Nababagot, bagot sa buhay
Buhay na noo'y makulay

San naparoon

Mga ngiting tunay
Mga salitang nagtulay
Sa loob at sa iba

San naparoon

Ang malawak na ideya
Imahinasyon o nobela

Nariyan lang sila
Sa dulo ng daliri
Sa gilid ng labi

Hanapin mo
At iyong makikita

Nababagot, bagot sa buhay

Hindi na, parating na

May makikita ka
Na wala sa iba

Hindi na, parating na


Nariyan na
Sa loob, sa paanan
Sa iyong mga mata

My first published poem in my native tongue -- tagalog. Filipino language is beautiful, syllabical. Hope another Filipino stumbles and feels with my first tagalog poem.
Nashoba Aug 10

Hey yah hey yah oii yaa haaa yaa.. the drums the songs the words are not gone. Deep within my blood my love for the earth my home my spirit my world. All that my Grandmother taught me to be to this forsaken world.
I dance under the moon. The brightness of her light. Prayers out loud each and every night. My songs and music signing for you. To save this earth from the forsaken fate that has been placed upon you.
I love differently than others, many do not understand. My spirituality is grand. I am free with no pain. I seek no gains from the world as most do.
The only gain I wish to seek is to protect you.
Copyrighted Nashoba 2017

Zero Nine Jun 1

There is a fundamental hardness
In this body, strapped between my legs.
Feminine energies from within warp
The fragile bounds of reality around me.
But what right do I have with penis
To summon the mother, call myself woman?
Every right.

My peoples told a tale closer to people
Still with connection to the heavens,
Roles for everyone. Gods did not deny
Their existence over time like some do.
But I deny the gods and dogmas and
I'm disenfranchised from my tribe
As a ghost in the machine in the very
Heart of western Christianity's

I get hard. It's not a problem. I cup my
Breasts in silent reminder with the
Dimmest hope of finding love and family.
Just as my elders, I live and speak at fires
Now write it, too, through ill, darkness in day.
All of the time I put into trying not to die,
It fashions me.

It fashions me.

I write the same words over and over telling
Stories of sadness and anger to outcast strangers.
I traded the ease of violence for pixel and ink,
So please take the words,
Unburden me.

The End

As always, thank you all for reading, and for your continuous support through likes, loves, and shares.

I'll be taking a break from short form writing for a while to focus on developing my longer prose.

Take care of yourselves, you beautiful people. I'm sure I'll have something for you soon. Til then, you all keep writing

And I'll keep reading.

Much love,
Zero Nine May 17

Join hands
at the campfire

Wish into
the night
for transfer
from states

in love.


i know i know i know

we know we know we know

heavens won't save us

I wager
weapons etch distant
moons with craters.


My wife started walking around
In Melania Trump's shoes.
I don't know how she got ahold of them?
I didn't understand her motive?
If she continues to walk around
In Melania Trump's shoes,
In the Mile High City,
Some Mexican Homegirl
Is inevitably
Gonna' have to
Kick her ass.

The Gentrifiers tried to eliminate  Insanity,
But created more Insanity in the process.
By trying to "ethnically cleanse" the kooks,
They created a fertile environment
For Resistance.

CA Guilfoyle May 7

From mud walled homes
these remnants come, artifacts of shell and bone
leather shoes and deerskin coats
woolen blankets and woven rugs,
baskets for storing grain and corn.

Grinding stones and sun bleached bones
antiquities and memories found in fields of sand,
necklace beads of finest hammered silver
now forgotten and lost, and too the river's water.

Came a sorrowful war with bullet guns
that pierced the heart of every man
no match for shooting arrows.

Zero Nine Mar 28

When all the water has left
the dry Earth will sing to Sky
Return, please, return!
Both the stone pulling
and the void pulling
like to kiss in the middle
of war. Scorched turns to damp
in the end, providing our
diligence and duty to life.
It's shameful the water goes
now when such destruction
hangs in the near distance.
Diligence may no more undo
the damage, for the time
has gone as well.


is why we do
what we do
that is why we are vulnerable

does anyone else
notice that there are no natives
close enough
on waking up
I bet you think this poem is about you
who knows the plants?
the trees?
who can speak to nature
and make agreements with it?
who signed the organic peace treaties?
organic contracts
who tried torturing ethnicities
into demanding to the death
they are in the state of whiteness?
You do not understand how lost
until you call for help
out of desperation
into nativeless derangement
you were wrong
about being able to control nature
and there is nothing you know
that is organic that can renegotiate
the organic peace treaty

JR Rhine Jan 25

I receive your native tongue
like a desperate missionary--

letting it run over my teeth,
stroking the roof of my mouth,
and dancing with my own foreign entity.

I come to you aching
to inhale your exhale,
place my lips to yours.

In the diaspora of spit
from your mouth to mine,
deliver unfathomed riches
of love and wisdom

into my trembling body.

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