Dawn

I want to devour
the soggy dawn
While the flowers
Are about
In their fullness bloom

Give me while it’s warm
The dawn’s luscious mush
Before the day
Gets it all wilted
Withered in the sun

The Curse of Blessings

What good is my art
if instead of
empathy
sympathy
care and 
concern,
condescendence
vainglory and 
mockery
come forth of which?


Is my quest
to be
stronger
wiser
intellectually extravagant
justified
if my eyes
forsook looking up
and espoused the
delectability of looking down?


Is the by-product of
enlightenment
the disdain for 
both ignorance
and the ignorant?


Shouldn’t it instead
beget forgiveness
and understanding
despite that 
some people
are unforgiving
of your luminance
that improved
their blur
into shadows?


- (The) Name’s Not At All Relevant

The Ultimate Collision Course

In blinding speeds

and accelerations faster

than the speed of light

I orbit the innards

of a particle collider

Heedless

Pointless

Propelled by

the natural order of

who the hell knows

what 

or who

without warning

lo and behold

my quintessence

millions, billions, trillions of them

laid bare

right before mine

very eyes

Then it dawned on me

I got smashed into God!

Fans Club

Do I turn to
my crowd
when there is
no one else around
to turn to?


Of course


In those instances
        I always welcome


            my self with
                open
                    arms

In the Face of Adversity, Don’t Run Away from God. Run Into God

Adversity and conflict

isn't always

synonymous

to opportunity

It will forever be

a thorn

in my soul

Yet, that

bastard

has caused me

to not run away but

to run INTO

God

Sure there is adversity

in daily existence

that you need

to keep slugging with

in spite of

being bored

to death

And while

I am

busy living

I am also

busy getting myself

distracted

to make that

daily existence

bearable

at least

Nevertheless, there

is always something

to be thankful for:

sex

food

work

beautiful family

being fucking alive

and this art

that has become my

saving grace

But there

is something

special about those

nut-cracking moments:

You let loose of

your grasp

off yourself

and your advantages

both tangible and illusory

and find yourself

clinging instead

to the Rock of Ages

Only when you

do so

can you

tap the power

Power that

is greater than

anything earthly

or mortal

The kind of

power that

keeps the galaxies

afloat to light up

the vast depth

of nothingness

Adversity causes

one to

improvise

It yells at you

at the top of

it’s lungs

to get the

fuck out

of the ordinary

before you succumb

and watch the

best of you die

without seeing the

dawn break

But I haven’t

totally lost

yet

my sanity

by asking

fervently

for my

share of

perennial

uphill goings

just to

always experience

God’s grand

deliverance

With much

supplication

I ask that

I would instead meet

His

presence

everywhere

from highs and lows

and most especially

the mundane

Struggles of a minimalist who wishes to write extravagant poetry

The minimalist
Willingly calloused himself
Stripped off his senses
Scarce in words
As much as thoughts
Gets upset not with a
Few clothes
A few jeans
Or zero mobile data
Afraid he’ll be creatively bankrupted
By social media

Despite having revered as god
He has locked horns with minimalism
For poetry’s sake
Unfamiliar feelings he now writes
With inappropriate words
Of a child quivering before a dentist
The motocross rider as he somersaults
A lover whose tears from the raindrops you cannot tell
To be answered “yes” or “I do” by a lady

The things he shuns
To not let his feelings run
Stoicism rivalling that of Marcus Aurelius
A layer of rock
That take eons to wear

He then realized
He has flesh and blood
He can grin
And he can fuckin’ cry!
He’s not a machine gun
That eat bullets
And spew them who the hell knows
How much rpm

Now he aches to write poetry
Vivid and teeming with life
And the feelings he trained himself to abhor
The superfluous often thrown to the dogs
Like a whore
That will make him sore
With a red carpet and open arms
He now welcomes home

Albeit, he writes clumsily
A virgin lover in a quandary
Whether he’ll
Kiss her or fondle
Screws up his words, falters and all
Still he writes some more
For non other than he can fathom
It’s only poetry that will save his soul

Exasperations

Fuck you reality!
A middle finger you deserve
For preserving my dreams
In their ghostly silhouette

Fuck you dreams!
Damnation you deserve
For failure to coalesce
Slumbered in peace and pieces

In A Parallel Universe

In there you took notice,
In there you smiled;
In there you said "Yes!"
In there you said "I do…"

If only astrophysicists and cosmologists would uncover,
The wormhole from here to that realm,
Chocolates, red roses, my love so tender,
Care and affection fit for my queen I’d offer:

In there you speak, still mesmerized I'd listen;
With your whims I’d laugh out loud;
While your hormones surge and your feelings become a blur,
Which makes a love quarrel with me so enticing and gratifying,
On such days I’d just lock you in my arms,
And plant a kiss on your forehead,
If your mouth wont shut I’d kiss your lips;
I’ll know when you feel the blues,
No words are needed I’m there with you;
When you no longer heed your tummy’s call,
I’d take its place and remind you to get nourishment,
So you wont faint and I’ll worry not;
When you’re exhausted in chasing your dreams,
That you feel the need to stop and shed a tear,
I’d be the ears that will hear your silent screams,
A shoulder and pillow soaked with your fears
For locked in a quantum entanglement, our hearts and minds entwined;

With me you need not wear a mask prolonged
Need not always be staunch and strong
'Cause it’s the lovely and intelligent lady behind that I love and long

And when I die and be reborn in cosmic karma
I hope I’d wake up to that new era -

Where I am taking care of you
A world where I love you as much as now I do
And there you will love me too...

Bitches

Bitch she was
She is
And always will be
In as much as I’d like to say:

“Bitch she may be
But there is a bitch
Far better than she
And her name is spelled
K.A.R.M.A”

But I’d rather invoke her not
For wishing another’s misfortune
Is never my lot

But it was only then that I realized
Bitches themselves
Bitch each other around

Come my love

Come my love

Spread your love
That I may enter
And bask in its warmth

Come my love

Indulge
Don’t hold back
Make haste

Before you get to know me
Before I get to know you

Before I get to know me

American Hotdog

American hotdog she has got
It’s what the other ladies have not
Hotdogs of different races
Australian, Hungarian, Italian
Canadian, British, or German
But the most famous of them all
Is the certified all-American

Never mind that these hotdogs are
Freckled
Speckled
With large tomatoes in the face
And who the hell knows where else

Even the gramps
Who has trouble getting up
Let alone keeping it up
They are completely irrelevant:
The stench of death reeking in him
Nor that he is 4 decades her senior

Scorn her as much as you like
With much gusto until you relinquish life
I’m warning you though
You’ve been long dead before you make her cry
Whatever drug she took that made her numb
Anesthesia of hardships
Sedated in BS or whatnot
She’ll cling to her hotdog
Until he runs out of fortune
And that, she’ll tell you
Is a valid reason:

“I got an American hotdog
You dirt-poor dicks
Whatever says my kababayans
I don’t give a shit
Aint gonna toil anymore
Gonna buy me an I-Phone
Premium bags, and shoes
Bear the coffin-dodger’s child I will
Gotta be laid in bed of cotton
Gotta let him fuck me
Till he passes out and die
Gotta suck him hard
Till he bleeds dry
Fuck true love
What can you get out of which
If your stomach is empty
And you can’t buy all your impulses
So what if he smells putrefied
So long as I lay in bed of greens”

Thus she clings on
To his horrid face
So long as he gives her
A queen’s privileges

The Old Man And His AM Radio

One old man

When he is around

He’d sit by the porch

A cup of tea in his hand

In an idle afternoon

While the scorching sun

Retires after burning rice paddies

Mountains, dirt roads, and faces

At times it leaves torrential rain

That reminds us of its promise

It’s sure to be back in the morning

But what I remember oh so vividly

That while he sips his bitter tea

He’s all ears on the stereo

Not on music stations

But tuned in on A.M radio

I didn’t understand

His penchant for the agony of twiddling thumbs

With the occasional curses

Murmurs, smirks, and grunts

About politics in all its

Nobility, hypocrisy, and bullshitry

It was a mystery how he could bear

Listening to news

On what transpired from within and without

And listening to the host

And repetitive commercials

Peddling lies and whatnot

But he didn’t mind

Just looked far away

With the all-familiar grin

What he labelled as circus

Worked out fine for him

Almost three decades passed

No longer do I see him

In the rain nor setting sun

Nor his hot cup of bitter tea

That cools him down

But something remained

Which transcended him and his life

As I sit with headsets on

To the AM radio tuned

Murmuring

Grunting

More generous in my cursing

Expletives Inside a Toilet Cubicle

With the seat still on
The dickhead drained his bladder!
A ghost in gloves he throws
Devastating right cross to my nose

How fucking hard can it be
For him to piss his brains and flush?!
Or to fucking wipe that gaddamn seat
With his face or ass!

The Piercing of Teresa

Duty-bound

I came to execute

The verdict of Teresa

On that appointed eve

Like a soft breeze

Pounding the curtains

I entered unseen

As a pup she laid

Duped that her

Satin and laced sheets

Would get her covered

From the judgement

That would befall her

Then braced myself did I

To enforce her sentence

Cold and swift

Arrow in hand

Steadily aimed

Dug deep in her skin

This I did

Over and over again

Instead of her body

Limped

And eerily silent dead

I heard

Her forceful

Muffled

Shriek

As the steel bored deeper

I heard a

Slapping sound

Squishing

Steady

Periodic

Was I amused

Where the blade had been

Not a trickle of blood

Nothing did I see

But it got more crimson

Like ripe tomatoes

Begging to be picked free

I turned to her face

Contorted it was

Her eyes blocked the faint light

Mouth’s an open vessel

Begging for the rain to trickle

In the dead of the night