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Nov 2019 · 321
Foggy
Rhia Nov 2019
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?
Nov 2019 · 214
Mosswood Park
Rhia Nov 2019
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.
Sep 2019 · 214
Frozen
Rhia Sep 2019
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
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.
Apr 2019 · 167
Not a poem but still
Rhia Apr 2019
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
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.
Sep 2018 · 701
An Ode to Kirby
Rhia Sep 2018
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...
Apr 2018 · 231
Untitled
Rhia Apr 2018
I wish I was in love with God.
Then I would want to spend so so so so
Much time with Him
It would never feel like a chore
I would never have to be prompted

And yet I am not in love with God.

How it pains me to write that!
How it pains me
And stabs me
And hurts me
To say that!

Because it is true.
Why does this desire that I want so badly not come to fruition in life and in my actions and in my time?
Rhia Apr 2018
Just sitting here
On a bench
In front of the library
Some footsteps
I look up to give a courteous smile
“Wow! Did you know that you have a really pretty smile?”
Well sir, thank you for telling me, but
I don’t especially care.
More talk
“What’s your name?”
“Where are you studying?”
My dear man, you are more than ten years older than me
Please just stop
“This weather is amazing!”
This weather is too hot.
But
the
conversation
drags
on
“You have a beautiful smile!”
“People need to compliment others more!”
And then, finally,
“It was nice talking to you!”
But then,
“Do you want a hug? I love hugs”
No, I do not want a hug!
But I give him a small hug
anyways.
He leaves
And I am left
Wondering
Whether that was just
Really sophisticated
Catcalling.
What do you do when people are nice in an unwanted way?
Apr 2018 · 187
The Unexplainable
Rhia Apr 2018
God and religion are like love,
where you
know it's real but
you can't prove it no matter
how well you think you're
translating it.

And
when you do experience it,
it changes
how you see your world
despite the fact
that you
cannot
show it.
Some thoughts, courtesy of my friend.
Apr 2018 · 183
Mother Oak
Rhia Apr 2018
In the midst of a land
Filled with darkness an' all else banned
Was a seed that fell from the sky to the ground.

A mysterious hand with its mysterious ways
Planted the seed in a field where cows grazed.
Tendered and nurtured, alone in its orchard, all in its own little mound.

Then the rain, with its soft pitter-patter,
Struck the earth 'round it, causing it to splatter.
In spite of all this, the seed continued to grow–

Now a big-girl plant, its leaves sprouted broad.
Its roots grew long, grew deep in the sod.
It was no longer the seed that the hand had sowed.

Speed up some years, and what shall we find?
A strong oak tree; it boggles the mind!
Who knew that a small seed would produce such a wonder?

Old Mother Oak, once so youthful and free,
Is now an old woman, for whom we now grieve,
For her stiff trunk gives way at the sound of crashing thunder.

— The End —