Rhia - Hello Poetry

Rhia Nov 2019

Foggy

Misty, painting in shades of gray and dull blue
as the sky darkens before my eyes and
the delightful cold envelops me.
Or at least it would have been delightful if I had been prepared.
But isn't that the fun part,
rolling along with the unexpected like the fog and mist?

Rhia Nov 2019

Mosswood Park

The smell of pine and eucalyptus meld together in the background
Intermingling to create something sweet to
Mask the smell of unwashed bodies and hair and
needles haphazardly strewn on the ground
their orange caps bright against the brown ground,
missing the huge yellow sharps containers that
evidently aren't enough to hold it all.
If it weren't for the sheer closeness of the tents
Or the trash and random objects, treasured possessions
this could be an adventure landscape with
children clambering over the trees
But instead it's this, filled with adults, sitting sleeping talking
behind the fence right next to Kaiser.

Rhia Sep 2019

Frozen

I look at the photographs
At the pictures, of us,
Standing there, sitting there
Still, captured in that moment
Where we were all smiling
Frozen forever in that blip in time
And in my mind I hear our laughter
Us speaking through clenched smiles
As the camera clicks for the 3rd time
Because for memories' sake we
want to get a picture
But all we really wanted
Was to get back to our mahjong game
So casual of our last nights together
We were all still there.

And yet now we are scattered
among the nations.
Ironic because the only time
we were all together
Was in a different country
A far away country
that is now our home.

My heart will always remember Montalban, San Isidro, Manila, Payatas, Pajo, Quezon City, Litex, Tagaytay, Batangas. The faces are emblazoned in my memory.

Rhia Jun 2019

Not a poem but still yet again

After seeing the Rubens exhibit with all its many paintings of Jesus alive and dead, I was almost startlingly reminded that Jesus died. We concentrate so much on how he’s alive and resurrected and lives forever, but there was indeed a time when Jesus was dead, and what a terrible time that must have been! His body for all to see, a corpse, dead and clammy and rotting, and his followers mourned. And whenever we mourn a loved one’s death, we feel what the Father felt, what his followers felt, and suddenly we are closer to the experience of the Son.

Rhia Apr 2019

Not a poem but still

Humans have a fascination with the future. They love trying to predict it, whether that’s through fortune tellers or tea leaves or almanacs or even more modern, scientific means like the weather or global warming. Look at the formulas we have, predicting what will happen when one of the variables change. What power, the power to predict the future! And what does this reflect about humanity?

We hate uncertainty, we want to be prepared for what comes next. At our core we hate surprises; think about all the times you’ve indignantly walked out and the weather report has lied. We don’t want to be disappointed in the future. We cry when it goes differently than expected, or we fall into apathy and try not to care that we were bothered. We defiantly prepare for the future, daring the future to change so drastically that it overcomes our preparation. Or more often, we confidently claim to know the future, but warily prepare and meekly acquiesce and inevitably scrap our plan. We endlessly worry about it, such that our culture praises when you worry about the future and develop a comprehensive plan for the future. Something is wrong with us if we do not care about the future! Therefore it is so radical that Jesus called us not to worry about tomorrow.

Written during Econ discussion, during a flash of inspiration instead of listening to the Phillip’s Curve.

Rhia Dec 2018

The Twelve Beagle Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: a bowl full of doggy food.

On the second day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: two sloppy kisses and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the third day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: ten tails a-waggin', nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: eleven rawhides hidden, ten tails a-waggin', nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my Kirby gave to me: twelve stuffed buddies, eleven rawhides hidden, ten tails a-waggin', nine wee-wee markings, eight freshies hidden, seven scents to smell, six yummy greenies, five carrots, four doggy beds, three doggy biscuits, two sloppy kisses, and a bowl full of doggy food.

Yet another poem written by my brother circa 2006-ish in honor of our illustrious beagle, Kirby. My family all marveled at the poem's accuracy.

Rhia Sep 2018

An Ode to Kirby

My beagle is lying in his bed,
Sleeping with dreams in his head.
He looks cozy and comfy all tucked in,
With blankets all the way up to his chin.
He looks very lazy just sleeping there,
But he is alert when he opens his eyes to stare.
When the neighboring dog comes around,
My dog Kirby is going to be bound
To get up and bark with ferocious might
When the enemy dog is within his sight.
So anybody who passes by beware,
You are going to be under my dog's stare.

Written by my brother pre-2010 in honor of our beagle. This poem displays but a facet of Kirby's personality and abilities...