1.
Noong unang panahon, doon sa lupain ng Mindanao
Puro katubigan ang nangingibabaw
Binabalot nito mga kapatagan
Kaya mga tao’y nakatira sa kabundukan
(Once upon a time, in the land of Mindanao yonder
Rising almost was water
Covering the plains
So people reside on the mountains)

2.
Sa loob ng mahabang panahon
Mapayapa’t masagana doon
(For a time lengthy
There’s peace & prosperity)

3.
Hanggang sa dumating halimaw na apat
Salot at kasawian ang sumambulat
(Until arrive four monsters
Pestilence & death disperse)

4.
Si Kurita na maraming kamay
Kayrami ring sinaktan at pinatay
(Kurita with many arms
Also many it kills and harms)

5.
Nananatili ito sa bundok na tinutubuan ng rattan
Sa bundok na ang ngalan ay Kabalan
(It stays on the mountain where grew rattan
On the mountain named Kabalan)

6.
Mabangis na higante naman ang pangalawang halimaw
Kung tawagin siya ay Tarabusaw
(The second monster is a giant not tame
He is Tarabusaw by name)

7.
Sa Bundok Matutum ito ay nakatira
Panghampas na kahoy sandata niya
(On Mount Matutum it lives on
A tree club is its weapon)

8.
Ang pangatlo kung turingan ay Pah
O kaylaking ibon ng Bundok Bita
(Pah is the epithet of the third one
Oh bird of Mt. Bita so gargantuan)

9.
Kapag mga pakpak niya’y ibinukadkad
Kadiliman sa lupa’y lumaladlad
(When its wings are opened wide
Darkness on land do not hide)

10.
Sa Bundok Kurayan ang halimaw na panghuli
Isang dambuhalang ibon iri
(The last monster on Mt. Kurayan
Also a bird gigantic one)

11.
May pitong ulong lahat ng direksiyon ay tanaw
Grabeng maminsala ang nasabing halimaw
(With seven heads that can see on all directions
This monster brought so great devastations)

12.
Lubos na mapaminsala itong halimaw na apat
Kaya sa kanila takot ang lahat
(So destructive are these four monsters
That’s why them everyone fears)

13.
Maliban sa isang prinsipeng mula Mantapuli
Si Sulayman itong kaytapang na lalaki
(Except for one prince from Mantapuli
Sulayman is this man of bravery)

14.
Si Haring Indarapatra nagpabaon
Isang singsing sa kapatid niyang yaon
(Given by Indarapatra King
To that his brother a ring)

15.
Isa ring pananaim inilagay niya
Sa tabi ng kanyang bintana
(A plant he placed also
Beside his window)

16.
Kapag daw nalanta ang halaman
Kapatid niya’y inabot ng kasawian
(If that plant withers
Death to his brother enters)

17.
At si Sulayman nagtungo sa Kabalan
Tinalo si Kurita na kalaban
(And Sulayman to Kabalan went ahead
The foe Kurita he defeated)

18.
Pagkatapos ay sa Matutum dumalaw
Pinuksa naman si Tarabusaw
(After which to Matutum visited
Tarabusaw too was exterminated)

19.
Sunod na pinuntahan ay Bita
Napatay niya doon si Pah
(Next destination was Bita
There he was able to **** Pah)

20.
Pero dambuhalang pakpak sa kanya’y dumagan
Inabot si Sulayman ng kamatayan
(But he was crushed by the enormous wing
Death to Sulayman was reaching)

21.
Sa oras na iyon ay nalanta ang pananim
Kasawian ng kapatid batid ng hari’t nanimdim
(At that moment the plant shriveled
Brother’s death perceived by king and lamented)

22.
Labi ni Sulayman tinunton niya
Binuhay ang lalaki gamit ang tubig na mahiwaga
(Traced he the corpse of Sulayman
Using magical water resurrected the man)

23.
Si Sulayman ay nagdesisyong umuwi
Si Indarapatra’y haharapin ang kalabang panghuli
(Sulayman to home decided to go
Indarapatra will face the final foe)

24.
Sa wakas ay napuksa rin ang ibong may pitong ulo
Sa pag-uwi ng hari may nakilalang dilag ito
(At last slain was the bird with heads that are seven
Upon the king’s return he met a maiden)

25.
‘Di nagtagal nag-isang dibdib ang dalawa
At muling nagbalik katiwasayan sa lupa
(Not later the two wedded
And in the land serenity reverted).

-08/25-26/2013
(Dumarao)
*for Epic Day 2013

My Traitor’s Heart

I cut your heart open with a knife,
And drink you up like the elixir of life.
My body would now be the perfect host
To house the remnants of your ghost
Forestalling your indignant daily riposte.

At the dining table, I compulsively realign
Silverware. I take a crystal glass, pour red wine,
Knowing I’ve committed a murderous sin
Goosebumps form on every inch of my skin
Dark memories resume within.

You spoke to me of girls undreamed-of
You taught me lessons of absent love
Such stories only fed my vengeance,
And now my body pays it's penance;
Flesh laid bare. A life sentence.

Tonight, I trace with fingers, tramlines of
Forgiveness; my Mourning Dove.
I am now so pure, and Satan
Cannot punish me with rattan
Palm. I was never part of his grand plan.

© Sia Jane

Rattan letter rack stuffed
with hundreds of coupons
like requests to the Gods
sits under shrine
called the spice rack.

Little bottles
as dusty on outside
as within,
have no aroma left.

This temple's kitchen counter
top is mustard asterisks on
ivory laminate, so reminiscent
of ancient wonder.

These late '60's early '70's
design elements, lacquered
over with grease of yesterday's
din-dins, are only indicative
of where the resident wished
to be.

Now, even India, has lost
authentic texture, alluring space
and line, in these Internet times.
Though he can still smell cardamom,
nutmeg, and cinnamon waft from
Southeast. It is stuck in his mind.

Yet, since time of his dearly
departed's passing, no sandalwood
has been burned and he only
eats corn flakes.

America has changed him so.

I've put too many eggs in this basket
The rattan is wearing thin
Maybe we can build another
Out of fresh reeds and some skin
Wind it together like our souls intertwined
Glue it so strongly with our deepening insight
It'll hold once it dries in the crisp autumn light

points of dust, moted light,
coded messages,
of indecipherable love,
from the sun and this day's dieties smile.
are....
siphoned through,
the dappled, green eucalypt
to become....
shafts of godly grace,
that tickle, wrinkle
and play hide and seek,
with the contours of your
handsome face,
weekend stubbled
and lax within,
the shadows of sleep's
suburban fringe.

curled up, on your lap
your child, golden, halo haired, head,
asleep.
ear at your heart's designation,
hand anchored,
in the flannel of your shirt,
foot tucked into, your trouser pocket.

a little, love limpet,
attatched firmly, to you.

you, and the littler you lie, serene and unaware,
in the old, striped deck chair.
quiet and together in,
restful, repose.

the remains of lunch...
now just, crumbs and
sticky fodder,
for busy trails of ants
and attracting the lazy bee's of bumble, that hover and hum, above.

and book reading's are open,
unfunished, scattered on the table..... waiting for the
eventual waking...

along with the cat,
perched imperial,
and purring,
on one ant free corner
of the old and faded,
rattan chair.
he stands watch,
dotingly, over,
his dozing clowder....

this is ... the wonder of,
sunday afternoon naptime.

My heart sits rotting away in a rattan chair
All the love and the people I long to be near
Progressively grow closer to one and other
As I slowly drift out of their lives
I will not longer be the lining in their memories
Not even remembered as part of their lives
Just a humorous picture on the screen
A name in a book dated "2011-2012"

On the other side of the country
my brain grows and cripples from
A lack of blood flow
As my heart begins to give up
And break down
because this distance is too great
and hearts only have so much strength.
But my brain stuffs itself with meaningless facts
and replaces the heart
with stuffings of leftover ******* from the 'elites'
and a horrid instability occurs.

False faces and shattering smiles
Can no longer be redeemed.
I am a new human
as this hole in my chest
is filled with hate and judgment
and my brain cries for happiness
but only receives E=Mc^2.
I am the ugliest human to have ever lived
The only warmth I can seem to find
Is when touching the broken heater
of this insane asylum.

I rejoice,
despite the fact I try my best
and the sky
continues to fall
and the world only gets more bitter.

Father calls to me,
Willing my brain
Handing me a hand-knitted heart
That pumps false hope and paper-mache dreams

"You will not survive, You'll never make it out alive."

Heaps of regret
Are staggered on every path I face.
I may as well die,
No.
I may as well do what i please.
why should I attempt to please those who will never be pleased?
I'm sorry that I am not sorry at all.

This troubled heart,
Now strapped to a surgical table
Connected by tubes to the welcoming hands of my chosen family.
Those who grew me from the dirt,
After i was dropped there out of the womb.
My roots were strong,
But my wings are tattered,
I cannot fly just yet.
But I was thrown from the nest,
And now I am drowning in the fiery depths of hell that were below.

I cannot make this decision.
Not because I cannot make a decision,
But I literally don't have a choice.
And my heart will only continue to die.
And soon enough I will be a carcass.

There comes a time in all folks life,
when special love becomes bespeak.
Futurity takes over.
To live alone to live to die alone.
What future do we have and why?
Furnish..me,
A trusted cabinet.
An old oak dresser.
A rocking chair,
made out of rattan.
Tatty around the edges.
Sat under the window.
Where the sunlight shone through.
The blinds were half open.
A strange shade of puce.
It's cold and reliable.
That tatty old chair.
A body and soul, both sat in there.
Stranded in time.
A comfortable cushion.
Sat perching.
Silently sitting.
Call the mortician.
(C) Livvi

Coffee sessions at 0219 St. Café,
Past 4 PM in the afternoon,
Flipping the rattan-made tissue holder,
"What's our case for today?"

Hours would go on for stories and opinions,
About our lives we all have yet fathomed.

It would start with no "Hello's" or "Hey's"
But "café later?" and "No" wasn't an answer,
Friends exist to have your back,
and for coffee and life discussions.

In a slow yet seemingly rapid motion of time,
No more greetings or invites or even goodbyes,
the usual café across the street was taken down,
Before anyone knew, we were walking down separated roads, it was a slow fade.

A lovely, comprehending friendship and frequent coffees,
all wrapped up with an invincible quiet farewell,
Worse than a bleeding heartbreak without any anesthesia,
I hold my composure up for such bittersweet ruins.

IA

Dear A------,

I remember you at my sister's wedding,
you had hands of wild river,

& clouded beach was in your hair -
I was halfway through a sober year

sitting in a rattan bastille chair
watching the sea fashions,

my ear full of jailbreak children -
but I was thinking of night shapes,

things transformed by the dark -
I thought of your recipe: lost keys,

waning crescents, streetlamp breezes -
how strange and free I felt right then,

evening's cousin dressed to the nines
under trees bent to ferocious shade.

Then years passed: another marriage
disappeared into ribcage landslides

& mind riots, jobs were just smoke,
then it was Halloween and I was 44

& I was in New Orleans.
I wondered if you claimed it

the way I once claimed DC -
ambushed by a lost heart

that crept up into me in the suburbs
until only the city crux felt safe,

surrounded by new people
who might be doctors or hangmen.

I missed you that Halloween night,
though I ate in the corner

of your restaurant before I was blinded
by the rain bustle and whisked back

into a hotel window. I missed you also
the next night on Frenchman Street,

& in Storyville and Tremé where I wandered
throughout the runny yolk mornings -

who's to know if you'd even recognize me,
they've been hard years since Ocean City;

until I see you next I'll leave this letter
like a sip of liquor kept in promise

of stories shared in a plank-barred dive
on Toulouse or Tchoupitoulas Street.

Yours, Evan

sat on a rattan chair, my little self once posed a question to my late great-grandmother with dementia
“why was i named after a saint?”

“francis, that is to protect you from the threat of carbines and tanks that the hapons toy against us, filipinos.” she spoke like i’ve been warned.

then i remembered my half-japanese friend whose brain akin to a monggo bean.

i did not believe her.

how could i believe when my friend couldn’t learn my mother tongue?

fifteen years later, i learned that my late great-grandmother used to cover her visage with thick talcum, pretending as geisha to trick the makapilis

the makapilis were filipinos who sided with the japanese.
but they were worse.
they would bang your heads with their blood-stained fists if you refuse to speak the whereabouts of a guerilla’s leader.

guised as a geisha, my late great-grandmother would lure a makapili to her home. there, she would cut his throat with a dagger and let the makapili suffer in a pool of blood.

“if you love this country, that is how you cleanse it—eliminate the ones who betray it.” she once told my mother.

often, i think about her.

all along, my late great-grandmother had been warning us—it is not always the outsiders who will hurt you, sometimes it is the ones who reside with you in the same village, same home, or share your blood.

and that would hurt a lot akin to a gunshot piercing through your waist

you must always be prepared for such treachery, like a warrior who is always ready to draw a mighty dagger from her scabbard to expel those who opt to betray her and her land.

vinegar, soy sauce, crushed garlic, peppercorns, and bay leaves
i saw my mother mixed these
in a palayok softened to a gentle patina.

i’d like to help, but my hands
were already covered in bruises
from playing luksong baka.

“where have you been, boy?”
mother asked, as she raised the sandok,
while her eyes glued to the palayok.

i wanted to tell her i’ve been with a friend,
a boy, who pushed me into a charcoal pit
so my knees were black.

but this friend came to our house
carrying a small ointment,  bottled in green.

he smiled.

and i looked at him,  hesitant to give it back.
i learned that the ointment
was for the wounds i got
from his own mischief.

but he didn’t apologize.
instead, he sat on a dining rattan chair,
facing me.

“why is he here?
isn’t he ashamed of what he had done?”
i thought.

“oy hijo, didi nala kaon.”
mother, in a duster dress, spoke to him
while serving the paksiw,
we could smell its tangy scent
of vinegar and crushed garlic.

she managed to notice
that we might be in a little fight
so she told us that we must have our backs
for each other, always.

and we did.

twenty years later, this friend came back
to our house, redoing the scene:
carrying an ointment bottled in green.

“tita, don’t you know
he’s been crying over a stupid man?”
he spoke and laughed, childlike.

oh this boy, unaware of my charade,
as i fake drama, keeps comforting me
again and again and again.

mother served the same paksiw
and i found myself smiling,
watching him treat my home, a home.

induces idyllic reverie
delight evoking similar surge,
when skirting, and eluding
fidelity defining the marital law
on par with courting in flagrante delicto.

After reading about
Greek goddess of love
fancy notion woke whereof
warmth suffused me
snug as fingers fitted into glove
subsequent laissez faire attitude
welcomed salvation, overstimulation,
labialization, impenetration,
fornication, and consummation from above.

Hands folded prayer
like to beseech thee
to abduct me with
no cause to up braid
natural temptation found
feral, gonadal, and hormonal paroxysm
commanding, fueling, inducing longing
from divinely devoted dada
sacred marital covenant
he twice blithely disobeyed
willingly surrendering quintessential
******* manifestation to nymph.

Earthbound Olympian of love,
now dwells amidst thee
willing submissive subject
teasingly surrendering himself,
whose psyche frayed
mossy secluded glade,
a natural bed of soft earthy, downy
canopied bride awaiting
me with said lovely paramour to get laid,
and maybe nine months later,
a baby will resemble

thee dear milkmaid,
then whence we return
to our Land O’ Lakes chalet
homage will be paid
in which human guise
undressed as barenaked lady inamorato
doles secrets regarding
amorous Lumineers trade
witnessed libidinal upgrade
into ****** dreamland such
heartfelt desire impossible mission
for amorousness to be weighed.

Victuals to satiate
pleasures of flesh,
especially erogenous zone
administered courtesy female
I wanna name Yvonne
this imaginary mistress
singing seductive tone
thru this private line,
but no other phone
triggering mine little rolling stone
to generate primal sounds
vis a vis masturbatory moan
inducing groin seams
of pants extreme groan
toward pocketing sixty-nine
without any lovely bone.

A copious amount of adoration
suffuses entire body of this man
her, whose gentle and kind embrace
promises to be eternal plan
as made mention in the Bible,
Quran, or Torah millennia ago rattan,
whose healthy libido
will probably outlive me life span.

Royal carpet treatment awaits me
each and every day
as the differences between myself
and august dweller on high
establish a bounty and glory
of compassion to roll in the hay
atop bodacious, delicious, felicitous
fantasy asks me to lie
imbibing succulent *****
O zone hemisphere erupts
highly charged atmosphere
akin to an eternal month o May
taking spirit soaring thousands
of miles of feet in the sky.

Upon hearing sweet nothings
nobody else can hear
affecting heavy breathing
indicated by nostril
that imperceptibly flare
a sheer grin of joy lights up
my countenance ear to ear
despite the impish quarks
of this divine being so dear
as journey to inxs of nirvana
induced ******* (er...
prematurely) whispered clear
from being buck-naked bare.

while ******* hallucination
at my male member does yank
key mud hood dill,
where reality doth usually tank
with muss elf feeling *****
sans figurative or real shaft shank
quite the opposite
with a wife acidly rank
she frequently pulls
my hair as a childish prank
knowing full well that action
turns my mood sour as a crank
I would escape,
but no amount of money
can equal priceless prostatic fluid
in the seminal piggy bank.

Other times, her karma roars
into a tempest with a rage
lashing out like a half-crazed maniac
loosed upon global stage
on account of silent battles
we regularly wage.

I admit my own fair share
of peculiar traits
which only to private confidences
t'will now relate
keep on the q-t (i.e. quiet)
lest spouse doth berate.

Chief among these oddities comprise
lower gastrointestinal perturbations
issuing from the a$$
which prompt innumerable outbursts of gas
ranging from quiet puff to a noisy, windy pass.

After usage of toilet
with a bowel movement
large enough to sink a sub
wash ****** residue from my behind
with a hose attached to the tub.

This couple resembles Frankenstein
and his bride – argh what a pair
she taunts when I shower,
clean the rest of my body including hair
dry follicles shaking head
after applying hair dryer
back & forth side-to-side
through the air.

There you now know foibles
and unusual personal ways
uttering that such antics how she plays
like netted in a one-man fraternity
undergoing constant haze
pelting this poor soul
with scraps of food, she flays
until these covered with
thick pasty gloppy glaze
as verboten entrees
now laugh till you fall over
and remain in stitches for days.

A forest
like New Yorker colors
flowing through
the sea of clouds
i see
the disappearing road,
deer footprints,
rattan run,
wildflowers last dancing,
self-moving
early morning
sunshines,
october, wind
stroking the grass of meadow,
siren,
dog barking from afar
steamer.......babbling
shaking traffic lights,
most beautiful city,
Paramus stretches out.