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Jun Lit Dec 5
Defenseless they say
Small, unarmed. Ah they know not
That strength in numbers . . .
Jun Lit Oct 20
Drowned by roars and claps
Lost beneath jungled blankets
I found my mind free.
Jun Lit Sep 21
Tila namanhid na ang babahaang landas
walang patid ang agos ng luha, habang walang habas
ang malupit na lilik-panggamas -
patuloy ang tila nag-aamok na pagwasiwas.

Kahit mura pa ang uhay
ng nagbubuntis na palay
Namúti na ang katiwala ng mga bunso't panganay:
Walang sinanto ang pakay
ng aninong sumalakay.
Sinimot pati ipa. Ang imbakang burnay
tuyung-tuyô, tila balóng patáy.

Ubos na ang mga ninuno sa Purok
Ang mga inanak at inapo, tila mga but-o ng kapok
nangalat na sa malalayong pook
Hindi na tumalab ang mga erihiyang tampok
Ang lamping ibinalot, balót na ng usok.
Ang binalot na kapirasong pusod, bakas na lamang ng balok.

Karipas na ang binatilyong habol ang mutyang pailaya.
May baon pang pagkain, pagsasaluhan pag nagkita
Ngunit mabilis na napawi ang tanawing kasiya-siya
Ang natapong lomi, natabunan na ng aspalto’t palitada
kasama ng mga bakas nina Utoy at mga kabarkada
sa ilang dekadang araw-araw na pagbagtas, nakasipit at gura
mula sa Baryo Balintawak hanggang Lumang Baraka sa Lipa -
Di na makilala. Wangis ay mistisong pilipit. Ay! Pilpinas pala!
The original version was the 17th poem in my series "Kapeng Barako" - Kapeng Barako is brewed coffee in Lipa, Batangas, Philippines, often of the 'liberica" variety and roasted traditionally in large metal vats. The series includes poems that focus mostly  on my memories of Lipa, the place of my birth, childhood and teenage years.
This year, I reviewed those of my poems that mention or discuss history. While the original poem actually refers to the forgotten massacres and related events during the latter part of the Japanese occupation (World War II), I came to realize that the events of the Martial Law years seem to have been forgotten also by our people, especially with the recent attempts at historical revisionism.
Change is indeed inevitable. However, forgetting the past and/or revising history, will eventually prove quite costly for a country or people, culturally and in many other ways.
Jun Lit Sep 10
A friend I call Sister Shawie silently sobs
And all of her children’s hearts’ knobs
are plugged with mics noise-cancelling
and bluetooth earphones desensitizing.
Old mixed emos - can’t relate, how brute
- worse than real deaf or numb or mute.
Their sympathetic eye implants blue night
and smiling chrysanthemums yellow bright
selectively blind. Their once flawless derma
now pock-marked with socmed anesthesia.

Beneath the optical cables of glass sublime,
the umbilical cords are cremated in time
as the much sought wifi signals reach prime.

The cyber world defies ethics and all logic . . .
A mother’s milk is replaced just like magic.
Jun Lit May 2022
More than a year,
More than one round
of the Earth around the Sun
No Sun whatsoever
No Likes or Hearts wherever
No posting of new Lines with fever

The verses are maimed
The screen just keeps on flashing:
"Confirm your email.
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by clicking on the link we sent to . . .
Didn't receive the email?
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This makes me crazy.
I just edited the last poem I posted.
or is this even a poem?
Jun Lit Feb 2022
You’re like a ghost, whatever that is, lurking behind
the dark bushes and blending with the unusually eerie
silence of a brook in one ancient forest.

The seemingly serene scene rolls
and in the refreshingly cool waters,
a harmless creature slithers on its way
to sip and hydrate itself after the tiring day
of foraging in the lush canopy.

Then from one corner near a thick bamboo clump
the king of serpents surprisingly strikes. The gentle slitherer
is maimed and swallowed whole from head to tail.

Yes, you’re like the mythical ghost
that constantly makes me too afraid to go back to sleep.
As I descend through the mental labyrinth,
you suddenly sound some siren at the back of my ears,
just like a firetruck that warns the crawling traffic
to get out of its way along the main thoroughfare.
By the dreaded time your paralysing whispers reach
my shoulders, I’m reduced to nothing but frozen meat -
no way out but to moan aloud as I grasp
at collapsing threads of the delicate rope of life.

I am the helpless, hopeless, hapless victim
desperately seeking priceless sleep elusive
and which you always ruin as soon as I catch
a rare one.

By stroke of Lady Luck, fate wakes me up
and I’m in the middle of a dark midnight
of nowhere. Tired, gasping for precious air,
I murmured the fifth of the Seven Last Words:
"I thirst." Water! Water!

Yes, you're like a ghost, the mythical ghost.
I'm not even sure - do you deserve
to be the inspiration of awakened verses?
And I'm not even sure either - is this really a poem?

Maybe. Maybe Life is but a dream
and Poetry helps me keep one thing
more precious - my Sanity.
Jun Lit Jan 2022
Jose Rizal ating paksa
Naturalista nga kaya?
Sagot nati’y “Tunay! Sadya!”
Dangal ng Lahing Dakila

Mga aral na pamana
Ng bayaning ating bida
Kalikasa’t Baya’y t’wina
Mahalin at Laging Una
Translation:
Jose Rizal - today's talk list
Was he really naturalist?
Our conclusion Of course! Indeed!
The Great Honor of a Proud Race.

The lessons learned, the legacies
of this hero that here we praise
Nature and People - for always
Love them and push their welfare first

Note: Dalit Poem presented as conclusion of a talk on Jose Rizal as Naturalist
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