Love that is vibrant and fresh like tulips of Spring;
Through and through thine eyes, passion they bring

Thou art the infinite rainbows in my waters;
The wind that sailed my heart to thy shoulders

The love that lulled the fears of my heart;
Gentle hands that thou art; caused my loneliness to depart 

Thy lips like blanket of sleeves;
I shall trail my own, uncover every taste it leaves

My senses thee hast stirred that of love we share;
Thou hast stolen my heart and still kept me unaware

In between fine strands of thy hair,
with long lasting fragrance; elegance not spared

The distance of the celestial planets,
Incomparable of how much our love begets

Rivers, where my heart shall lay to rest if it loses thee; for it must flow for eternity;
So if I could, in our skies, I shall paint my love for thee

Of crimson and pink in every twilight on sight,
With hues of blue in every claire de lunes,
And all shades of gold until the days we're old

So in all of your days, the sun and it's rays, the moon as it glows;
It shall remind thee; What I shall promise, That my love shall not perish



-Love Poem I, Margaret Austin Go

Onward, soldier.
Onward.

That’s what they all
tell me, but
let me
slow down for a moment.
There’s a little something I gotta
say,

Thank you.

To that swing set in Greenhills Music Studio
San Juan City,
without you,
I’d never have learned that sometimes
it’s the other way around—
feet in the sky and head on the ground.

Mrs. Arambulo, the swing set’s owner,
who made sure I was well versed in
sonatinas and arpeggio scales
before I found out they’d already made
a piano that didn’t need tuning, and

Ma, who’d test my memory by
asking me if I
could recite
whole paragraphs at age four,
she’s why I remember things like
the smell of pilmeni,
the color of our first house’s carpet,
and nine page spoken word poetry,

to everyone behind that old kids’ show, Bayani,
watching it in my
second grade HEKASI class
would bring me to tears each time — no kidding,
you all paved the way for my homeland’s history
to make its home in my heart,

my English teachers from
sixth all the way to eleventh grade,
who all believed and still believe in the words I put down on paper
and spew out on dark stages armed with imagery and the Spirit,
you made me fall deeper in love with the way words can be waves
or flames,

Dad, who taught me
to climb mountains, to read books,
to let myself run free among the nations
but to always remember to leave a part of my heart at home,

to the four little boys I met in Hong Kong,
if we meet again, I owe you a better explanation to your question,
“Why do you dance?”
thank you for asking me that, and I’m sorry for my cowardly answer back then
but I’m braver now, and
I promise it’s for more than just fun or exercise,
it’s for this God I hope you get to know,

and to every Philippine history teacher I’ve ever had,
keep teaching like that,
we need more young ones who’d be willing
to die for their homeland,
you taught me that there is so much more to this country
than its own people tell me, so
burn on.
and make sure they catch fire.

Onward, soldier.
Onward.*

I’m not sure where I’m headed,
but I’d rather be uncertain of the road ahead
than forget
where
I started.
I’ve told you mine, now

tell them yours.