, oak, birch and maple trees
line up like eager crowds
showering my arrival with confetti
of bright and warm-colored leaves.
The cool breeze fondles my black hair
while the sun brushes my brown skin
with its light,
as I drive one autumn morning
underneath the Boston sky.
Haiku
she glances:
somebody will raise
his cheekbones.
SUNDAY, SEP TE M BER 10, 2006
Critical Eye
In the photographer's eye
everything is a picture,
every scene he studies,
and every face he explores.
His camera he aims,
he suspends time,
while his photograph he engraves in digitalhe records the world that he sees.
The curves in the face,
the movement of the shadows,
or the varying shades of colorsis a perpetual supply of pictures!
Don't be afraid when I look at you
I'm a photographer and you're my photograph.
Bored
The fragrant bed
with its pillows and blanket
can't take away
this lethargy.
The warmth of your body,
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the softness of your breast,

and your embrace that i miss
would have sent me to sleep.
But neither HBO nor CNN
has caught my eye
because it's you that I desire
without end.
Disconcerted
In the mall, I glance, look back, and I can't step away from it. With cash
creeping out of my pocket, I almost did buy it.
In the office, my heart beats fast as I turn towards that anxious corner.
Your chair is empty. You're not chatting on the phone, nor clearing the
strands of your lovely, black hair that fell on your fair skinned face,
enclosed in your little cubicle world.
I am in the mall again. The quiet corridor and its corner are gone. A
cacophony of voices pester me. People hound me, asking for money.
The corridor is back. The silence returns. Your empty seat is a cold gutter
water that a speeding car sprays on by-standers. So many unanswered
questions. So much yearning.
I open my eyes to discover that I never did leave. The last thing I
remember is the memory of an empty seat. I was taken away from you,
from me.
TUE SDAY, SEP TE M BE R 05, 2006
You Want Me to Talk About My Country

You want me to talk about my country? It pains me when I do so.
See the scattered islands and our wide open sea. But, beware of its hidden
graveyard. Lost in the sound of the loud ship's horn of luxury cruisers
that ply lazily along its invisible lanes, are the groans of the dead, of
thousand souls from coffins once afloat, has alas descended and
imprisoned in the abyss.
Those mountains, bereft of its green, are murderous Goliaths. They wake
up in the night, howl in the wind, hidden by the rain, and with a bloody
sword strike the earth. A soup of blood and water streams to the sea. The
dawn weeps as it rises, shines its light like a million candles for the dead.
Oh, our rich, fertile farm lands! Its worms feast on the dead whose cry for
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justice went unheard. Every rice stalk that grows off such soil and bents
its head pays tribute to such courageous souls!
You want me to talk about my country? Ah, enough pain for a day.
Guimaras and my ruined poem

The lines and words neatly flow, a river from some distant red mountain
of inspiration. I capture the current with buckets of white paper, and the
liquid of deep blue thoughts pour freely through my pen.
I see the clear, light-green seawater, and remember the kaleidoscope of
corals that sparkle from the deep. But a deep blue appears, darkens, and
smothers the scene.
My pen leaks and pours into the bucket, a creeping and ugly inkblot.
Now, all I see is black.
NOTE: University of San Agustin has short-listed this poem for
publishing in next year's poetry book on Guimaras.
SUNDAY, AUGUST 27 , 2006
Death (Haiku)
the cold front arrives:
on dug earth, six feet deep
warm teardrops fall.
The poem was written in memory of Bro. Hilarion Amores who passed
away at age 86.
SATUR DA Y, AU GUST 26, 2006
Nagu-uring Mata
Sa mata ng potograpo
Lahat ay isang larawan
Bawa't tanawin ay inuusisang mainam
Bawa't mukha inuuri
At kapag kumislap ang kanyang mga mata
At kamera'y tinutok, sa isang iglap
Ang larawan ay naukit sa digital
At dito tumigil ang daigdig
Pinigil, inukit, iningatan
Hanggang sa ito'y burahin.
Mga pagbabago ng liwanag
At pagkilos ng anino
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Ang bawa't hugis ng mukha

At galaw ng mga kulay
Ay walang katapusang pelikula
Sa mata ng potograpo.
Huwag mong ikabalisa kung ika'y minasdan
Isa akong potograpo at ika'y sa aki'y larawan.
HuangPu
Humahampas ang tubig ng Ilog HuangPu sa mga bato
Kung saan itinayo konkretong pasyalan
Dito sa kahabaan ng kaniyang mga pampang
Maya-maya'y nagtakip-silim at nagliwanag na sa tubig
Ang mga sari-saring kulay ng mga elektronikong ilaw
Mula sa mga de-kuryenteng mga anunsiyo na itinayo
Sa ibabaw ng mga nagtataasang gusali na nakahanay
Sa kabi-kabila ng kanyang mga pampang.
Samantala'y walang patid ang pagparoo't-parito
Ng mga turistang bangka sa kanyang mga tubig
Kitang-kita ang mangha sa kanilang mga mata
At ako nama'y dala ang digital camera
Walang sawa sa pagkuha ng mga alaala niya.
Bagot
mabangong higaan
maputing mga una't kumot
'di kayang palisin
lumalalim na pagkabagot,
katawan mo'y hanap
malambot mong dibdib
at init ng yakap
na sana siyang nagpapahimbing,
walang patid na pelikula ng HBO o Cinemax
kahit balitang CNN na gunaw na ang mundo
di pansin sa malayong otel na ito
walang anumang aliw dahil wala ka.
FR I DAY, AUGU ST 25, 2006
Caught in the Act
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Hilarion Amores, 1920-2006

An end of an era in Kingdom preaching in the Philippines.
SUNDAY, AUGUST 20, 2006
Kagandahan
parang kailan lang
nang ika'y unang namasdan
nilampasan, di pinansin
ang kagandahang nilampasan
nguni't bakit sa tuwina
ngayo'y dumaraan
hindi mapigil sumilip
sa iyong kariktan
minsa'y hinuli mo
sadyang nilingunan
walang masabi, nagitla
kunwa'y walang nakitaparang kailan lang
ng ika'y pagmasdan
di pinansin kagandahang
nilampasan
salamat sa iyo
kagandahang-loob
sa nagmasid na ito
di mo ipinagkait
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langit sa akin
nang ika'y ngumiti
kung alam mo sana
minsa'y ika'y minaliit.
smooth, sweet-scented skin

smooth, sweet-scented skin;
soft flesh; silky, long, black hair
slithering over me, all over mesynapses in overdrive
blinking like red lights
(memory recording in progress)
FR I DAY, AUGU ST 18 , 2006
KVM (haiku)
K
angry eyes
makes black keyboard taps
sound louder
V
confused face
glows with too much light
from video
M
weary hands
points still mouse
on idle icons
Hiyaw
Dugo- nagmamadaling umagos sa mga ugat
Parang mga kabayong nagpapaligsahan sa takbuhan
Mga himaymay- na umiigting sa bawa't kilos
Mga ugat na nagpupumiglas sa balat
Puso- na bumibilis ang pintog, nagbubulwak ng dugo
Parang mga palo ng drum na iisa ang ulit-ulit na tibok
Hininga- na nagiging mabilis at pinagkakapos pa
Parang babae na magluluwal ng bata
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Tinig- na sa igting ay pinanginginig, pinangangatal

Walang salitang makalaya sa pagitan ng mga ipin
Hiyaw- sa isang sandali, parang asong umungol
Tanging ingay sa gabing madilim.
Nabasang papel
Maputing papel
Na nilipad sa sahig
Nabasa man din,
Naghalo-halo
Mga titik sa tubig
Ng likhang tula,
Naglaho na nga
Wala ng nagawa pa
(Buntong hininga!).
WE DNE SDAY, AUGU ST 09, 2006
Lupang uminom ng dugo

Lupang uminom ng dugo
by joel josol
katawan mo'y bumagsak sa lupa

na buong giliw nitong tinanggap
nais sana niya na dito ika'y ikubli
mula sa kamay ng marahas
na galit sa pag-ibig mo sa madla
na nag-akala na ika'y masama
at mula sa sugat mong tinamo
ang lupa ay uminom ng dugo mong sariwa
at nalasahan ang sakripisyo mong
hindi inalintana, sa paniwalang
sa paglilingkod ay walang masama
heto ngayon at buhay ay mawawala
balat mong nagbabagong kulay
ngayon ay maputla, dugong bumulwak
naroon na sa lupa, kulay ng langit
di na makita bagaman ito'y bughaw
at may araw na bilog at dilaw
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nagdidilim lang ang iyong nakita

maraming duwag sa mundong nilakaran
sa karahasan akala'y may kapangyarihan
isip mo'y pinilit sakmalin, at bibig ay pinilit pigilan
oo nga, katawan mo ay kanilang sinaktan
kaluluwa mo nama'y malaya at matapang
huwag mag-alala kaibigan
nakita kong sulyap mo sa langit
mga mata mong namuti na sa hapdi
alam kong inusal mo sa dibdib
tiyak ito ay dininig
ang buhay mong natigis
iniingatan ng Diyos sa kanyang dibdib.
C.O. Pioneer Week is Over

Bro. Rudy Lavaro and wife's pioneer week is over. It was another great
week. The week was concluded with his public talk Sunday morning with
112 in attendance (versus 63 publishers) and a field service in the
afternoon with myself leading the group witnessing.
SUNDAY, JU LY 30, 2006
Fruitful Weekend Ministry

The encouragement to help more people learn more about God can only be
accomplished when you really get to spend more time finding such people
even in inclement weather. This I found true all the time. First you need to
have that evangelizing spirit. Next, preach whereever there are people.
Lastly, follow-through.
This weekend following the example of a Japanese brother who made it his
goal to make 100 return visits in a month but ended making 241 return
visits by calling up everyone on his list, I was blessed to meet and open
three new Bible studies.
The first one on Saturday has been on my list for months and sadly due to
various personal obligations I failed to follow-through. This time around I
did and found the householder still warm to the idea. Since she was a
woman and a wife I passed her on to my wife. This is the second woman I
found in the ministry who showed interest this month that I passed on to
my wife.
This Sunday, I checked all the names on my list on a certain neighborhood
where I was. Three already moved out. But the fourth warmly accepted me
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in her humble makeshift home. I offered a Bible study to her and to her
children. She accepted. The third woman that I will passed on to my
pioneer wife.
With renewed determination to do more, I plan to re-organize my list.
Even if the householder had been on my list for up to six years back, I plan
to come back. This last woman was on my list three years ago.
I hope that Jehovah God can forgive me for the complacency in years past
and concentrating on just the present Bible studies. I now reduced the
number of invitations for public talks so I can concentrate on my ministry.
The search for honest-hearted ones has to go on and on even as we
continue to help out those who already showed interest.
SATUR DA Y, JUL Y 29 , 2006
Working Moms Sila

pretty sila, good dressers pa
at 'pag nakita mo dyan sa Ayala
tiyak mapapalingon ka
mabango na, neat na neat paiyan ang mga working moms!
talent nila 'wag mong maliitin
endurance nila daig pa atleta
mayroon sa kanila madilim pa'y gising na
nagmamando sa maid o siyang gagawaiyan ang mga working moms!
kung minsan ginagabi ng uwi
worried na worried na siya
left and right ang phone calls ng bahay,
sagana sa text pa, 'mommy, uwi k n b?'iyan ang mga working moms!
at pana-panahon dahil may asawa
di maiwasan, kahit nag-planning pa
ang womb niya magkakalaman
at ang buong pamilya excited naiyan ang mga working moms!
huwag mong dibdibin pagtataray niya
di mo alam pressures na dala niya
pag nakabawi magi-smile naman siya
pamilya at ka-opisina lahat muli sasayaiyan ang working moms!
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FR I DAY, JULY 1 4, 2006
Isang Umaga
Isang umaga na naman na ma-abo ang langit
Makapal sa lambong ng ulap na busog sa ulan
Walang sikat ng araw na sana'y sa balat mainit
Parang gabi na ayaw pang mag-wakas
Kahit kapeng mainit hindi ako mapasigla
Sa mga umagang hindi ka nakita
Walang kaaliwan sa tanawing bumadya
Waring nagtago mga ibon na maingay sa umaga
Magbago kaya sa maghapon ang lumbay
Hawiin kaya ang lambong sa tanghali
At sa isang sulok ng langit ang araw ay matanaw
Mag-liwanag at tuyuin ang lupang mahapdi sa ulan?
Masulyapan ka kaya sa ibang araw
At marinig ang tinig ng iyong halakhak
At sa aking kopa ipunin ito lahat
At inumin ang kapeng nagtago ng alaala?
Tanong, tanong, at tanong pa
Naghahanap ng kasagutan
Na masusumpungan lang sa iyong mata
Na mailap tulad ng araw sa isang ma-abong umaga.
THU RSDAY, JU LY 13 , 2006
Mall of Asia - Checking it out

We strolled
through the
afternoon until
the evening. This
was last June 14.
We satisfied our
curiosity with
this new big
mall. Tired of
walking around
the big mall, we
took a break at
the Starbucks
outlet.
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The Rains Have Come (Again)

This week
Manila has been
battered by
stream of
typhoons. It is
truly the rainy
season (again).
All These I Do For You, Child

'All these I do for you, child'
Are pet lines by dads like me
If I'm away from you dear child
Buried in tons and tons of work
Or comes home late at night
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And you're all but fast asleep

I gave you a hug you never felt
And a warm good-night but unreciprocated kiss.
To let me race through the morning
Past your cheerful and eager smile
Before you opened up your mouth
And tell little stories about your little life
Promising I will sit down one day
And listen to all you have to say.
As I did my best to raise you via
Phone calls or texts, or post-its on your door
State-of-the-art remote child management
At its best, leading-edge efficiency
There is only one thing I noticed though
As the years went passed by me.
I don't have much memories of you
I wasn't around when you first learned to walk
Or heard about your fantasy games
I wasn't around when you first stumbled
And not the one you ran to when in pain
Neither the one you want to stroll with
Only the one who will dispense the cash
And pay for the moments that you spent
With someone else.
And I'm not sure if this is what I wanted
Or if this is what I envisioned it to be
Or if this is how things should've worked out
Between you and me
I guess something could be wrong
With daddy's pet line
Because right now, precious now,
where I wanted to be
Is to be with you to witness the love glow in your eyes
That you may also see the love glow in mine
Burn it forever in your little heart, child.
No Superhero
Maybe I just wanted you to know
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That I'm no superman, no

Can't promise my love for you to feel
As strong and unbreakable as steel
Only to be weakened by some kryptonite
But for my love I'll keep up the fight.
That I'm no aquaman, no
I can't dive to the depth of the abyss
Nor speak to a sea creature, not even one fish
I can only dive to the depths of your soul
When you let me into your thoughts freely prowl
That I'm no batman nor robin, no
I may need time sometimes for myself
But in a bat cave I don't hide
You don't need to flash a bat sign
Whenever you need me by your side
But, maybe you knew long ago
That I'm no superhero, no
For you took me, mortal powers and all
With love made of clay instead of steel
But held together by a strong hand
Even though I am no spiderman.
A Solitary Rose
a solitary rose
pricks your finger,
blood and rose as one
drip into the trash bin
crimson red
in both rose and thorn
blemished but pretty
yet abondoned in the trash
a card, a handwritten note
misses your heart
distracted by a solitary rose
and its thorn.
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Philippine Supreme Court Upholds Jehovah's

Witnesses
Source: http://www.malaya.com.ph/jun23/news2.htm
IN WHAT is seen as a landmark decision, the Supreme Court has given

individuals the green light to enter into "conjugal arrangements" sans
marriage if their religion allows it.
Ruling 9-5, with one justice taking no part, the high court dismissed a
complaint against Soledad Escritor, a court interpreter and member of the
Jehovahs Witnesses and the Watch Tower and Bible Tract Society, who
was accused of "disgraceful and immoral act" for living in with a Luciano
Quilapio Jr. and for having borne a child by him.
In the 63-page decision penned by Associate Justice Reynato Puno, the
high court gave credence to Escritors defense that her "conjugal
arrangement" with Quilapio is sanctioned by their congregation and
religious beliefs.
The SC said that in the eyes of Escritors church, "there is nothing immoral
about the conjugal arrangement between Escritor and Quilapio and they
remain members in good standing in the congregation."
"The court recognizes that state interest must be upheld in order that
freedoms including religious freedom may be enjoyed," the SC ruled.
The five justices who dissented (Chief Justice Artemio Panganiban and
Justices Antonio Carpio, Consuelo Ynares Santiago, Conchita Caprio
Morales, Romeo Callejo) warned the ruling could open the floodgates for
people to use religion as an excuse to enter into illegal and immoral
conjugal unions.
"The majority opinion will make every religion a separate republic, making
religion a haven for criminal conduct that otherwise would be punishable
under the laws of the land. Today concubinage, tomorrow bigamy will
enjoy protection from criminal sanction under the new doctrine foisted by
the majority opinion," said Carpio in an 18-page dissenting opinion.
Citing US jurisprudence, he said the sweeping decision would "make the
professed doctrines of religious belief superior to the law of the land" and
in effect, "permit every citizen to become a law unto himself."
"This case is about a religious cover for an obviously criminal act," the
dissent said.
In a separate opinion, Ynares-Santiago sought the suspension of Escritor
for six months for her "disgraceful" conduct in court.
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"The exacting standards of ethics and morality imposed upon court judges
and court employees are required to maintain the peoples faith in the
court as a dispenser of justice, and whose image is mirrored by their
actuations," she said.
"The high degree of moral uprightness that is demanded of employees of
the government entails many sacrifices that are peculiar to the civil
service," she added.
The decision upheld Escritors right to the conjugal union as it chose to
adhere to the "benevolent neutrality approach in the Constitution that
gives room for accommodation of religious exercises as required by the
Free Exercise Clause."
"Thus, we find that in this particular case and under these distinct
circumstances, respondent Escritors conjugal arrangement cannot be
penalized as she has made out a case for exemption from the law based on
her fundamental right to freedom of religion," the court said.
Escritor and Quilapio on July 28, 1991 executed a "Declaration of Pledging
Faithfulness," which "allows members of the congregation who have been
abandoned by their spouses to enter into marital relations."
Escritor said the union was approved by the "elders of the congregation"
after confirming that her husband had left her.
The complaint was filed on July 27, 2000 by Alejandro Estrada before a
Las Pias court, claiming that such union constitutes an "immoral act that
tarnished the image of the court." Evangeline de Vera
FR I DAY, JUNE 16 , 2006
You Make Me Smile

you make me smile
what a pleasure you are to behold
the instant your cheekbones rise
and the sparkle in your eyes
form to make your lovely smile
i would rather stay awhile
i bring it with me to enjoy
in the privacy of my thoughts
those lovely glances and glimpses
can lighten up a tough day's work
you really know how
for you make me smile
and when I am all by myself and bored
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i fall into trance with thoughts of you

i see you breaking out in a smile
instantly i too break out with mine
and people around me wonder
something's wrong with the mister
you make me smile
little joys that i count and cherish
such sweet moments sprinkled
in a day's work- oh how i appreciate
makes another day in this world
worth waking up to every day.
TUE SDAY, JU NE 1 3, 2006
Good-bye
gud-bay
by joel josol
mahirap din palang isipin
kapag ang pagsasama'y nagtagal din
mga salitang binibigkas
kapag dumating na ang oras
paano nga kaya naging gud ang bay
kung may lumbay sa naghiwalay
baka kaya hanap-hanapin
mga sama-samang gawain
minsan parang sugal o lotto
madalas namang talo
ang bukas ay tinataya
sa bago ba mas masaya?
sana nga kung ganoon
upang mga ala-ala mo
na nagpapalumbay sa akin
mahalinhan ng bago
nguni't kung hindi paano na
may babalikan pa bang muli?
ang paglisan ay pagkakamali pala
hahanap na lang ba ng iba?
salamat na lang sa muling pagtanggap
di masayod pasasalamat
dito pa rin sa iyo at wala ng iba
masusumpungan ang tunay na saya.
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Ispesyal Pipol
'di ba totoo naman
may mga tao na dumating
sa buhay nating ito
sumabay sa isang awit
na gustong-gusto mo
kaya naman sa tuwing marinig
sa radyo o Windows media player
siya talaga ang naiisip mo?
kaya minsan kahit masakit
OK lang umiyak habang nakikinig
kasi matamis ang mga ala-ala
may ngiti ka pa nga sa labi
kaya lang dahil iba na ngayon
kaya may habol na luha
sa iyong magandang mga mata
pagkatapos naman wala na.
ispesyal pipol talaga sila
minsan walang kamalay-malay
di mo naman sinabi sa kanila
basta kapag narinig mo ang tugtog
ikaw lang ang natigilan
sa isang iglap mabilis na dumaan
parang pelikula mga gumuhit
na larawan niya na nakaimbak sa isipan
ang iba may theme song pa
noong mag-nobyo-nobya pa sila
kinikilig pa rin kapag naala-ala
kakulitan at kabaduyan nila
ispesyal pipol daw sila forever and ever
ang ibang awit tinatago nila
at dinidinig kapag nag-iisa
di puedeng i-share kasi para sa iba.
SATUR DA Y, JUNE 03, 2006
mga ala-ala ng gitara

mga daliring humaplos sa aking mga kuwerdas
mga tagapakinig ay di pigil ang ngiti
sa aking kahon katawan nila'y dinikit
sa mga tugtog na nilikha at awit na sinambit
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barkadang tumitibay ang bukluran

di ba sa malalambing nilang awit
at sa mga hampas ng kuwerdas
nagiging lalong matimyas?
minsan ay maingay at malakas ang tugtog
masigla rin ang kanilang pag-awit
mga mata nila'y mapupungay na rin
walang patid ang awit hanggang hating-gabi man din
malumanay na mga daliring naglakbay
sa kahabaan ng aking leeg
mga kundiman at haranang tinugtog
bumalik mga alaalang kung saan ang pagibig ay inihandog
walang sawa akong patutogtog
isang libong kundiman kung kailangan
kung sana ay narito ka at nakinig
disin sana'y nalubos ang aking kilig.
FR I DAY, MAY 26 , 2006
Phone model upgrades

My family will soon complete disposal of our old phones and secure newer
but second-hand models.
My own phone, Motorola RAZR V3 Black, went to my panganay, Cat. Her
phone a Nokia 6220 is up for sale but is temporarily used by my wife. My
wife's phone, Nokia 3115 was disposed of. My youngest's phone, a Sony
Ericsson T290 has also been disposed of and will be replaced by a
second-hand Sony Ericsson T610.
Meanwhile, complementing my office-issued HP iPAQ 6515 is a
second-hand Motorola V620 for my evening/week-end phone.
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Palaisipan
Bakit ang mga araw na di ka magisnan
May lumbay sa aking dibdib?
Bakit sa mga oras na di ka bumaling
Ako'y nagbu-buntong hininga?
Bakit ang iyong mga ngiti kahit di sa akin
Nagpapagaan sa damdamin?
Ano itong sakit sa aki'y dumapo
Kalituhan at palaisipan man din,
Ano mang pigil ay nagpupumiglas
Sana lamang ay huwag sumambulat,
Parang walang bait at isa lang ang batid
Kahit anino mo'y pilit masilip?
Bawa't bagong araw ay pagpupunyagi
Blankong papel nasusulatan ng titik
Salamin ng mga magulong damdamin
Na walang malay mong sinilaban
Mula sa malayo, mula rito
Mabuti walang iniwang abo sa daan.
SUNDAY, MAY 21 , 2006
Carmen Pedrosa of Philippine Star prints my

comment
Two views on spirituality and free thought
FROM A DISTANCE By Carmen N. Pedrosa
The Philippine Star 05/21/2006
James Litton a professed Filipino agnostic is a minority in a largely
Christian country. He sent this article by Robert Green Ingersoll, who is
known as "the Great Agnostic" in American history.
The spiritual man lives to his ideal. He endeavors to make others happy.
He does not despise the passions that have filled the world with art and
glory. He loves his wife and children home and fireside. He cultivates the
amenities and refinements of life. He is the friend and champion of the
oppressed. His sympathies are with the poor and the suffering. He attacks
what he believes to be wrong, though defended by the many, and he is
willing to stand for the right against the world. He enjoys the beautiful. In
the presence of the highest creations of Art his eyes are suffused with tears.
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When he listens to the great melodies, the divine harmonies, he feels the
sorrows and the raptures of death and love. He is intensely human. He
carries in his heart the burdens of the world. He searches for the deeper
meanings. He appreciates the harmonies of conduct, the melody of a
perfect life.
He loves his wife and children better than any god. He cares more for the
world he lives in than for any other. He tries to discharge the duties of this
life, to help those that he can reach. He believes in being useful in
making money to feed and clothe and educate the ones he loves to assist
the deserving and to support himself. He does not wish to be a burden on
others. He is just, generous and sincere. Spirituality is all of this world. It is
a child of this earth, born and cradled here. It comes from no heaven, but it
makes a heaven where it is. There is no possible connection between
superstition and the spiritual, or between theology and the spiritual. The
spiritually-minded man is a poet. If he does not write poetry, he lives it. He
is an artist. If he does not paint pictures or chisel statues, he feels them,
and their beauty softens his heart. He fills the temple of his soul with all
that is beautiful, and he worships at the shrine of the Ideal.
In all the relations of life he is faithful and true. He asks for nothing that he
does not earn. He does not wish to be happy in heaven if he must receive
happiness as alms. He does not rely on the goodness of another. He is not
ambitious to become a winged pauper.
Spirituality is the perfect health of the soul. It is noble, manly, generous,
brave, free-spoken, natural, superb.
Nothing is more sickening than the "spiritual" whine the pretence that
crawls at first and talks about humility and then suddenly becomes
arrogant and says: "I am spiritual. I hold in contempt the vulgar joys of
this life. You work and toil and build homes and sing songs and weave your
delicate robes. You love women and children and adorn yourselves. You
subdue the earth and dig for gold. You have your theaters, your operas and
all the luxuries of life; but I, beggar that I am, Pharisee that I am, am your
superior because I am spiritual." Above all things, let us be sincere. (end
of article) * * *
Susan Jacobys Freethinkers says no one in public life today upholds
secularism and humanism in the uncompromising terms of Ingersoll more
than 125 years ago. He said "Secularism teaches us to be good here and
now: I know nothing better than goodness. Secularism teaches us to be just
here and now. Its end and aim is to make this world better every day to
do away with poverty and crimes and to cover the world with happy and
contented homes. These values belong at the center, not in the margins of
the public square." * * *
Another view. I have edited Joel Josol in part to be able to include most of
it. He wrote to explain why the Gnostics had a different view on Jesus and
his teachings. I agree with you that faith that is afraid to be examined or
afraid to find answers for questions looking for one is one that fosters
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dependency of spiritual development toward self-styled religious

authorities.
Interestingly the Bible supports the spiritual quest of individual searchers.
It is found on the book of Acts, in the New Testament, in its chapter 17
verse 11: " Now the latter were more noble-minded than those in
Thessalonica, for they received the word with the greatest eagerness of
mind, carefully examining the Scriptures daily as to whether these things
were so ."
May I present another viewpoint regarding the Gospel of Judas and other
body of writings penned by the Gnostics versus what is in the Bible. The
present view is that the "official" Bible is a product of arbitrary choice by
men who wielded authority. It so happened that the Gnostics and their
writings were rejected and so did not get into the official catalog or canon.
One from historical point of view and the other from content coherence.
The New Testament writings were penned mostly by the apostles. The
writing stopped with the death of the apostle John around 100 CE.
Catalogs or lists of this collection was already available prior to the Council
of Carthage at 397 CE. The earliest list is now documented by the
Muratorian Fragment whose content is cited to by The New Schaff-Herzog
Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge, 1956, Vol. VIII, page 56 . This list
existed early in the second century. The Catholic Church acknowledged
this list when Gnostic sects began promoting their own teachings. Why did
the Gnostics have to create their own gospels? For the simple fact that
their teachings were deviant. It did not find support in the apostolic
writings. This is where content coherence come in.
The main theme of the Bible is about how God will carry out his original
purpose for the Earth and vindicate Himself by the subplots organizing
an agency of change (referred to in the Bible as Kingdom of God which the
nation of Israel was its antitype) and making it legally possible for
mankind to be reconciled under this agency (referred to in the Bible as the
ransom that Jesus the Messiah, son of David the king) paid with his
perfect human life with the temple sacrifices as its antitype. Within this
single all-encompassing theme, are books whose personalities and events
link back into it. And intertwined in it is the presentation of a God who
wants to make Himself known to his Creation. This is the world-view of the
Bible. This serves as basis of how the other books are examined. This is the
norm or canon of the Bible. Whether we agree or disagree with the
revealed story is an entirely different discussion. But the fact of a single
coherent story is there despite taking a millennium to produce, and 39
writers of various backgrounds and writing skills contributing.
Jesus God is a revealed, knowable God. Jesus demonstrated what his God
is like by contrasting his deeds of compassion from those religious leaders
who made life difficult for others. Jesus taught publicly and not in secrecy.
Jesus taught his followers to be the light, the salt of the world, and not to
hide themselves from. The Gnostics teachings were completely opposite
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this: God is unknowable.

My e-mail is cpedrosaster@gmail.com.
THU RSDAY, MAY 1 8, 2006
Rainy days, sad songs, and the blues

I look out my bedroom window
And I saw raindrops dripping on the glass pane
The sky is dim and grayish
It feels like another slow day.
I heard Angel playing on the radio
How Sarah Mclachlan made me feel
The sort of day I can play Astrud Gilberto
The whole day!
I am buried in my pillows
And I seem heavier than I am
I looked again at my bedroom window
There is no consolation there for me.
There used to be chirping of birds
That wake me up in the morning
When they freely hop
From one dangling wire to the other.
There used to be the bright reflection
Of the early sun shining on the neighbors wall
Reflection that lightens up my room
Piercing through the window pane.
Dont you hate days like this?
Cold and grey and slowBetter stick my face in the pillow
and hide the streaming tears!
Happy Anniversary Web Blog!

Wow! Couldn't believe it. It's one year since I started posting at this site. So
many things have happened since, and this blog has in itself evolved.
Last year at this time, we boarded a SuperFerry to Cebu for our planning
session. This year, we will be at the Malarayat Country Club in Lipa City,
Batangas.
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This is truly a memorable year for me. Looking forward for another
memorable one.
First Rain of May
Cheating and Dr. Gilda Carle

Suddenly Single
Cheating, explained
Being cheated on: Many of us wonder and worry about itand some of
us have to work very hard to recover from this devastating experience. To
help address your questions on all facets of this topic, we recently hosted a
live chat with Dr. Gilda Carle, a relationship expert and best-selling author.
Here, we share her wise advice on how lies and infidelity can threaten a
relationshipand what to do if you find yourself navigating this rocky
romantic territory.
Q: What is the main reason for cheating?Dr. Gilda: There are many
reasons why people cheat. Sometimes it's what they saw in the house they
grew up in. Sometimes all their buddies are doing the same thing.
Sometimes it's because cheaters don't feel good about themselves and look
for people who will make them feel better. Sometimes a cheater's
relationship is crashing and he or she doesn't want to deal with that reality,
so cheating gets used as a bandage. And sometimes a person is so
self-centered and egocentric that all he (or she) can think of is me, me, me.
So there are many different reasons why people cheat. Your objective (and
all singles should do this) is to make sure that you size somebody up before
you become deeply, emotionally involved. And when you do, if you see a
pattern that existed in that person's behavior in the past you'll pretty much
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be able to predict the behavior that this person is going to demonstrate in

the future.
Q: How do people deal with the guilt of cheating?
Dr. Gilda: Somebody who cheats is looking for justification and
rationalization more than anything else. So, he or she usually finds a way
out in his or her own mind so that there isn't any guilt. It's often the person
who's cheated on who feels that he or she must have done something
wrong to have caused it. My advice is to look more carefully at what's going
on before deciding to take the burden of blame onto yourself.
Q: Is it cheating if you don't engage in sex?
Dr. Gilda: Cheating can be flirting or it can be kissing. Many people spend
lots of time on the telephone flirting with somebody when they should
instead be investing that very valuable time in their relationship at home.
So, the question is would you want your loved one to be doing what you're
doing with this other party? Thats the question you should ask when
defining what cheating means to you.
Q: Do you agree with the phrase, once a cheater, always a
cheater?
Dr. Gilda: I think that people can change, but they have to want to. You
can't make somebody change!
Q: Is it true that all men cheat?
Dr. Gilda: That's not the case. Plenty of women are cheating, too. Men are
not cheating alone; they are cheating with women. Every time I answer a
question on my Suddenly Single advice column on MSN about cheating, I
get tons of emails from men, and plenty of women as well, who say they
are in the same situationcheating on their mates.
Q: I just ended a relationship that was full of lies. How do I trust
again?
Dr. Gilda: Trust is the most difficult thing to build in any relationship. You
must start to trust yourself and your own instincts about people. Trust
begins with trusting yourself and your ability to assess the different people
who come into your life. It's going to take some time, so don't try to rush it.
But I also don't want you to go out on dates and go through this whole
speech about how you were cheated on and that you find it very hard to
trust again. Because then your dates will feel as though they have to jump
through hoops to prove otherwise to you. As you begin to trust your own
judgment, you will find a new partner who is more trustworthy.
Q: I believe that my partner of two years is cheating. What are
the main signs to look for?
Dr. Gilda: Does she start to care more about what she looks like? Has she
stopped listening closely to what you say? Does she make excuses for not
showing up on time, or not showing up at all? In general, you feel in your
gut that something has changed. I believe every single person knows that
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his or her partner is cheating when thats what is going on.

Q: How do you tell if a man is just saying what he thinks you
want to hear?
Dr. Gilda: Well, spend more time with him and find out if there are
inconsistencies in what he's saying. On first dates, lots of men (and
women!) tell the other person what he thinks that other person wants to
hear. That's why first dates only come around once! You have to see if what
he said early on in the evening makes sense with what he's saying after he's
had a few drinks in himand makes sense the following week and the
week after that.
Q: How is it that one day you are the love of someone's life and
almost overnight you're forgotten?
Dr. Gilda: The question should be: How well did you know this person
from the start? If somebody is telling you you're the love of his life, how
long have you known this person for him to justify that? I have found that
relationships that begin very quickly usually end very quickly as well. But
relationships that have maintained themselves over time usually have an
investment by the two people, and one or both of the people will be less
likely to just wake up in the morning and decide they want to pack it in.
Q: Can a man have a friendship with a woman outside his
marriage or dating relationship?
Dr. Gilda: Absolutely. Actually, I encourage that because this is where they
get information about how other women think, other women feel. Just
because he has a friendship with a person of the opposite sex doesn't mean
hes sleeping with her.
Q: What are the success rates for relationships after cheating?
Dr. Gilda: It depends on how hard two people want to work on their
relationship. Usually after cheating there's tremendous distrust, so it's
going to take a while for both parties to prove to the other that it was a
mistake. It really depends. Give it timeconsider seeking out a therapist to
help you take the relationship one step at a time, rather than trying to
make it alright the next day. Working through it can show where
difficulties have been in a relationship, and the two partners are more
committed than they've ever been once they see the errors of their ways.
Q: I separated from my husband due to his affair with a woman
much older than me. I'm younger, in better shape and fairly
intelligent, so why did this affect my self-esteem so badly?
Dr. Gilda: What you have just learned is that being attracted to somebody
has very little to do with age, looks and all these other things. Being
attracted to somebody comes from the way that other person makes you
feel. So don't take it personally, but try to find out for your next
relationship what was lacking in your marriage and what kinds of things
you need to work on so you grow from the experience.
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Q: Should a woman believe a man to be loyal even if he likes to

flirt?
Dr. Gilda: Flirtation is one thing, cheating is another. Some guys need
their egos stroked so they go out of their way to seem like big shots with
other people (women). But it's usually quite harmless. However, if it
bothers you, you owe it to yourself to level with this guy.
Q: If you don't bet on the prince, who do you bet on?
Dr. Gilda: Yourself! My book Don't Bet on the Prince is subtitled How to
Have the Man You Want By Betting On Yourself. This goes for how to
have the job you want, how to have the income you want, how to have the
life you want. Everything in your life is dependent upon your willingness to
put your faith in you.
Q: Is being with someone just to avoid loneliness ever justified?
Dr. Gilda: No, no, no. That reminds me of the line in Jerry Maguire: You
complete me. In reality, nobody can complete anybody elsethe key to
successful dating is to be complete before you enter into a relationship.
Dr. Gilda Carle is a licensed therapist and author of the best-seller, Don't
Bet on the Prince! How to Have the Man You Want by Betting On Yourself.
Where Have Your Smiles Gone?

you make me anxious
and my heart beats faster
my breathing shallow and slow
my jokes don't make you smile 'nymore
you turn your face away from me
and your lips are sealed
there are only tears
from your eyes
dripping endlessly across your cheek.
i reach out for you
and your shoulder shifts
and glides away
my muscles stiffened in reaction
i can only sigh in the end
my embrace don't mean anything 'nymore
as both your hands
throw them away
like garbage into the trash bin.
what does this mean
help me decipher this
should i just let this pass by
and give you space?
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or is this space forever here

that can't be bridged 'nymore?
where have your smiles gone
and will they ever return
for me?
Mommy!
Mommy!
Is there a better word
To remind me of comfort and hope
In distressful times
In painful times?
Mommy!
The depth of my longing
Somewhere lost in my heart
Finds its peace in her arms
As she cradles me in her breast.
Mommy!
The sound of strength
The sound of security
The sound of affection
The sound forever ringing in my ears.
Mommy!
My teacher, my friend
My ambassador, my lawyer
My coach, my cheerleader
My firsts boss.
Mommy!
You are the first woman
Who loved me and loved me well
And who wished in her heart
That I find someone who will carry on for her.
Sister Qing in Subic
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My Friend's Wedding
Ronnie Martin
and Liezle
Balingit at the
Tagaytay Pacific
Heights
reception after
the wedding.
i remember, i really do
by joel josol
i remember the first time, i really do
alone in a crowded room
with no friend anywhere in sight
you stepped out of nowhere
and took my hand
your hello changed my world.
when you came down the stairs
didn't know what to expect, what to see
you came down the stairs
lovely as lovely can be
i felt unworthy.
you sat in one corner
and i just passed by you
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but your presence is so strong

i felt it somehow
and the world was never the same again.
An important legal advisory on labor and religion

Source: http://www.laboremploymentlawblog.com/
California Court of Appeal Faults Employer For Failing To
Accommodate Religious Beliefs And Observances
A California Court of Appeal has opined that an employer's duty to
accommodate religious observances extends to an employee's request to
attend a three day religious convention even if attendance is not mandated
by the religion. The Court found that the duty to accommodate was
triggered so long as the desire to attend the convention, or other
observance, flows from a sincerely held religious belief.
The case, California FEHC v. Gemini Aluminum Corp., involved a
long-term Jehovah's Witness named Lester Young who requested a Friday
and Saturday off in order to attend an annual three-day convention.
Attendance at the convention, while not mandated by the tenets of his
religion, is considered a form of worship and religious study. Young had
been a Jehovah's Witness and attended nearly every annual convention
since 1970. He had been employed by Gemini Aluminum Corp. for
approximately 15 months when he requested the time off. Gemini
Aluminum Corp. summarily denied Young's request for days off and then
terminated Young for taking the requested days off in contravention of his
denied request.
The Court of Appeals opined that employers must accommodate any
sincerely held religious belief or observance if reasonably possible without
undue hardship. The observance need not stem from a temporal mandate
under the tenets of the religion at issue. Likewise, it is not up to employers
or the Courts to determine and judge the veracity of beliefs or observances.
As soon as an employer becomes aware of a sincerely held belief that
conflicts with a requirement of employment, the employer must begin to
explore all possible methods of reasonable accommodation. Moreover,
notice to the employer does not require a complex explanation justifying
the significance of the observance. The employee need only cite a
religious connection to a supervisor. Because Gemini Aluminum Corp. did
nothing to explore accommodation options after learning of Young's
request for time off, it violated the law.
SATUR DA Y, AP RI L 22, 2006
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All that I wanted to say

All that I wanted to say
By joel josol
Somebody sent me a note
Reminding me of life's brevity
And that if there's something
Worth saying to someone dear
Say it now while you can.
But I wanted to say it with flair
Some drama, some color
Some way worth remembering
Where others have done pretty well
In poem or song.
I studied the lines of Pomeranz,
Bishop, yes, even Manilow
Compared it with Browning,
Cummings, and Longfellow
Lovely poems, lovely songs.
I wish badly that the words
Would in the least make you smile
That's all I would care for
After all, what I wanted to say
Comes from my soul.
So here I am struggling with words
With structures and rhymes
That you may know in your heart
That you are after all special
Here's how the words finally come outI still appreciate you,
If you still care to knowThat's all I wanted to say
Better said often, yes, while
Life's brevity still allows so.
THU RSDAY, APR IL 20, 2006
i do not desire as much that we speak

i do not desire as much that we speak
by joel josol
I do not desire as much that we speak
'Tis enough that your eyes meet mine
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And in the silent language of the soul

Carry on conversations so sweet
I do not desire for you to be by me
I'll be content to witness your smile
And in the private corridors of my soul
Nimble on such happy moments awhile
I do not desire as much to be with you
You have always been here by me somehow
Your graciousness I do miss
Like a scent that stays behind somehow.
MO NDA Y, AP RI L 17 , 2006
natulog - isang tula ng panaghoy

natulog
by joel josol
mayroon bang makakabatid

sa lumbay na dulot ng mahal
na lumisan na sa daigdig
na hindi na magagamot
ang pangungulilang manantiling mapait?
ilang luha ba ang aagos
sa mukha upang alisin ang waring tabak
na nakabaon sa dibdib
na nagbura ng mga pangarap
parang tubig dagat sa mga inukit sa buhangin?
anong magagawa ng pagtaghoy
sa araw o sa gabi
ngayong wala ka na sa piling
may kaaliwan ba sa iyong ala-ala
di ba lalo lamang nangungulila?
kay daming pagsinta sana'y nabigkas
at narinig ng iyong tainga
at sa iyong puso'y nanahan
nguni't ang mga awit ko't tula
sino na ang makikinig?
TUE SDAY, APR IL 1 1, 2006
life inside life
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life inside life

by joel josol
i used to think that married life's a bliss

even with just your precious one
by your side day and night, night and day
for a year of days so sweet, for a year, yes
we can be whereever we want to be
anytime as both of us so pleasedbut then there are children everywhere
whereever we go, whenever we go
cute little bundles, that coo, wiggle, yes coo
there are toddlers that run here and there
little dolls with beautiful round eyes
that hug their moms and dadsand so life's a little different now
with only us two in the room
looks too quiet even with the radio on
and our souls quietly inquire of the same thing
'will we have our own cute little ones
to color our day?'until life found itself in life
and the laws of genetics worked its way
and a tiny little heart started to beat
and strong little legs stretched itself
and the days passed by quick
to complete our joy, our prideand i didn't mind, i really didn't mind
the shape of my precious one
bloated though she appeared then
i only saw life growing inside life
couldn't wait for the day this quiet room
will be filled with a new soundoh the cry of the newborn child
that filled every inch of the room
like fire alarm bells that wouldn't stop!
life has finally found life
and the world had never looked the same
ever again, for my precious and I.
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Dahli's Column cites my reply to her

Time misused
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------Replies to my Friday column on "Was Jesus dead 3 days from Wednesday
to Sunday? Or, 1-l/2 days from Friday sunset to dawn of Sunday?"
included Joel Josols (manoftruegod@gmail.com).
He writes that the "third night" is charged to Hebrew language framework
because in Jewish communal life, part of a day is, at times, reckoned as
one night.
"Three days and three nights included any part of the first day and the
whole of the following night; the next day and its night; and any part of the
succeeding or third day."
According to Luke, Jesus himself, said "Three days and three nights" not
"three days." Theres still a third night missing.
My reply to Mr. Josol of San Andres, Manila: In the case of the "Three days
and three nights," its okay if Luke is off by one night. Any sensible
Christian will accept and compromise on one missing night.
Can I bring this compromise to that abomination about women wearing
expensive genuine gold jewelry? Can the same compromise, as in the
missing one night, be applied if I wear cheap fake gold jewelry? Can this
compromise, as well, be charged to Hebrew language framework?
It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls,
career, and life itself got in the way. Jack moved clear across the country in
pursuit of his dreams with little time to think about the past. Hardly any
time to spend with his wife, son, mother.
Over the phone, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday."
Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly
remembering his childhood days. "Jack, did you hear me?" "Oh sorry,
Mom. Yes, I heard you. Im sorry, but I honestly thought he died years
ago," Jack said.
"Well, he didnt forget you. Every time hed reminisce about the many days
you spent over his side of the fence as he put it." "I loved that old house he
lived in," Jack said. "You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser
stepped in to make sure you had a mans influence in your life."
"Hes the one who taught me carpentry. I wouldnt be in this business if it
werent for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were
important...Mom, Ill be there for the funeral."
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Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belsers funeral was small
and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives
had passed away.
Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more
time. The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories.
Every picture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly.
"The box is gone." "What box?" Mom asked. "There was a small gold box
that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand
times what was inside. All hed ever tell me was its the thing I value most."
It was gone. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it. "Now
Ill never know what was so valuable to him."
Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox.
"Signature required on a package. Please stop by the main post office," the
note read.
Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. There inside was the gold
box and an envelope. "Upon my death, please forward this box and its
contents to Jack Bennett. Its the thing I valued most in my life."
A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his
eyes! Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful
gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched
casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved:
"Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser."
"The thing he valued most...was...MY time." Jack held the watch for a few
minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next
days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.
"I need some time to spend with my family."
Email address: dahli_a@yahoo.com
sigla
sigla
by joel josol
Ang buhay waring mahiwaga
Di matukoy kung paano o bakit
Sadyang may mga kaluluwang
Ang pagkanaririto'y sapat
Upang sigla sa atin ay ibalik
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Anopa't makita lang ang kanilang anyo

O marinig man lang ang kanilang tinig
Itong hapo ay inaalis.
Parang magandang awit ng pagsinta
Na inaaliw yaring dibdib
Parang yapos ng mga bata
Na gigil sa tuwa
Parang magandang larawan ng sinta
Na itinabi sa pitaka
Napapangiti man din
Sa kabila ng hapo at igting.
Salamat sa iyo di mo man pansin
Dalang ginhawa sa abang ito
Maliit man na biyaya tinanggap ko
Maging masaya yaman na rin
Bukas at kamakalawa kakayod pa rin
Kahit pahinga ay umigsi man din
Sigla sa dugo bumubukal pa rin
Dahil sa iyong magiliw na tingin.
Matamlay
matamlay
by joel josol
may nakapansin ba ng iyong malamlam na mata
na naglilihim ng mga kasaysayang hindi mabasa,
parang bughaw na langit na sa isang iglap
pinuno ng mga kulay-abong makakapal na ulap
sa gitna ng tanghaling tapat?
may nakapuna ba ng mga pilit na ngiti
sa mga labing may igting at nangungusap
hinggil sa mga hamong nakatago lang sa iyong dibdib,
parang malamig na simoy ng hangin na may dalang ulan
na ibig mong iwasan?
may nakapuna ba ng katawan mong hapo
nguni't pilit na kumakayod
sa bawa't bagong umagang dumarating
na sana naisip mo sa tuwi-tuwi na
maari bang tumigil muna?
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Tag-ulan
Tag-ulan
by joel josol
"Charlie, its over."
Bakit ka nagpaalam at nanlamig
ngayong tagulan man din
Sa buwan ng Mayo na laging
basa ng ulan ang lansangan
Dito pa sa Paseo Starbucks
Kung saan kitang-kita ng lahat
Ang aking pagbabagong-anyo
Pati capuccinong mainit sa kamay
Pumaso pa?
"Charlie, I'm sori, got to go na."
Tumayo ka na at ako'y iniwan
Ano pa bang masasabi
Di ako type na pumipigil?
Bumuhos na naman ang ulan
Sa salamin ay sumilip
Di makita dyipni, bus, at tao sa labas
Humahampas ang hangin
(Nainis sa sarili, ang aking payong kung bakit ko iniwan)
Si Bamboo umaawit sa aking tainga.
Sa paglagos niya sa pintuan
At humalo sa karamihan
Parang hiyas na nahulog sa pusali
Babawiin ko pa ba siyang muli?
Bakit naninikip ang dibdib at
Nagbabaga ang mga mata?
Buntong-hininga, isa pa
Isa pang muli
Baka guminhawa.
Tumahimik na ang tugtog sa tainga.
Di ko malay kung sa akin
Ay may tumitingin ba
Napako yata ako sa silya
Kung ilang oras di ko natantiya
Madilim na, nagsindi na mga ilaw
Sa mga poste ng Paseo
Tumigil na pala ang ulan
Masikip pa rin ang lansangan
Parang dibdib na naulila sa sinta.
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sana
sana
by joel josol
sana tulad ka ng araw sa langit
kahit na sa dapit-hapon
ay magtago ang iyong ningning
uupo pa ako sa tabi at pagmamasdan
ang paglisan mo hanggang magdilim
may ngiti pa sa labi dahil sa tuwa
alam ko sa kinabukasan
masusulyapan ka pang muli,
sana tulad ka ng araw sa langit
babangon pa ako ng maaga
upang abangan ang mga silahis
ng una mong liwanag
kahit na minsa'y kinukubli ng ilang alapaap
tatagos at tatagos ang iyong ningning
hanggang ito'y maluwalhati
sa malawak na langit,
nguni't sadyang sa buhay
mga pagbabago'y dumarating
ang akala mong masaya
na 'di makita ang kaniyang wakas
bukas lang pala ay mapuputol na
at walang alok na pagasa na magbabalik muli
upang palitan ang lumbay ng mata
ng saya sa aking labi
hindi tulad ng araw na kahit sa gabi
may dalang pangako para sa bukas
parang mga alon ng dagat
na hindi mo alam kung saan galing
narito ngayon mamaya ay naroon na
pinasaya ka ngayon
mga alon na may kislap
ng liwanag ng araw
nguni't sumandali lamang
hindi nagtatagal na parang halakhak
na biglang tumigil nanahimik
biglang naglaho ang masayang alaala
at muling natanto ang totoo
hindi na siya magbabalik
kailangan man na magbuntong-hininga
ang sana ay huli na.
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Wala na ang Daungan

This poem recollects the feelings of the second break-up I had with my
wife-to-be. We got reunited in the end of course and became my wife.
wala na ang daungan
by joel josol
nang sa iyong mata ako'y sumilip

ang magiliw mong mata
sana nakita kong naga-apoy,
nangangalit
(dahil pahiwatig sana ng pag-asa
kahit kaunting-kaunti)
nguni't bakit ko nasaid
ang iyong pagsinta
anopa't naging malamig
manhid?
ang puso kong naglayag
nadaya ng maling akala
na ika'y nariyan lang parang daungan
maghihintay sa bangkang namalakaya
gaano man katagal
ay nagitla sa kanyang pagbabalik
wala na ang daungan
saan siya nagpunta?
hagurin man ng mata
sa malayo malapit
wala na.
bakit nagawa sa magiliw mong mata
na dati-rati'y puno ng sigla
ngayo'y ginawang mistulang isang talon
ng luha na walang patid na umagos, bumuhos
sa mga dibdib mong di makapaniwala
sa pagsintang akala'y wagas
nguni't natatanaw na ang wakas
parang daungan sa bukang liwayway
na nagtampo
sa mga mangingisdang namalakaya
na nagpasya na mawalang parang bula?
gaano ba kasakim ang puso
upang hindi mamalayan
ang sakit na dulot sa pag-ibig
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na akala'y wagas?
sana'y hindi pa mag-wakas
sana'y mayroon pang bukas
sana ang daungan ay muling lumitaw
upang ang pusong naglayag
ay sa wakas dumaong at matiwasay
at ang talon ng luha ay matuyo
at ang sigla ng matang umiibig
ay magbalik.
THU RSDAY, MAR CH 1 6, 2006
'click'
This poem recollects the painful experience of a friend.
'click'
by joel josol
happy memories, sweet moments
erased like a whitemarker ink
with just one sound
'click'
all the promises,
the vow of togetherness forever
abruptly ended with a
'click'
i defied my wisdom
i surrendered to my heart
and get humiliated by a
'click'
i asked you forthrightly
do you love me still
and my receiver only heard a
'click'
i don't know why or howmy soul just wept for nights
over a hanged-up phone and a
'click'
Some People
some people
by joel josol
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some people are worth

a thousand smiles
for recharging our lives
with hope and luster
in what otherwise
looked like a drudgery
of a lifesome people are worth
a marathon run
for making us endure things
for testing the limits
of our strength, our patience
unknowingly made us
stronger in the endsome people are worth
our very lives
for having loved us
with no ifs or buts
for being around us
like dozens of cruisers
and destroyers at seasome people are worth
the sad good-byes
for bringing rainfall
in the summer of our lives
for the heartaches
we didn't need
and can do withoutsome people are worth
the songs and poetries
of this world
for allowing us to be human
to be frail and vulnerable
and best of all
remain a child at heart.
Ngiti
ngiti
by joel josol
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pilit ko man limutin at sa isip ay iwaksi

gawing abala ang sarili hanggang hapuin
sa higaan pilit pa ring sisingit ang larawan mong
parang liwanag ng bukas na ilaw sa isang silid
na sa kaniyang pintuan ay pilit na naglalagusan
paano lilimutin ang mga banayad na ngiti
kahit alagad ng sining ay di papalagpasin
at iguguhit sa kanyang kanvas
at sa tuwi-tuwina'y susuriin
hindi lamang ang likhang ginuhit
kundi lakip ang damdaming
nagtulak sa pagguhit?
parang Mona Lisa na tinatanaw ng madla
banayad na ngiti na sinuri ng madlaano ang nadama ng gumuhit sa kanya
sa harap niya na nagkaloob ng gayong saya?
buntung-hininga na lamang ang tugon
sa larawang gumuguhit sa isip;
paano kaya ito masusukol
at mailalarawan ng mga salitang
magpapa-unawa sa iba?
salamat na lamang sa gayong ngiti
ang paligid ay nagi-iba, kumukulay
na dati-rati ay abo at walang sigla
kahit na nagi-isa, at hapo na
isang ngiti sa aking mukha ay gumuhit din
parang baliw na may ngiti sa labi
at sa pangarap ay naglakbay,
nakalimot, at nahimbing.
THU RSDAY, MAR CH 09, 2006
Selsman Tok
selsman tok
by joel josol
alam mo ikaw na, di makakaila, di ba?
'heto na naman' ika mo sa sarili
naka-display sa projection screen
talaan ng kliyente mo at sa tabi nila
nakahanay maraming numero
iisang tanong lang naman ang sa tuwina'y
bibigyan mo ng liwanag, di ba?
(hindi ba nila alam isang linggo pa lang ang dumaan
hindi ko naman pedeng diktahan kliyente ko, di ba?
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kung talagang may mga pagbabago pa

kahit bagsak ko presyo di naman magbabago, di ba?)
pero wala ka namang sinabi
nilitanya mo lang sa sarili, di ba?
ok lang sana kung nakaraan mayroon kang benta
paano na nga ba istorya kung ganitong matumal ang benta?
(tatahimik na lang muna, trabaho na lang muna
takpan na lang ang tainga, ganyan talaga pag walang benta, di ba?)
matatapos na talaan mo, may na-commit ka ba?
hindi mo pa nasambit paboritong salita
sa halip litanya ng mga bakit hindi mo magawa
iyan ba sa akala mo ay papasa?
(wala ba diyang hulog ng langit na benta
para naman makahinga ka,
at sa quota mo sumama
'saved by the bell' ika nga)
malamang kung walang malaking benta
at ang buong quota hindi na maabot pa
mag-reorg ulit kaya? saan ka naman ka kaya mapupunta?
kung bagong trabaho tayo kaya ay maging masaya?
buti pa noong una, ang benta walang-patid
komisyon mo at bulsa ay masaya
di bale, giginhawa rin kung hindi dito
eh di sa iba.
TUE SDAY, MAR CH 07 , 2006
read my eyes - a poem for the disabled children

read my eyes
by joel josol
how do you say 'thank you'
if i only have my eyes to work for me
i am speechless
my tongue is cut-off
sorta from my brain?
your unconditional love
and undying hope
taught me how to spell love
in your a-b-c's:
how do you say 'i know'
if i only have eyes to work for me
i have useless hands
and arms that were cut-off
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sorta from my brain?

your language i can now discern
words from words
i speak to you in my head
in my heart:
how do you say 'i hurt'
if i only have my eyes to work for me
my legs can carry me from here to there
but my eyes and its tears
are the only window to my soul?
now, thank God, for technology
with my mouth I can punch a key
and let my soul pour out on the screen
the gates to my heart have opened
into the interior of my thoughts:
do I thank God for your patience
for your faith, for your love?
my face may have no expressions
save the eyes that God spared
it is a language unto itself
when you hug me
and I cant hug back in return
my eyes will do so for me
tears are my only tool
for you to value:
so, never, never, never
turn your back from me
always look into my eyes
read the rich thoughts that are in it
my endless thanks for having you.
SATUR DA Y, MARCH 04, 2006
Mga Tanong (Questions)

I wrote this poem to capture the pain of people who went through broken
marriages.
mga tanong
ni joel josol
paano nga ba tuturuan
ang puso na huwag nang maghintay
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sa isa na hindi na darating pa

sa mga yabag ng mga paa
na sa hagdanan ay hindi na muling
aakyat pa?
paano nga ba makikinig
ang puso upang itigil na
ang paglingon sa ulo ng hapag kainan
na dati-rati ay bahaging inupuan niya
umiinom ng mainit na kape
sa mga umagang sa iyo ay nagpasaya?
oo, nga, paano nga masasanay
ang puso na huwag nang gunitain pa
ang higaan na dati-rati ay nahigaan niya
na minsan ay inabot ka at ibinaling
ang iyong mukha sa kaniya
at tumitig ng marahan sa iyong mga mata?
paano nga ba ang puti ay naging itim
ang ngiti ay napalitan ng galit at luha
at ipaliwanag sa sarili ang pagsasamang
parang salaming lumagpak sa lupa
nabasag at sumambulat ang mga bubog
na susugat sa mga paang lalakad sa ibabaw niya?
paano nga ba puputulin ang bigkis
na nagdudugtong sa matatamis na mga alaala?
gugupitin na ba upang malimot na
ang isang kabanata sa buhay na parang
bangungot na dumating sa isa?
nguni't bakit wala pa ring patid ang luha?
Sibling Family Reunion 2006
In
the
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occassion of our 20th wedding anniversary, we had a happy reunion at a

private resort in Lipa City, Batangas.
In this reunion, the first-level cousins (children) finally saw each other.
This reunion also included the Ortegas including their children (first-level
cousins of my children).
TUE SDAY, FE BRU ARY 28 , 2006
Tender
tender
by joel josol
tearswhen they roll down

your lovely face
sends
alarm bells in me
pushing blood maddeningly
through my veins
bowed headyour lovely head

though crowned with silky black hair
beautiful like cascading waterfall
are lost in your gloom
my heart shares the melancholy
with you it sighs, yes, sighs again
sobswhen you groan,

you're a wounded soldier
fighting to live another day
i am here
for you my arms offer comfort
my tenderness strength
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trembling handsyour soft pale hands

are as always a pleasure to hold
even in their weakened state
i will be here
take my hands, tap its strength
and find the courage to wipe away the tears .
Earthly - Rated R Poem

Earthly
by joel josol
what could be so earthly
as to make our blood rush
like ferraris in a grand prix?
that tightens every fiber
in our muscles saturated with tension?
as to cause our heart
to pick up pace faster and faster
like a pregnant woman in labor pains
unrelieved 'til she gives birth to her child?
that voices shake in
broken utterances, inarticulate
panting for breath like a mountain hiker
who has climb to the heights?
what could be indeed so earthly
that even angels dare disobey
to partake of such pleasures
and condemn themselves
to eternal damnation?
At the Ninoy Aquino Monument
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After negotiations with police authorities, the rallyists were finally allowed
to converge at the Ninoy Aquino monument around 5:30pm.
Ayala People Power Day
While a failed coup and a national state of emergency is in progress, the

rallyists in Makati are at a stand-still with police forces.
You can see the police blockade in two rows in the far distance along Ayala.
At
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both ends, police forces block the way towards the corner of Ayala Avenue
and Paseo de Roxas.
THU RSDAY, FEBR UARY 23, 2006
A Poem for a Friend

thank you
by joel josol
thank you for your unselfish moments
that were like rain showers on a hot day
for enjoying the laughter of my youth unabashedly
as i was equally spellbound by yours
for being my older sister that i never had
thank you for the many light moments
you spent sharing your many love stories
on a young heart like mine
for opening the window of your heart
and letting me see the tears that you cried
thank you for the many pensive walks and small talks
you shared with me when the stars come out to shine
the many confusing choices that fell upon you
that fell upon me, choices we deferred
until the day of reckoning came upon us
thank you for being beautiful, a pleasure to the eyes
but more so for being strong in the face of sadness
forgive me for failing you, i wish i did better
and had seen the future so I could do right for you
thank you for forgiving me as your friend
thank you for the good news of your happiness
may it last forever for you and for me
though distant you are now in a foreign land
memories like ours don't fade away so easily
i shall think of you, as you will think of me.
WE DNE SDAY, FE BR UAR Y 22, 2006
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For the Moms in the world

you left before i could
by joel josol
i miss you
mom
whenever i am
happy
did run to
you
sought your warm
embrace
wasted your time
with my crazy
stories
i miss you
mom
whenever i am
sad
or lonely
did run to
you
rested my
head
on your shoulder
things then becamealright
i miss you
mom
whenever i felt like
returning
all the love you gave
me
all the million beautiful
things
you sharedyou know i would
but you left before
i could
i miss you
mom
whenever i felt like
saying
'thank you'
for standing up beside
me
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for the choices I

made
(though your heart
differed with
mine)you know i would
but you left before
i could.
why, oh, why

why, oh, why
by joel josol
why
my heart
oh, why
go
through
such
turbulence,
when
you've no power
to resist
the
inevitable?
why,
oh, why
begin a
journey
whose
roadways will
be
rough?
because
i long
to see
her
eyes
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looking at
minei yearn for
the sound
of her
speech
falling
sweetly
into
my
earsi crave
for
her company
no
matter
how
briefcan i
wake up
from
this
intoxication,
before i
spin
out of
control?
FR I DAY, FE BRUAR Y 1 7 , 2006
Woman
woman
by joel josol
i used to pride myself being logical
getting facts and numbers first
plus with critical thinking
isolate the truth from the heap
but, alas, with youi am ill equipped.
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i am used to working with formulas

with variables and unknowns
all that algebra and
rigorous thinking and well-defined processes
but, why with youI find no equation to define you!
i am used to uncertainty to a certain degree
with managed risks and plus-minus tolerances
that the damage might be containable
absorbable, recoverable
with you thoughyou are a question with many valid answers.
i am not used to work this way
without tools, equation or formula
why then do i love being unarmed
in a foreign, untried territory that is you
why, for good or badi let you test drive the limits of my sanity, my humanity.
MO NDA Y, FE BRUAR Y 13 , 2006
I Remember
i remember
by joel josol
i remember a school mate
taller, fairer and more handsome
who nursed a broken heart
he grew up in a family that split apart
living with his dad who was always out
nobody ever wanted him for a friend
i will never forget the look in his eyes
the loneliness and the pain...
i remember a childhood friend
fair and lovely and sweet
we spend many fine times together
had good laughs, lovely memories
but we grew up apart and parted wayswe kept our friendship over the years
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felt jealous with each other at times

though i don't know why...
i remember my best friend
with whom there were no secrets unshared
it was the music of the times that told our story
and we played our guitars until we laughed or cried
but one betrayal broke the tiei never thought that i'd see the day
after many summers and springs
i'd pick up my guitar again and play it with him...
i remember my Dad
while he was alive though distant as he was
the many voice tapes, parcels, and mails
that filled up for his lackunretrievable years, unretrievable years
all compressed in one moment of embrace
at the LAX terminal, before the gate opened
it was tight, i remembered well.
Lowly Poet
when you see my eyes sparkle
at the sight of you
please do not think ill of it
when you see a smile
break out naturally
please do not speak ill of it
sometimes i get confused
sometimes i get rattled
please do not misjudge it
i have neither evil
nor harm in my ways
i'm just a lowly poet
before his muse.
FR I DAY, FE BRUAR Y 1 0, 2006
Painful Heart
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painful heart buried and lost

in the thick storm clouds
its outcries lost in the sound of thunder
and washed out by the heavy rains
its anger mixed with lightning
flashing left and right here and there
its sorrow tossed by the winds
and it fell on the earth
unnoticed, ran over by
speeding cars on the highway
and blood splattered on the concrete
as the car radio blared
its joyful riders unaware.
WE DNE SDAY, FE BR UAR Y 08 , 2006
Little Joys
a pair of lovely eyes
a lovely smilefills an empty space
with many little joys
like drops of water
from an overcast sky
to a ground thirsty of the rain
so its flowers may bloom:
a gentle, sweet laughter
a graceful gait like a pretty picture one keeps
in some hidden book page
such are little joys
they are short and sweet
but priceless every time
nevertheless.
Ultra
doon daw sa Ultra, naroon ang pag-asa
walang gagawin kundi pumila, sa makalawa mayroon nang pera
doon daw sa Ultra, kunin na ang ticket ng pag-asa
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tiyak sa dami ng kuwarta, mayroon sa iyo na pagpapala

kaunting hirap lang, huwag ka nang aalis
pag-uwi mo kahirapan pansamantala maaalis
dito ka na lang sa Ultra, nandito ang pag-asa
sa may atin walang trabaho, walang makain, walang kuwarta
anak, kaunting tiis, huwag tayong aalis, baka masingitan
sa kamakalawa hindi na tayo uutang, baka tayo pa ang utangan
anak, tayo na, takbo na, tayo na sa pag-asaanong nangyari, anak, saan ka nagpuntainay, nasaan ka, tayo na sa Ultra, takbo na sa pagasaanong nangyari, inay, nasaan ka nainay, may natapakan akong mga tao sa aking pagtakbohindi ko muna pinansin, inisip ko pagasa natin, nguni't nasaan kahindi tayo maaring maiwan at maunahan ng iba
iisa lang ang nasa isip ko, makapasok sa Ultradoon daw sa Ultra, naroon ang pag-asa
walang gagawin kundi pumila, sa makalawa mayroon nang pera
oo nga, pila pila nakita ko, nguni't bangkay ng mga tao
oo nga, magkakapera, bigay mula sa Ultra, para sa mga namatay na tao
doon daw sa Ultra, kunin na ang ticket ng pag-asa
tiyak sa dami ng kuwarta, mayroon sa iyo na pagpapala
dito ka na lang sa Ultra, nandito ang pag-asa
sa may atin walang trabaho, walang makain, walang kuwarta
pagkatapos ng Ultra, may ticket o wala
mga patay hindi na magta-trabaho, hindi na kakain, pero may pera.
inay, hindi ko alam, hindi ko nakita, tumumba ka
paano na ako ngayon akala ko dito sa Ultra, nandito ang pag-asa.
TUE SDAY, FE BRU ARY 07 , 2006
Isang Araw
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Poetry
The last two months something has awakened in me- my passion for
poetry. My emotions were re-ignited again and the words started flowing
all over again. It is a nice feeling to be able to articulate things in a creative
way using visual images that appeal to the senses.
The poem "like a falling star" is actually a tribute to my muse who has
unknowingly ignited my imaginations. The piece "kailan" is a more painful
version of "like a falling star" while "what of it" is a snubbish reaction of
the same experience. The piece "what a lovely smile is like" is a more
positive version of the same experience.
I always wanted to write poems about work and the piece "Isang Araw" I
think has managed to do just that.
I also wanted to write something about my lovely wife and our marriage. I
am glad that I was able to write "Isabel", "Choice" and "Sweet Morning".
I intend to read some contemporary poetry written in modern format to
hone my skills some more.
THU RSDAY, FEBR UARY 02, 2006
Like a Falling Star

like a falling star you sped across my sky
painted my darkness with a brilliant light
before i've whispered any wishes of my heart
my evening sky has lost your shine
now I miss your streak across my sky
i waited for you night after night after night
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the heavens have changed and the clouds appear

now how can i ever see you again fall from the sky
but i thank you, i thank you from my heart
that in this brief life you strayed in my night sky
no one else knew, will ever know
the gladness that swelled in my heart
for having seen you, been with you
yes, to shine in my life
you may not speed again across my sky
but i have your star dusts in my heart.
TUE SDAY, JA NUARY 31 , 2006
Kailan (When?)
This is for the
broken-hearted.
FR I DAY, JANUAR Y 27 , 2006
Story of our married life

Sweet Morning
by Joel Josol
i remember the very first morning i woke up

when daylight flashed on you,
details getting clearer by the minute,
i stared at you patiently, lovingly
as you cling to the pillow in your sleep
a day after the wedding, it was a sweet morning.
i remember the many mornings i woke up
on a far away hotel bed, and i only have pillows
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to keep me warm and tight,

i felt your embrace, and your kiss
but my empty arms reminded me only of the loneliness
it could have been another sweet morning.
i remember the other mornings i woke up
when we slept without a good-night kiss,
i didn't want to speak, chose to remain quiet
and you couldn't stand those quiet nights
while i stood my ground, stubborn and proud
we lost what could have been a sweet morning.
i remember some mornings i woke up
to see your eye bags swelling for all the tears
you shed last night, bitter, disappointed, frustrated
the times we hated each other so bad
and told ourselves- this life we don't need
we just squandered what could have been a sweet morning.
i remember certain mornings i woke up
and paused to see where is this going
how can people who believed they love each other
end up hurting one another?
this morning i recalled what humility taught me
i made that morning, a different morning, a sweet morning.
i remember the very first morning i woke up
when my heart was ever ready to forgive
when my pride did not get in the way
when yielding was the strongest act
i saw the woman i married, loved, and cherished
this is a different morning- it is a sweet morning.
WE DNE SDAY, JANUAR Y 25 , 2006
What of it?
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Kings North and South in Daniel Prophecy

This chart should
help any Bible
student to
understand the
relationships
between the two
kings of Daniel
chapter 11.
SUNDAY, JANU ARY 1 5, 2006
Choice
I
wrote this in the occassion of our forthcoming 20th anniversary on Feb 15,
2006.
(Photo was taken from the US Coast Guard web site showing the Satori
boat that caught itself in a real storm in 1991.)
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Isabel
Poster Version of the Poem
Heat of Day
Clear and
cloudless skies
for miles and
miles with the
city smog above
the metropolis,
and you know it's
hot weather
outside.
This is quite a
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change after days

of overcast and
cool days.
WE DNE SDAY, JANUAR Y 1 1, 2006
Sunset by the Bay

Napakaromantic ng
scene na ito. I
wish I had a
better camera to
have gotten a
better pic.
TUE SDAY, JA NUARY 1 0, 2006
Rush of life
Take time to listen to the chirping of little birds in the morning
And with patience watch the dew gliding on the blades of leaves
And hold on a little to the warmth of a child's embrace ...
For life isn't realy about rushing
From one calendar item to another,
Time can't be just like money you budget to spend.
Life is about being here now and choosing to enjoy it
Though the birds little feet stand on a dilapidated window
And the blades of grass grow despite the garbage dump
And though the child's illness will cut its life shortYou will choose to hear the beautiful
And see the wonder of life
And feel the will to live.
Give out your smiles generously even to strangers
Hug your friends and hug them warmly
Say your 'i love yous' as often as you can
For in the rush of life
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The truly beautiful and profound are free.
THU RSDAY, JA NUARY 05 , 2006
What is a lovely smile like?

It is like the sunshine in the early morning
That breaks through and scatters the mist
In those nearby hills and mountains
Laying bare so much greenery with
The morning dew reflecting the early light
So beautifully.
It is like the early morning in the city
When sunlight breaks through the gaps
Of lined up skycrapers, and reflected
By the glass windows that face the light,
Lighting up the valley of what once were dark shadows
Wha a pleasant welcome to a lovely day.
It feels good. It feels warm inside.
It makes you smile yourself.
It makes you sigh. Life is good, and worth while.
You can survive another day.
You look up to heaven, and thank God
Even for one lovely smile thrown your way.
Fires One After The Other So Early in the Year

Late December
and early
January has
been seeing fires
all around the
metropolis.
Mostly hitting
the depressed
areas. Entire
communities of
shanties are
wiped out.
TUE SDAY, JA NUARY 03, 2006
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Back from Vacation

Well, I am back to work, and a pile of it. I hit the road literally running to
reduce the backlog. I guess back to the real world of deadlines.
MO NDA Y, D E CE MBE R 26, 2005
First Successful Remote Computer Demo (Korea)

Despite lacking
the Polycom
Sound Station
unit for audio
confe- rencing,
Skype saved the
day for
streaming audio
from Korea very
clearly.
The microphoneequipped IP
cameras allowed
the remote resource to hear audience feedback.
The remote computer equipment is streamed on the second projection
screen via the Korea IP camera.
At the end of the presentation, the customer requested to see the resource
person via the IP camera.
On the first projection screen, the virtualization demonstration was
projected as well via a remote VPN connection from a local tablet PC.
This is the sort of demonstrations expected from this Solution Demo
Corner facility.
Bethel Tour
It's a holiday. We
took advantage
of this break to
bring our Bible
students to the
local branch. As
other holidays,
the brothers
from the
provinces
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descended to the
local branch to
tour the place.
From this photograph, you can see the new residence building in the
background.
This is our tour

guide - Bro.
Corpuz from
Navotas.
Our group was

made up of three
sub-groups : (1)
the San Andres
group, (2) the
Bicol oldies, (3)
and the Payatas
group.
Enjoying our 13th Month Pay

We went to
Max's Fried
Chicken on Dec.
25, 2005 to enjoy
whatever was left
of my 13th
month pay.
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Bible Drama - Timothy

We recently
attended the
three-day annual
district
convention of
Jehovah's
Witnesses at the
Novaliches
Assembly Hall.
This three-day
convention with
the theme
"Godly Obedience" culminated with a Bible drama on the life of Timothy,
shown here by the photo being led by the apostle Paul for a private
discussion.
HP Presales Team
This is presently
the members of
the HP Presales
team. We were at
the home of
Karen who
hosted our
symposium
planning session.
No t visible in
this photo is
Ryan who is our
non-regular
employee doing
Config and Quote.
Don, who is our team leader, is at the far left, followed by myself, Karen,
and Jon. Karen does storage, Jon does ProLiants, and Don and I cover the
BCS servers.
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MO NDA Y, D E CE MBE R 05 , 2005
Childhood Friends
Through the
years....
SUNDAY, NOV EM BE R 27 , 2005
Teaching Urban Poor Young Folks God's Word

During
weekends, my
family and
myself share our
time helping
people change
their lives for the
better - by
anchoring it
around God.
Part of this work
is done in the railroad track where a community of families build shanties
as their homes. This young boy was one of the people who really thirst to
learn more about God by studying the Bible through Bible-based
publication. Although the space was terribly cramp, the space in this boy's
heart is big enough to accept divine teaching.
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Malarayat Teambuilding Site

Due to the new
organization
that came out
from the merger
of two divi- sions
in HP, we went
out to Malarayat
Country Club in
Lipa City in
Batangas.
TUE SDAY, NOV E MBE R 1 5, 2005
A New Room
A mini-theatre
project funded
by HP USA.
SUNDAY, NOV EM BE R 1 3, 2005
Preach the Kingdom

Jehovah's
Witnesses are
devoted to the
Christian task of
evange -lization.
They set aside
time for the
preaching work,
talking to people
in their
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neighborhood
every weekends
for most of them.
Young and old, men and women, share in this form of Christian giving.
Jehovah's Witnesses work in the neighborhood where they live. So most
people are already familiar with them. JW children meet their children in
the same school. JW mothers and wives meet mothers and wives in the
marketplace.
These candid
shots were taken
with a camera
phone via the
Motorola RAZR
V3 which
unobtru -sively
captured these
moments in the
Kingdom
preaching work
of Jehovah's
Witnesses.
These are scenes in the territory worked on by the San Andres
congregation of Jehovah's Witnesses in Manila, Philippines.
WE DNE SDAY, NOV E M BE R 09 , 2005
HP iPAQ hw6515 - my new communicator

This is the HP
issued phone
called the Mobile
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Messenger. This
allowed me to
sell of my Nokia
9300
Communicator
and generate
some badly
needed funds.
TUE SDAY, NOV E MBE R 08 , 2005
Black is Beautiful
Due to the
changed
financial
circumstances, I
have to sell off
my previous
business phone,
the Nokia 9300
Communicator.
The buyer paid
in cash and in
kind - a Motorola RAZR V2 phone. Now, I have to learn to use a new
phone.
Although I no longer have the Communicator but I got issued by my
company, a Pocket PC phone- the HP iPAQ hw6515. It now serves the
function of the Nokia 9300 Communicator.
Daniel Prophecy Workshop

These last four
weeks, I help
conduct Bible
study
preparations
workshop for the
weekly meetings
of Jehovah's
Witnesses. My
students are the
full-time
ministers of my
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congregation.
They will then help their families to apply the instructions found at pages
28-31 of the Benefit from the Theocratic Ministry School guide book.
WE DNE SDAY, NOV E M BE R 02, 2005
Sometimes Life
Sometimes Life
by Joel Josol
Sometimes life is like a road
Whose Exit signs we sometimes miss
And forces us to drive ahead
Looking for the next nearest exit.
Sometimes we thought that Exit is the one
Only to head back on the highway
Now we are lost, the next best move
Could be a a rest on some diner along the way.
Sometimes life is like a diner's place
Where we can slow down our pace
Look at our watch and notice
The lengthening shadow on the ground.
Sometimes life is like a map
Unconsulted, by a driver always in a hurry
That after wasting gas and time
Will pull over the side road to read the map.
Sometimes life is just about moving on
The roads we travelled
The exits we went through
The diner or side road where we once stopped.
Often times life is about being here now
Whereever it is, whenever it is.
We can only recall yesterday and
Dream about tomorrowBut, life here now
We can live
We can experience
We can share.
Dedicated to my sick friend, Mayick, whom I met at Mapua
Institute of Technology. She worshiped the same God as I do.
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Today, she is sick with cancer.

THU RSDAY, OCTO BE R 27 , 2005
Man Does Not Live by Bread Alone

Every Saturday, I
spend 3-4 hours,
to consume and
regurgitate
spiritual food.
This is also my
allocation for an
entire week of
preparation for
spiritual
activities.
As a Jehovah's
Witness, we have
five Bible study sessions in a week. There is small group Bible study that
discusses the prophecies of Daniel at this time. There is a school in the
mid-week where young and old is trained to talk to others or deliver a
speech before a big audience. And on weekends, we have a nearly an hour
of Bible discourse and a study of an article in the recent issue of the The
Watchtower magazine.
Goodbye SD-Camera
Here is my
SD-camera for
the MPx200
phone.
It is going as well
as part of the
disposal of the
Motorola
MPx200.
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WE DNE SDAY, OCTO BE R 19 , 2005
Gadgets
Here is the new look of my table with the new smartphone that I am using,
the Nokia 9300 smartphone, alongside my HP Tablet PC tc1100.
Good-bye Nikon FM SLR camera

In my youth, I have worked as a professional photographer. I covered
beautiful people (fashion), happy people (wedding), and our ordinary life
(documentary).
I am going to explore prosumer digital camera this time around, a step
forward from using just plain camera phones.
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SUNDAY, OCTOBE R 09 , 2005
Depression x4
Two disfellowshipped individuals got their disciplinary action. it turned
out that they already had depression which was something I was then
trying to comprehend. It is only of late that I got the full picture when two
people from my family caught it as well - my sister and my youngest
daughter.
The first two disfellowshipped but depressed people were crying for help. I
extended it to them. I gave them medicines. Asked them to see a
psychiatrist because it is treatable. It can't be overcome by just the force of
will. It is a disease.
Meanwhile, I am focused on my youngest. Keeping close monitoring of her
progress. There is so much to rejoice in every little step that she takes
towards recovery.
With the help of the medicines, she is now thinking straight. She no longer
hates Jehovah. She has taken the initiative to make friends. She now plans
for her future.
Her doctor is right. It is not productive to dig in the past and figure out
what led to this. What is important is what can we do to get on the way to
recovery.
In my own reflections, I wondered where I was amiss. I read
developmental psychology when these children were still in their mother's
womb. I taught them their ABCs as little kids. I played with them a lot. I
taught them the Word of God. I was sensitive with the influences of people
around them. But, I guess, the psychiatrist is correct. Focus on moving on,
and improving the environment to pave the way for recovery.
May our loving heavenly Father bless our efforts toward this direction.
And may he have mercy on those who have to deal with this as they repair
their relationship with Him.
Good-bye Motorola MPx200

The Windows
smartphone,
Motorola
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MPX200 has
served me well
for the last year.
Its SD camera
allowed me to
capture some of
the places I have
been.
But, with the
new Nokia 9300 Communicator, with its own small form factor, I no
longer need a second phone that is small and perfect for weekends.
The time has come to retire a good old friend who served my needs well.
I will be
camera-less for a
while. Hopefully
I will be able to
trade this phone
with a 3MP
digicam one of
these days.
A Better Smartphone for Me

After using the
Nokia 9500
Communicator
for a while. I
realized that the
reason for
purchasing it
over the Nokia
9300
Communicator is
not utilized a lot
- camera and
WiFi.
So, I found someone who was willing to exchange his Nokia 9300 with my
Nokia 9500. He should be happy because the retail price of my unit is
higher than his.
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But for me the Nokia 9300 value is higher subjectively because of its slim
and light factor.
For the first time in the year after upgrading to the PalmOne Treo 650, I
am finally happy with my smartphone.
TUE SDAY, OCTO BE R 04 , 2005
My Business Phone Today

The
Communicator is
my best friend in
the field. It is like
a laptop that can
carry my Office
files, viewable
and editable at
the phone.
MO NDA Y, SE P TE M BE R 26 , 2005
The King and His Sons

-manoftruegod
Dedicated to my youngest daugher, Michelle.
There was a kind king in a far away land,
With princely sons to inherit the kingdom.
He ruled a prosperous kingdom with a peace so grand
A dominion where there is neither darkness nor gloom.
Everyone lived their happy lives,
And it seems to be for all eternity
When one day came forth a son, a prince,
Which will forever change the kingdom's destiny.
This son grew up, mighty and princely
Just like the princes before him
His wisdom fit for a prince
And his strength ever increasing.
Alas, one day, the kingdom lost its peace
When this son, with pride and ambition so strong
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Demanded the kingdom, the kingship, not the least

This prince was an unknown approaching dark storm.
Will the king be as wise as he is strong?
The whole kingdom as one man observed eagerly
What will happen with the rebel son gone wrong,
The loyal army awaits the king's decree.
Is the king unfit as the prince asserted
That his kingdom should be taken away from him?
Who will stand up for the king and claim
His rule was just and right for him?
With one bold stroke, with the king's word
The prideful prince would have fallen
The army would have wiped him out by their sword
To allow peace to return to the land.
Truly wise is the king and just his ways
He knew that death swiftly can remove his rebel son
But his sullied reputation would stay
Others might follow and rebel like his son had done.
To this he decreed once and for all
Everyone in his kingdom must decide
Stand by their king or with the rebel prince son fall
Who he granted time, to prove their gripe.
Alas, try with their might, as time ran out
The rebel prince could not his case confirm
But surely suffering he did bring, peace blotted out
Will he repent, this rebel son? Remains to be seen.
The day has finally come at last
The king summoned everyone, his army ready
With righteous indignation in his heart
And a sword unsheated and ready.
His heart goes out to his loyal ones
Who under pressure did not give out
Who chose to be with his loyal sons
For these loved their king, loved him without a doubt.
The loyal ones are happy that they chose to be
For nothing good has come out from the rebel one
He only caused so much pain and misery
And smeared the clean name of the Righteous One.
His army went forth, and with all their might
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Routed the rebel son, death claimed all his forces

While people in the kingdom rejoiced
"Thank you," to the king they raised their voice.
The sun shone again on a different day
When the kingdom in peace and harmony
Has once more ruled the day
The pain and suffering of yesterday now a memory.
The remaining sons, princes of the kingdom
Gave obeisance to the wise and just king
Who didn't deserve the painful lie and all the gloom
Neither did his loyal subjects with their own suffering.
Now, happiness, like a budding plant has grown
As the sun shone brilliantly across the land
While the king sat on his lofty throne,
Ruling with justice and a lasting peace so grand.
THU RSDAY, SE PTE M BE R 22, 2005
Annual PE Accomplished
I have finally completed my physical examination for the year. I compelled
myself to when my blood pressure shot up to 130/80 for the first time. I
am now waiting for the results.
MO NDA Y, SE P TE M BE R 1 9, 2005
September Morn'
It's September and the sores are back as scheduled. But I manage to give a
public talk at Jared's congregation in BF Paranaque Tagalog.
FR I DAY, SE P TE MBE R 1 6, 2005
Jesus and the Super Heroes

Dedicated to my youngest daughter.
Jesus came from an unreachable universe far away

Where even Superman's speed or The Flash would look slow
Because they don't fly from here to there
But in an instant, faster than light can travel,
Appear in the here and now.
Jesus can come through walls built with bricks
Not just turn invisible like Wonder Woman
but really appear and reappear in an instant.
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He doesn't have to use a rope to get the truth out

He knows, he knows.
Jesus walked the water amidst a storm
And he can calm them down, nature obeying
An act probably Aquaman can't do.
He can also remotely ask a fish
To bring a coin to his friend.
Jesus was close to people, he didn't hide
In any cave like Batman or Robin would.
Jesus had a voice so powerful
His enemies would fall back from hearing it.
Which Super Hero would die for you
So that you may live eternally?
Only the true and genuine super heroJesus.
THU RSDAY, SE PTE M BE R 15 , 2005
Friendsters
I think I am going to try this one. I have just asked my youngest to invite
me :-)
MO NDA Y, SE P TE M BE R 1 2, 2005
Journey to the Unknown

Teen-aged years are supposedly the happy years. But, this is not happening
to my youngest, most intelligent, pretty young girl. As soon as she stepped
into age 13, fear of school came down upon her. An A student who wrote
novels and short stories for a hobby is suddenly crippled by a mental
disease. She was diagnosed with major depression with some psychosis.
She is living normally after couple of months of medication, Olanzapine.
But despite trying to come back to school, in the new school year, the
struggle came back.
She is now taking Zoloft. We have to wait for three weeks to see any
positive development.
It's a pain in the heart for a parent like me. My only weapon is to secure
wisdom, wisdom from above. As I journey this landscape, I feel like a
driver with no head lights or fog light. There is only darkness as the car
continues to speed on the road. My prayer is to have the lights turned on
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on my path.
My daughter has come to dislike God. She believes that if God were really
all wise and all powerful, God would not allow this. To her it is
incompatible for God to be all wise and all powerful and have all this pain.
Tonight we remember Job. We read Job.
FR I DAY, SE P TE MBE R 09, 2005
Fascination with smartphones

It all started with the Ericsson R380e.
I waited and waited. It was to be my
very first smartphone. But SONY and
ERICSSON merged and the product
was killed.
Frustrated, I searched for another
smartphone. And at the time, the other serious provider was NOKIA. I got
their colored Nokia 9210 Communicator line.
I was happy because it was a lot better than the R380e. It has Office
applications and Email.
The Nokia 9210

was like a tiny
laptop. It was a
large phone
compared to the
regular ones. But
it was very useful
to me. I was able
to actually bring
my work with me on this phone.
The only drawback was that it did not have GPRS. A speedy medium for
getting and sending files from the Net. I have to dial in or call a regular
phone number to connect to the Net or our Corporate Email.
Over time this medium of connection and its large size made me unhappy
with it. Then came the Treo 270 Communicator from HANDSPRING. This
line still have a keyboard and GPRS but a lot smaller than the Nokia 9210.
It was small and thin and light. Complete opposite of the Nokia 9210.
The Treo 270 was different because it has so
many free applications available with it. And
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that's because it is Palm OS-based smartphone.

It didn't have a smart memory card but it had
enough memory to hold my files.
Handspring would later be bought by PALMONE. One year later, a new
phone was introduced. This time, PalmOne removed the flip lid and
reduced the width of the Treo. The next generation Treo was an
innovation.
Of all the smartphones I actually leveraged a lot is this
PalmOne Treo 600 Communicator. I didn't just put my job
on it. I was able to use its camera extensively and use it to
document my ordinary life. I also used the SD memory card
to listen to MP3s. It's my second smartphone that looked
like a phone.
PalmOne then released the upgrade of the PalmOne Treo 650 just in time
as my plan expired. It was a lot better. High-res screen. Better camera.
Bundled Office software. Two days after availing of this unit, I broke the
screen! Arggghh!
But, I was able to get a replacement. Whew!
However, with all the nice and improved
features, the sound quality was not as
good as the Treo 600. I couldn't wait
forever and stay with this phone. Although
I was able to bring this phone and use its
camera and video extensively in my
travels.
Then NOKIA came around with the Nokia
9500 Communicator - a little thinner, a
litte lighter, and a little shorter than the
Nokia 9210.
This Nokia
Communicator has GPRS this time around. It

has camera too. It has video recording and MP3 playing just like the Treo.
It has Office just as it was before.
So, I offered my Treo for a trade-in for the Nokia. Somebody from the
Office of the President had a Nokia but wanted a Treo. We agreed to meet
and exchanged phones. Just like that. No cash out.
Now, I am presently using the Nokia 9500 Communicator.
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However, the mix of keyboard, screen

form factor, software, and utility is
evolving. Next year, I am looking at a
Windows Pocket PC phone. I haven't
used one for years despite the various
models that came around. But this one
model struck me - the Qtek 9100, also
known as imate K-Jam, also known as
XDA S.
WE DNE SDAY, AUGU ST 31 , 2005
SAP
There is an uptrend in the SAP installed base and as an HP technical
consultant focused on SAP, this contributes to high workload for the past
weeks. I am hoping that this translates to good business for HP. With the
rise of the price of oil in the world market, it is interesting to see whether
those budgets will be spent or conserved.
My First Note to Randy David

I read with keen interest this musing of yours with respect the poor among
us. I share your sense of indignation over such injustice.
Although I work full-time (where I get my pay), I am also an active
volunteer Christian minister. I work with the poor. Last summer, I spent
nearly 50 hours with them. Some of them live along the railways, on a
small, makeshift room. Some of them on the tall so-called low-cost housing
tenements built during the Ramos era(?) along the hi-way. Some of them
manage to keep their small home clean (if you can call such square space
home). Sometimes they don't have anything to eat, not even water to
drink. Each one that I met has their own heroic stories of struggle to
survive.
Our mission is primarily to give them hope, something to live for,
something that they can use to give themselves dignity, and to value their
integrity. Material support is incidental. Some of the Filipino poor believe.
They make the necesssary changes to make life more livable. They
discontinue their vices for one. They find wholesome work. They don't sell
their integrity and dignity. As a result, they become part of a network of
believers who will help each other survive with God's grace.
Sadly, other Filipinos have been cultured in the dole-out system.
Politicians have nurtured this. Even religious groups have nurtured this.
And many of the poor have learned to find such generous providers and
strike a dependence on such arrangements while they last.
Here, I distinguish who among the poor to help. Those who don't have the
guts to help themselves, by living a more purposeful Christian life, but
would rather rely on whoever will generously distribute dole-outs, I
withdraw my assistance.
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In my work with the poor, I teach them what the Christian hope offers: it
helps us cope and deal with the present while offering a brighter future.
The better future is not through any politician or would-be human Messiah
or any political man-made system. The founder of Christianity taught
about a government God would use to replace all human governments. He
called it the Kingdom of God. That agency would transform this Earth back
to its original state called Paradise. And we are living at a period of time
that the founder of Christianity described as a period of change leading to
the establishment of that government on earth.
Some of the poor believed. They have recognized that living a Christian life
has practical benefits today, while they await for the lasting solution by
God's government. They are no longer hopeless, or helpless, or worthless.
They regained their dignity. They even have the courage to do a like
mission and knock on a rich man's door with a message of hope. No, they
are not asking for our alms. They are on your doorstep offering hope.
Joel Josol
One Theme
I sent another note to Randy David as a follow-through note:
I hope that you find this note worth your while if only to widen your
perspective with just one more angle of discussion.
The proposition that I shared with you as presented in my previous note
that divine intervention is the only guaranteed solution to a structural
change that will bring forth a just and prosperous society rather than
human means or methods is way radical for humanist thinkers.
With this note I would like to share two things: 1) what divine
internvention is not, and 2) what it is.
1. Let me clarify what divine intervention is not.
Diviine intervention is not through religion or religious representatives
minding the political business. Neither is it through religious
representatives presenting themselves as a viable political option. Neither
is it through clergy-theocracy either direct or indirect as it once was in
Latin America and is the model in some Islamic countries.
The first one contradicts the "separation" doctrine by the founder of
Christianity himself. "They are no part of the world*", Jesus himself stated.
Other Bible versions render it "do not belong to the world".
The second one contradicts Jesus rejection of political power himself. I
raised this point last time that when the Jews were to "take him by force
and make him king**", he disassociated himself from the initiative.
Given the above fundamentals, the third one contradicts both.
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2. To be able to appreciate what divine intervention here means, is to

accept some fundamental concepts first and for sake of brevity accept
them as valid for now.
For the sake of this note, let us call this the theory of divine sovereignty.
The Bible opens up with man under the sovereignty of God. With God as
direct Ruler, or Theocrat, man is subject to His direction. This presumes
that God as sovereign is the best form of human administration. It is only
to the lasting benefit of man to stay under such authority. Next thing we
know, an angel of God, driven by selfishness (let us assume that angels
exist and God exist for this dialogue to be viable), orchestrates a sort of
coup de'tat.
The rightfulness of God's sovereignty was challenged. The idea that man
can become like God was too strong an incentive for the first human pair.
The resulting rebellion not only led to human independence from direct
God-rule but allowed man to establish through experiments over time
forms of human governance.
3. Conclusion
Now, will God forever allow such a situation and not clear himself before
all intelligent creation? Why, even human presidents will do everything to
protect their hold on power! The Bible now unfolds a theme of how God
purposed to clear himself and at the same time bail mankind who choose
to uphold his sovereignty.
He used Israel as a typical divine government. According to the Mosaic
Law, the true Authority in the kingdom was God, Yahweh or Jehovah.
Human kings sit on "Yahweh's sovereign throne+". This kingdom, God
allowed to be overthrowned by Babylonians and will not be restored until
the designated true heir comes. Of course, Jesus, presented himself as this
heir. Even angels declared this in his birth. Angel Gabriel said that God
"will give Jesus the throne of his ancestor David++". Not only is our Lord
Jesus the designated Kingdom administrator but also the agent of
salvation of men by his sacrificial death (a'la two birds in one stone).
Now, in the last book of the Bible, to confirm this one theme - restoration
of divine sovereignty with the resulting benefit of man's salvation- we are
presented with this picture
"The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord (referring
to the Father) and his Christ, and he will reign forever and ever.#"
In the near future, we will witness God directly managing affairs on earth
again with his sovereignty restored and vindicated. This is the divine
intervention I was talking about, Randy.
Of course, it rests on many things - that God exists, that the Bible is really
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from God, and its contents are truly divine. If it can be asserted that all of
these are true, then the theory of divine sovereignty and its implications
are no longer just for intellectual exercise.
* John chapter 17 verse 16
** John chapter 6 verse 19
+ 1 Chronicle 28 verse 5
++ Luke chapter 1 verses 32 and 33
# Apocalypse chapter 11 verse 15
Oh, Big Brother!

In an effort to recover rating leadership, a local broadcasting company,
ABS-CBN 2, has introduced a reality TV show called 'Big Brother'. The
audience play the role of voyeurs looking at and enjoying the ordinary life
of people and their well built bodies. It sucks. Only confirmed voyeurs
would enjoy watching such programs.
SATUR DA Y, AU GUST 27 , 2005
What can this do?
A Week of Late Nights

I never thought I would return to this routine. But, after spending nearly a
week in KL, my backlog piled up and no one else can fix it but myself.
Hence, upon return to Manila, it took me a week and late nights to clear it
all up. This week I expect to see a normal week to return. Arggh!
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PonteFino Hotel in Batangas City

Before I went to
KL, the presales
technical team
and its technical
partners went
over to Batangas
City in the midst
of the typhoon
and conducted
the presales
symposium.
A Week Off The Net in KL

I spent nearly a week in KL, stuck in the Palace of the Golden Horses. I was
assigned a room with no broadband or even dial-up access for Internet. My
security access card did not work this time around.
I did not bring my Nokia 9500 with me and instead brought my Moto
MPx200. No camera. I wasn't able to capture the beauty of the place. Too
bad.
And all I have to comfort me is the cable TV and Nasi Goreng.
Reaction to Inquirer's Randy David on his article

"Change"
I have decided to write you again a short note on your article about change
- in the context of the political crisis that is going on, but from a strictly
religious point of view.
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Christians during the first two hundred years of our Common Era were
deemed subversive against the established order. How would a Roman
political leader interpret for example the letter of Paul to the Christians in
Rome advocating that Christians "do not model [their] behavior on the
contemporary world, but let the renewing of [their] minds transform
[them]" (Letter to the Romans chapter 12 verse 2, The New Jerusalem
Bible) Christians were advocating change aggressively; first, themselves as
individuals and second, society as a group.
It is noteworthy that the apostle Paul here used the Greek word
metamorphose.
There is one significant way that Christians introduce change: dropping
their loyalty to human governments and advocating change by hoping for
the realization of the Messianic Kingdom to transform the world. The
apostle Peter steadfast stance before the Jewish Sanhedrin reflects such
Christian position: "Obedience to God comes before obedience to men."
(Acts of the Apostles chapter 5 verse 29)
Neither Jesus nor the apostles nor the Christians of the first two centuries
advocated systemic change within their contemporary world with them
being instruments of structural system change. Jesus did not criticize
Roman governance or advocated their withdrawal in Palestine due to its
immorality. He, in fact, even supported the payment of taxes. Radical Jews
who opted for change through violent means were disappointed cleary
with Jesus. When the Jews tried to make Jesus himself their political
leader through people power, Jesus abondoned them to themselves.
"Jesus, as he realised they were about to come and take him by force and
make him king, fled back to the hills alone." (Gospel of John chapter 6
verse 15)
The Christian stance was to advocate change in the individual while
cooperating without compromising their principles in the contemporary
world. Positive and lasting change in the world system will not happen
through them minding the business of the contemporary world. But their
Master instructed them to evangelize about the instrument of system
change - the Kingdom of God.
The ancient prophet Daniel (although many in recent times have appeared
to discount Daniel's writings only to be refuted) and corroborated by the
apostle John in his last book Apocalypse foretold the final state of affairs
for all political regimes: "In the days of those kings, the God of heaven will
setup a kingdom which will never be destroyed, and this kingdom will not
pass into the hands of another race; it will shatter and absorb all the
previous kingdoms and it itself will last forever." (Daniel chatper 2 verse
44)
In that chapter in Daniel's book, the political regimes of the earth were
represented by a huge image of a man made of various metals. A piece of
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stone from a heavenly mountain came down to hit that image at its feet,
shattering it to pieces. That stone became a mountain covering the earth.
The above verse was Daniel's explanation.
Systemic change, yes. But not through human means or intervention. The
Jewish elite and the Roman political system did not get this and were
threatened by this teaching. Believing in such a possible change were
considered subversive.
Interestingly, communist rebels who have heard this message thought this
message evangelized by Jehovah's Witnesses about a violent change in the
political system were same as theirs. It is not. The clergy during the
Marcos era who heard this message from us cautioned us that Marcos will
frown at a minimum on such a message. Well, Hitler and Stalin just like
the Roman emperors dislike this gospel so much that they threw its
messengers in the concentration camps and Siberia.
With so much advocacy for change in various disparate ways, I hope that
this message isolate the true biblical message on change.
Some Good News

Let's side track for a while from my ordinary life and trivial events that
happen in it. Everything in the world these days if you look at it from the
point of view of news - radio, television, news paper and web site front
pages- is about some folks dying or killed. Killed either by terrorism,
disease epidemic, and/or by plain criminals or selfish individuals. Some
die by the thousands because of pure neglect by their governments. In the
Philippines, it happened several times along the countryside stripped of
trees. Flash floods just kill thousands of families along the way with their
houses swept to the open sea. Or large overcrowded boats that capsize in
the night.
No wonder that many people frustrated with changing the system think
only of fending for themselves. There is no good news, or even hope of
anything good.
Well, the truth is, there is some good news.
Selfish, corrupt political systems will be destroyed. Selfish, incorrigible,
and wicked criminals will be destroyed. The Earth's beauty will be
restored. A caring humanity will rise in the ashes of destroyed selfish men.
Is this Utopia? No.
Whether you believe in Jesus or not, he described the current state of
affairs long ago. He described the selfishness, the wars, tragedies and
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pestilence that will happen globally. He described that people will be filled
with fear due to the uncertainty of the future.
His followers described this time as "the last days". The time when the four
horsemen of the Apocalypse will be riding fast and furious.
Where is the good news in that? The good news is that these events taken
together herald the approaching time when the government put up for
Jesus, called in the Bible, as Kingdom of God, will replace human rulership
or man-made governments.
If you have time to read the Bible, just to satisfy your curiousity, check
Daniel chapter 2 verse 44. Then, go on, and turn your Bible in Revelation
chapter 11 verse 15. There you will read God's purpose for removing
man-made governments.
Jesus provides the historical context of when this is going to happen in his
discourse in Matthew chapter 24 verses 1 to 8.
The good news is that human rulership will give way to God's Kingdom
government. What does the Kingdom promise to do? When Jesus was on
earth, he raised the dead, fed the hungry, cured the sick, and taught people
godly values. All of that were just small demonstration of what he could do
for us when this Earth is converted into a global Paradise.
If you wanted to know more about this but don't have the time, you can go
to this web site and study this subject on your own pace http://www.watchtower.org/library/rq/index.htm
There are many online Bibles. One of them is here - http://watchtower.org
/bible/
Sign of the Times

I was at the
Philippine Stock
Exchange lobby
in Ayala Avenue
when this
directory got my
attention.
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FR I DAY, AUGU ST 05, 2005
Umbrellas
I was on my way
back from a
customer call
when the rains
poured heavily
on the street and
people start
using their
umbrellas.
This is a
snapshot of one
scene near our
offices.
A Gloomy Office in a Rainy Day

No sunlight.
Grey skies. The
fluorescent
lamps at their
brightest.
Robinson's Summit Back Entrance

A trivial scene on
a rainy day.
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Rains Have Returned

Somewhere else a typhoon is
battering that country.
However, in the Philippines,
"hanging habagat" is pulling in
the rains from the tail of the
typhoon leading to lots of rain.
It's time to bring the
umbrellas, jackets, and those
water-proof bags again.
TUE SDAY, AUGUST 02, 2005
City Street in Daylight

This is how
narrow
residential
streets are in San
Andres. I was
taking a cab and
I thought of
taking snapshot
of the way.
This is the
national road
inside San
Andres or main throughfare.
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We are finally in the commercial district of the City of Makati with the
famous intersection of Gil Puyat and Ayala Avenues. Another trivial event
in my life.
MO NDA Y, AU GUST 01, 2005
Not Abstract Art, It's the Rain Again

Just as I was
ready to go
home, the rains
have come. And
what happens
next? Traffic
jam. I spent
nearly 45
minutes on a
short stretch of
road in the
corner of Valero
Street turning
left towards Makati Sports Plaza.
Muscle Spasms
Because of the
recurrence of my
muscle spasms
along the leg and
shoulder, I now
really need to
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undergo physical
therapy. My first
session started
today and will
complete this
weekend.
SUNDAY, JU LY 31 , 2005
Saint Luke's Medical Center

With a different
project, I find
myself visiting
another hospital.
And the
ambience is
completely
different from
the newly built
hospital Medical
City.
The lobby
though is much improved compared with Makati Medical Center which is
reportedly experiencing financial troubles.
A Trivial Path
This is the covered parking
area. I just felt I need to take a
snapshot of this insignificant
moment in my life.
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The New Medical City

I visited this hospital as part of
a customer engagement. And it
looks very good. The place
looks like a hotel. This is the
lobby of the hospital. PGMA
was here when we came by the
way to visit her daughter.
WE DNE SDAY, JULY 27 , 2005
People from the Past, and Growing Old

Lately, I have been meeting people that have touched my life from way
back, say 20 years.
Who would have thought that friends and acquaintances would just pour
back into your life one after the other?
There is Larry from my Mapua days. We lost touched but I tried hard to
find a connection through people he and I met. Well, finally, through the
wonders of technology I got a message from him. And it includes a video to
boot. Tumaba ka Larry! Well, hindi lang ikaw.
There is another colleague I worked with in an office in Cubao who first
recognized me and called me by name. What an embarassment that I
couldn't recall her name. I probably did not changed much over 20 years
for her to recognize me quickly. So was she.
Then, in one wedding of one of my friends that I attended, I met another
old friend from my youth.
Then, I finally found another friend who I tried to track over the years how
she is doing- Mayick. She is sick right now. She is fighting a big battle
where she needed all the strength, energy of will, and faith that she can
count on.
I must be growing really old now for all this to happen at this juncture of
my life.
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SUNDAY, JU LY 24, 2005
Home Along Da Riles

This is part of our preaching
territory. Hiding behind the
decrepit high-rise low-cost
tenements for the poor are the
poorer folks of the community
and their shanties. These
makeshift huts lie along the
railroad track.
Residents put linolium over
the dirt floor. They have no
restroom. They tap electricity
directly from the electric posts.
They get water from artesian
wells.
SUNDAY, JU LY 17 , 2005
Family PC for the kids

This is more like
an extended
stereo than a
device for word
processing and
spreadsheets. I
have to move out
the MP3s and
videos onto a
USB disk so this
PC can still
function for
other things. It is also an XP Home.
Gadgets for Home and Work

This week, I had
the problem of
the XP Home not
allowing anyone,
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including the
administrator to
logon, on my
personal
Presario
Notebook. I was
forced to
reinstall XP Home, using my licensed XP Home media but using the
product key pasted underneath the unit.
Good thing I was able to copy some of the files on my HP-issued Tablet PC.
The reinstall allowed me to secure the unit by keeping up to date with the
recent patches and removing extra unused software, especially,
peer-to-peer softwares. My kids have come to appreciate the principle of
intellectual property.
Another Day, Another Week is Done

I seldom see the
sun set in the
office as I usually
make it a point
to leave for home
by 5:30pm. But,
recently due to
an increase in
work load I get
the chance to see
this one another precious
moment for my camera phone.
Most of the pics recently in my blogs are from the Nokia 9500
Communicator as someone from the Office of the President agreed to swap
his Nokia with my PalmOne Treo.
WE DNE SDAY, JULY 1 3, 2005
Work from Home

As the rally is building up in Ayala, HP employees were instructed to work
from home. Kaya lang ako was asked to meet customers in Ortigas. Kaya
labas din ako ng bahay. Sayang, wala akong shot ng bagong rally para may
comparison sana.
On my way home, I was able to witness sa taxi cab driver about the real
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hope of all humanity. Naku sanay pala sa balitaktakan iyong driver, alam
ang mga teachings natin. Hindi ko siya pinatulan. I stuck to my objective
to preach about the Kingdom.
Yellow Day
The rally today
looks different
from last week's
consisting of
leftists and
recruited poor.
This early, we
see a large group
from the Eddie
Villanueva JIL
group. He lost
the in the last
elections.
The Smog is Back

The air is really
bad across
Metro-Manila
that rains alone
cannot dispel all
the dust that the
polluted air cling
on to. One can
see the smog
from the
distance.
Deserted
Roads were
blocked.
Commuters have
to walk on the
deserted Ayala
Avenue.
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Red Day
A handful of
people, mostly
leftists and from
the recruited
poor, gathered at
the corner of
Paseo and Ayala
last Friday.
Darkness and Gloom Descended on the Land

No, it's not an eclipse. It's the
rain clouds with heavy rains
approaching.
Rain, Rain Don't Go Away

It's a really,
really nice break
to have the rains
now almost
everyday. And it
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causes people to
disperse if they
are in rallies. I
am sure some
folks hate it
when it rains like
this.
FR I DAY, JULY 08 , 2005
New Office
We have finally
moved in our
new office. It
looks a lot
spacious, comfy,
and with the new
clean desk
policy, very
professional
looking. It makes
you want to
come report for
work.
The Rains Have Come

It's rainy season
finally in the
Philippines. This
has offered a
nice break from
the terrible heat
of the last dry
summer season.
SATUR DA Y, JUL Y 02, 2005
Jehoiakim's 11 Years as King

Gumamit ng
visual aid. That's
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the recent
exhortation to
make our
teaching more
effective. This
chart should
make the next
CBS session
easier to appreciate and understand.
WE DNE SDAY, JUNE 29, 2005
You can see here the smog from the skyline of Makati. Even after the rains,
the smog remains. You can see the Manila Bay at the horizon.
Work from Home

Well, here we are in the second week of renovation. No permanent place at
the office. I realized that even when you are at home, when you have so
much workload, you can't even lie down and enjoy a siesta especially if
folks are bugging you every now and then.
At least I can wear sando and shorts :-)
SUNDAY, JU NE 26 , 2005
First Public Talks After a Long While

Thanks to the loving-kindness of our heavenly Father Jehovah, I was able
to deliver two public talks in one afternoon at two Marikina congregations
- Dela Pena and Sumulong. It has been quite a while after the sores
scourge of one month.
SATUR DA Y, JUNE 25 , 2005
Resumption of my Saturday ministry

I am happy that I have gone back to my old routine, visiting my Bible
students, and teaching them Biblical values. The van was of great help
since I am still limping a little bit. It allowed me to visit students from
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different locations.
This is our home today after the repairs and renovation.

The residential tenement buildings for the poor along the railroad track.
We work this area to help people value Bible education.
The view of the Ayala-Paseo de Roxas intersection from our 20th Floor
conference room.
Renovating 37th Floor

The renovation going on in the HP offices has reached our floor. So now
we have been moved to the 34th Floor. My group has only one seat in the
34th Floor for four people. So, we end up dispersed in other floors to get
some decent work space. I am now at the 20th Floor in a conference room
called Germany.
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SUNDAY, JU NE 1 9, 2005
Resuming my Ministry
It feels so good to be able to resume my field ministry after having been
sidelined for almost a month due to my sores in my mouth and tongue. I
am looking forward to go full-blast again after May due to this illness my
output has sagged considerably.
SATUR DA Y, JUNE 18 , 2005
Swapped phones
I finally came back to the Nokia Communicator. I offered my Treo 650 for
a swap with the Nokia 9500 Communicator. Someone from the Office of
the President took up the offer. We met at the Podium in Ortigas and
completed the swap. I am a happy man.
It's Back But Unlike Before

I started to have some sores again after a week's respite. With more than a
week of defense strengthening, it's not as many as before. Hopefully this
one dies a lot quicker than did the rest. Arghhhh!
MO NDA Y, JUNE 1 3, 2005
Guitars, Folk, Country, and Rock

Wow, I can now finally hold my guitar to actually play and sing. Yes!
It's Over!
I am thankful to my God Jehovah that my sores ordeal that went for one
month is over. I was able to come tp the CA, benefited a great deal, did my
baptism chore and cleaning chores.
Isa na lang naiwan. My right foot is stil hurting. Its my annual physical
exam anyway. I will have this check. God, it's so good to be able to chat
using my voice again. I can resume my preaching work and teaching work.
Upcoming CA This Weekend

I have once more asked Father Jehovah's help to fix me in time for the
weekend CA. I have two privileges for the CA. I head the Cleaning Dept
under Bro. De la Pena and his assistant Bro. Esteves. I was also requested
for the second time to help out in the baptism.
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I look forward to Jehovah God's loving-kindness to fix my sores and

sprained shoulder and right foot in time having done everything I can up
to this point. In fact, I am now in my fourth day of stay at home.
The End is Near

Just as I expected but got delayed a bit, the end for my sores has
approached. The pain has subsided. Although it woke me up in the wee
hours of the morning, the pain's "shock and awe" effect has withered
down.
Except I got two new ones on my inner lips. The area affected is
manageable at this point. Thank God I am finally getting out of this
seasonal ache for me. This usually happens in September but has passed
for the first time with no incident. Until this May...
Worse Day with Sores

This could be my worse day with sores. It is painful nearly every minute.
Before I gargle Bactidol every couple of hours. Now, it is nearly every half
hour. This usually means the worse has come, relief is on its way.
TUE SDAY, MAY 3 1, 2005
Sin Ramen and Sores Part 2

Well, I've got a new sore at the tip of the tongue. I prayed hard to Jehovah
God that I can manage it and allow me to give the talk before things
worsen, at the Sampaloc congregation, in Manila. I even brought a bottle
of Bactidol and gargled just before the meeting started just to keep me
going for the next 45 minutes last Sunday.
Jehovah was with me again this time around.
So, I am back to Sin Ramen lunch but with an additional boiled egg for the
serving.
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The cove inside the Bluewater Resort.

This is Bluewater Resort in Maribago, Mactan just around the airport.

The view from the tail of the boat where the swimming pool is.
An early morning shot at the larboard, that is, the left side of the boat. I
even took a video of this side of the boat using my Treo 650.
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My SuperFerry 12 Room number. It was a smooth ride for 20 hours.

SuperFerry and Maribago

This is the first time I am going to ride on a big boat. SuperFerry pa. I don't
know what to expect. From Manila to Cebu via overnite travel. Then, HP
will go to Maribago. At least, the part of our organization where I belong. I
will use my Treo 650 to document this experience.
Preparing for the New CBS Material

I was preparing the other day for the CBS material. I noticed that this time
around, you really have to think and reflect more than just counting on the
material on hand for answers. If you did not prepare, unless you are a
quick on your feet, it will be difficult to give a meaningful answer.
And by the way, we will have some get-together as a kick-off for the new
material.
Guess What
I told Father Jehovah that I have done what is humanly possible to
accelerate the healing of my sores. Sunday finally came and I left it up to
Him to do what He will permit. Guess what? I was able to talk for 45 mins.
with no major break due to pains from the sore. I thanked Father Jehovah
for extending to me His loving-kindness one more time.
Right after that, I was back to having difficulty speaking due to the sores. I
still have one under my tongue. Now, hopefully, this one goes away before
my next Sunday public talk in Manila.
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Sin Ramen and Sores

While the virus causing multiple sores in my tongue and mouth live out its
full cycle, I have resorted in having sin ramen as my lunch for several days
now. Although I have reinforced my internal defense strength with 1 gram
of Vit. C and a supplement BioEnzyme and Pineapple and Orange juices, it
didn't dent nor cut short the life cycle of the virus.
Hopefully, in a day or two, the full week cycle is done. I can give the
scheduled public talk in Sampaguita, Lipa City by Sunday.
My Geocities web home base

Wow, I couldn't believe that my home base in Geocities has lasted this
long. It has been up and running since 1998. It is going 7 years now. It has
undergone minor changes over the years.
I had put up a mini-gallery of my old Treo 600 cameraphone pictures.
Now, with the new Treo 650, I probably should update it a new collection
soonest.
The gallery URL
http://www.geocities.com/manoftruegod/TreoArt.html
Dust Crew
Since our house is undergoing repairs, dust is all over. And to the nth
degree today, when Kitchen Co. delivered and installed their modular
kitchen with granite kitchen top. It was a good thing that I have a many
nephews who would do the work of cleaning up the place in half an hour
and then we had a feast of canton noodles and Coke.
Another Full Day's Work and More

Here we go again. I have to leave the office late past 7pm. After the rain has
fallen for the second straight day, traffic jams the city. Another long day.
WE DNE SDAY, MAY 1 8 , 2005
First Rain in the City

Yesterday, I just got into the taxi cab when the rain fell. First rain. Cathy
was stranded in University of Makati, nearby Guadalupe. I had to drive
through flash floods to pick her up. Traffic was not as bad by around 7pm.
Today, rain fell again sometime late afternoon. The rainy season has
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begun. Ilabas na sa baul iyong mga jackets!

TUE SDAY, MAY 1 7 , 2005
Full Day's Work and More

I have never worked out until past 8pm with customers for a long while.
And it happened yesterday. Starving na ako talaga. And when we all left
the office everybody walang mood mag-dine out. My neck was already
straining because of my sprained shoulder. So drive na ako back. And it
was traffic jam sa Pasig C-5 from Bagong Ilog.
I finally reached home around 9pm. One of those days...
Sunday Disabled
For the first time in the longest time, umattend ako ng pulong ng walang
narinig sa akin dahil sa aking mga mouth sores. Hirap din ako na makinig
at tumitig sa speaker dahil sa aking sprained shoulder.
And the afternoon was spent as a complete rest.
SATUR DA Y, MAY 14 , 2005
The new wash area. White tiled flooring, and white cabinets on mint green
walls. The one covered with blanket (L-side) is the washing machine. We
are using this space for kitchen while the modular kitchen is not yet
installed.
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This is the combined space of the living room and computer-library area.
The TV is the one covered with blanket (R-side) under the stairway which
is now inside the house.
Ground Floor New Look. The new door and window is where the old gate
used to be. This picture was taken while the house is still work in progress.
New House
Finally, we had decided to repair the house and make it as one whole
house.
Previously, our two storey house used to have two residences. We occupy
the upper floor and I accomodated my brother and his family with my
single sister downstairs. Now, we have the entire house to ourselves.
The first floor was expanded. The space for the wash area was claimed to
be part of the living room. The stairs going to our residence was now inside
the house. The wash area and the old living room downstairs are now one
living room space. We placed the wash area at the far end of the first floor
towards the back.
Adjacent to the living room is the kitchen and dining. We are awaiting
delivery of the modular kitchen, with integrated La Germania cook top. We
will use our old sink upstairs for the integrated sink.
The living room is painted peach, with the enclosed computer area in light
red-violet, and the kitchen and dining in dark blue-violet. The enclosed
wash area with its own screen door entrance is painted light mint green
with white cabinets, white tile floor, and white doors for the rest rooms.
What used to be light colored plastic ceiling on the old wash area, there is
now a Galvacolor roof in dark red.
Upstairs, the living room became the master's bedroom with the big
French window. The old dining and kitchen area became Micmic's room
painted in sky blue with one wall painted with mint green. Doors and
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cabinets are in white. The old two small bedrooms at the far end of our old
residence will become one where Cathy will stay with her aunt Ruth. Cathy
wants pink for the walls.
The second story ceiling was enhanced with insulators to reduce the heat
emanating from the ceiling. From the master's bedroom, two air duct fans
were installed to deliver the cool air from our air-conditioned room to the
two other bedrooms. We used hardilite/hardiplex for the ceiling.
The first floor two air duct fans were installed. One to suction air from the
outside into the computer area. The second was to suction air from the
kitchen out of the house.
In two weeks, this will really now be a new house. With a little tweaking, I
will move our CBS into our home. On Sundays, we will have our CBS Field
Service meeting in the house as well.
Manila-Lipa-Manila
Everywhere it's hot. Even in Lipa City. Racing to Lipa from Manila in 1.5
hours over traffic jam miles from the Calamba Toll Gate on a Saturday did
not help. And going back to Manila in 1.5 hours again driving through
funeral procession inside barangay Sampaguita i Lipa City and a traffic
crawl from Alabang to Sucat did not help either.
But, having lunch in Robinson's mall in Lipa at the Food Court helped. The
mall was full of people since the mall offers a 3-day sale. Kaso walang pera
so kain na lang.
Micmic with Sheba her cousin will stay there until next week when I return
to deliver a public talk to the Sampaguita congregation of Jehovah's
Witnesses.
FR I DAY, MAY 13 , 2005
Physical Pain
It has been 3 weeks now and my stiff neck has lingered on. The doctor has
diagnosed it as a sprain in my shoulder. Three sessions of physical therapy
(aka massage via ultrasound) did not fix it. So, balik ako sa doctor for
re-appraisal.
Meanwhile, dinagdagan naman ng mouth sores in my tongue and cheeks
and aking stiff neck. I can hardly talk.
Could this be the pain of growing old? Nah. Na-reduce lang seguro
resistance ko. Hopefully, my wife's new juicer will improve things. Every
night, lumalagok ako ng isang baso ng katas ng mga prutas at gulay.
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We'll see.
Never Again
Yes, never again, papa-schedule ako ng flight na 5 a.m. The limousine
service picked me up around 2.30 am. Kakatulog ko lang. I just completed
a proposal presentation for a customer in Cebu. Trying to get some
hopefully 4 hours of sleep. Instead, 2 hours. But, kahit duling, I went to the
airport. Tried to get some nap in the plane but gising na ako after 15 mins.
In Cebu, after taking some French toast and hot cocoa in Bo's Coffee shop
around 7 am, our business partner fetch us and we took a ride to another
coffee shop nearby our customer. I forgot the name of the coffee shop kasi
the cars parked there got my attention. Sports car na 2-seater na silver
Mercedes, some Odi, and I think a Jaguar. The coffee shop was filled with
Chinese Cebuanos.
I was able to take another 15 minute nap on our way there.
After the customer session, I had lunch at an Italian restaurant. Hmm,
can't remember this one again. Sounds like Le Tigalo. Anyway, duling na
talaga ako at this point just trying to hold a polite conversation with our
business partner. Mukhang zombie na ako despite washing my face.
At the airport, I couldn't believe myself na while looking at my Treo 650, I
doze off just like that. Now, if I were driving my Liteace Van on Manila's
busy street, that would have been dangerous. Snapping out of
consciousness involuntarily.
Sadly, the flight got delayed for the next half hour. I was flying PAL, first
time I got a delayed flight.
I finally came home and tried to get some sleep. Guess what? Ayaw
matulog ng sarili ko. Seguro kasi in the next hour I will be conducting our
CBS. Mabuti na lang because the material is so good, I was alive all
throughout.
And when I got back to bed? Kinakausap pa ako ng bunso ko I dozed off.
Cool Breeze
days of summer in the seamering heat
air is filled with dust, filling up your lungs
mixing with foul air and thick smog
impatient wheels and racing cars
horns that blow endlesslynowhere to go, nowhere to sit
even the shade offer no relief
bodies sweating in the sun
wet arm pits, stinking in the corner
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will it get worse than this?

--- manoftruegod
ManofTrueGod
Opening Salvo
life is a mix bag of thingsothers ask who put them there
others accept what's there
others complain why these
others just spilled everything out to the wind
but others look at others and compare
sadly time has moved on
unwisely spent
with a life spent so quickly
in wondering, figuring endlessly
i am here
that is good enough for me.
--- manoftruegod
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