proud was i,
maybe a touch too proud,
that day.

like a sculptor,
presenting a masterpiece
of clay,

there i gave
this artifact of love
made for you.

which, in your hands,
was caught in your power
to undo.

on youthful feelings of being spurned.


no other reason

there is no other reason
for us to be apart
except that you complain
that i keep my heart.

there is nothing logical
about such trifling thing
except that you define trust
to mean everything.

i must not keep a secret
if i love you really true;
what kind of reasoning is that,
coming from you?

there is a private chamber
that you cannot violate,
you talk of trust, yet how could you
remain insensate?

there is no other reason
for me to stay away
except that you would cage my soul…
my dear, no way.

hmm… not sure whether i wrote the first draft of this way back before 2000… but this is the most recent revision…

The Footprints

it’s been a struggle,
coming back here,
the surf still bears the imprint of your smile,
and the waves remain constant,
like i had never gone.

but the rocks show the wear of years;
i trace my hand upon that long-ago dream
etched with glass,
etched with youth’s elan,
all weathered now,
and i can barely figure out your name.

the salty tang of twilight breeze
fill my lungs to bursting,
the sun sinking on the horizon
is like your voice,
slowly drowning in the midst of absesnce,
and i am left
to walk the shore alone,
my footprints following the memory
of our long-ago,
lost in the sands,
eaten by the salt of tears,
whispering yesterdays in my ears.

the stars slowly take the place of day,
and looking back,
i do not regret returning
to chase away the cobwebs
and finally erase
the footprints that you left
upon my heart.

grace dino provided the title, and i wrote this for her. (generic theme, closure thingy… :]) hmm.. circa 2003

the namesake of orleans

when i see the pine trees i see you,
invisible presence in the wind, i hear your
laughters in the branches,
like the lilting banshee sighs; i echo them,
yearning for this absent fairy,
only your smile can chase away these cobwebs,
until i am embraced by warmth.

memories are kindled by pine needles underfoot,
and i remember the time we spent walking together,
resurging stories of the past
replayed countless times before me;
yesterdays come alive with the scent of evergreens.

mingling with these ghosts, my spirit yearns for more;
eternity unfolds before my gaze, dressed in white pines.


hmm… been a long time since i wrote this… a verse whose muse never laid eyes upon it…


there are places that seem innocent,
time and meanings, that seem like nothing,
like, who ever thought
that forever could hinge
on such a simple act
as when david chose to cool himself
upon that rooftop,
and bathsheba choosing that moment
to bathe herself…

we have grown accustomed
to pushing our limits,
extending our boundaries…
from babel to titanic,
challenging the heavens,
shattering ourselves upon its walls…

until the final commission,
all crossroads are harmless,
but what moth could resist
the tease of the flame,
and what iron bar thinks not
that it could take one step further
and still stay free from a magnet’s clutch?

crossroads have always been
the birthplace
of heroes, and of villains…

which am i?
and which are you?

firestorm and hail

she came without warning,
like the coming of a thief,
firestorm to burn my soul,
and hail to purge my grief.

i do not mind the burning,
i do not mind the scour,
but to come upon me like a ghost
i almost can’t endure.

i’ve left behind all hope,
i’ve forgotten how to feel,
but hail and firestorm bids me
to accept that this is real:

that there’s a morning after,
that there’s a time to smile.
such lies! i have believed them once,
but all it is, is bile.

there is no morn for such as i,
there is no balm, no sooth —
i’ve lived alone and friendless,
this is my only truth.

but firestorm keeps me burning,
i feel the fire, and cringe;
i made myself this armor,
she melts it, every hinge.

and hail keeps pelting round me,
the pain, so strangely, heals;
i cannot help the loosening–
she takes my skin, and peels

the hopeless brute away,
the wreckage of a man;
then lifts my chin to see the sky
and bellows: UNDERSTAND!

i stand alone again,
the evening breeze with me,
but purged and scoured, and weeping,
but weeping happily.

all right, then, one time more,
once more i raise this blade;
my hope for life, and love, and her:
my quest is made.

playing with rhymes, again….


look here,
the answers to your questions
do not belong
to a faraway shore,
and the star
upon which your wishes flew
is from your beaches, too,
so please,
open your eyes,
look here,
i have polished my soul
so it could shine
for you.


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written in candon, ilocos sur