The He-Devil took this life

I got sunburned waiting for the Herb today

The nagging woe

A decade of still distraught

Chronic pain, addiction, & depression—
instead of Two

In a sea of static

The idiosyncratic eye left my soul

With an assault rifle

Disintegrating fragments of devilish

The forthcoming verge


the string of messages in hand,

& the assault rifle took this life—

But the third person I remain

the static Ocean with the new Label

You said there was a new chapter

On the Horizon;

the uncertain place without a partner

supportive of his genius

towards the alley with the

assault rifle

But the third person I remain

Hope stood with the Devil in black—

A privy to his creative brilliance

Ruthless that they hang-out

To grow up down the road

His grandfather could care less

One by one piece by piece no remorse

This musical obsession found me the Devils

Crafted homemade spices from a Mexican herb

In 2011 entrenched in the club circuits

Befriended the heroin

To make further advancements

In hand, the assault rifle

With the Infectious flash mobs

A local fixture; at the center

Took this life

In search of a reason


blasted with a shotgun


To hold the air of mystery with a relative ease

But the third person I remain.



The plush fabric of the night strained me

my olden bleat of pity found me again tonight

against the soft cushion with a pleasant depiction of you so long-drawn-out

Trespassing sight of flickering lights held my whimpers upright

for I have been coiled up by the heavy ropes of our precious pinkies

You are the purple flowers in daylight where bees

make patterns of their sugar lips pressed onto my doleful skin

With the night sky making cracks; branching out, I am nailed

on my bed frightened to be known

This love; this faith in you ‘til now

Have been the pillars I used to change my mind’s laser beam trajectory

Engraved in my heart’s crest forking;

getting lost within the beast’s flames

Many things become reminders of the past

Like a ring on the sun

Like merciful petals blooming one by one to show you to me

Lewdly as I recite your poems

The rhymes seem to desynchronize

With your physique leaning on me

Night and day, what a forlorn girl I have become.

Glitters of pleasure may die unnamed

Like a sudden shake from a long dream

I wish for the night clouds to gather

Drops to fall

To drive out the flames

To tell him that despite all this

No matter how far we may be

I still care for him

Even though

The memories project a shipwreck image off the coast of oblivion; nearly drowned.






Here I am.                                                                                                                                                On my toes again

With His Highness Sheikh Hamdan bin Mohammed Al Maktoum, Crown Prince of Dubai, I’d like to tap on my words to give rise to a new tune.                                                                  If I may, It’d be the sweetest.

Perhaps a song will be made flesh.


From an article on google, I found his name

Thought the name was intriguing

I read through the pages

It budded out to some more pages and now, I’m interested.

Until my head knocked out some sense in me.

His Highness smelled honor and true justice

May this poem warrant me no death penalty

But His Highness spoke wisdom in His poetry

And hooked my heart like a fierce Falcon

His poems I long to deserve

to be able to plant them through my deeds.

May this nourish the lives of my comrades

From the land that nursed

And protected my people.


My land watered my flesh and taught me

Better things with Pride and Dignity.

Penning this does not steam my fears away

It does not seal the raving sea within

Oh, have mercy!

I do not pray to be pried for a breach of any law.                                                                            I adore the Prince like a child; like the biggest fan.


Did two of my face’s bright windows

and wooden door awaken the depths of impossibility?                                                                A real Prince married to a pauper: a pauper to a real Prince.                                                        This I ought to be the truth.

To stand in love with the Crown Prince; a stranger to me but never to my country.              Even I knew the odd one out.


Prince,                                                                                                                                                   (it has a beautiful sound to it.)


The vast sand where your people have set up their Bedouin

To shelter other tribes from the coldest nights;

To shield their skin born out of embers from the frowning sun

Truly was majestic.

How the strength of desires immortal amplified the splendid stories of every person—

You lead them as the camels with their humps on their back in a jovial mood; attentive to the curse of the living nature.

When sandstorm whirls any present debris to hurt your friends

Your arms are spread before them so that

Each sorrow is painted clean

With you; the omnipresent man of your Kingdom.



The world is a walking sin                                                                                                                    (it cultivates pain and oppression)

It hogs greed and livens up power

It survives through clanging metals; banging tanks instead of music and the rhythm of a poet.

I breathe fear from amongst my veins

I folded my heart in sick rejoice;

Not to have faith for those who locked their eyes against your eloquent pursuits.


I remember, as a child, the smell of

burnt leaves that do not leave my skin unless I bathe.

My loneliness destroys my bosom

Every time the cry of silence dominates.

But as a repercussion, I call out to the wind

To seek your protection.


Perhaps I adore you

And the rumors alongside you.

O, what do I know?


But with you, My Prince

to whom the stars worship,

to whom the seafarers find on a dangerous cruise

His life a delicate

His wings of hardened gold

And, clothes a spotless—

I sing my praise to the Highest

For in my dreams, I once desired

A chance, a time to feel a true Prince

in my stride.


O, what a dream; a steadfast one.                                                                                                    O, what do I have to illuminate?                                                                                                          I wonder.


With His army aiming to win every battle

Granted one dares to speak ill of His name

Will blow the mightiest Tower away



I do not possess what the precious Dolls have; a fragile body and a glass house.

But my home is lumped by people with calloused feet and toiling hands

and I only have the sun in my heart.

I walk without fame

Not well-acquainted with Dirhams

But if one can find love and prosper joy

What’s wrong with that?


I saw a pale blue light illuminating the mountain peak

Right before darkness invades to immobilize the city

Before this sentiment transforms into madness

to sadness

Head over to my house and,

Bring me the gift of endurance to which I owe this ‘would be’ masterfully crafted moment.














Tears stem from somewhere so divine.
While looking at tainted skies
Of reveled streets to more stretching lines
Numbered trails;  fresh and heavy 
days that are no more
I know not what they mean.
Quarks and energy have become empty texts
Strange and sad that they creased piped rain
Tears caused by no immediate, identifiable grief
I know not what they mean?

I found a man he seemed so fond of life

He wasn’t merely passing by

I thought we could sit by the Fire

For what appeared to be a new chapter in sight

There all gone without the Light.

Today the rain ruined my umbrella
My hair as if a man had poured sweet wine over, my arms flapped like a native duck.
And It all came back how you would wish a raincoat was sent for me.
Today the rain had broken up in the air and my feet were too idle for everyone’s stomping shoes to get a seat among the vultures in the zoo. But the servant leads like soft rain pattering; leaking through the roof.

Then there are smiles and

Little banter 

There are days but no 


cemented floors and walls

Caging souls inside holes 

Trees but no birds are singing 

Mini boats of escapism

Hanging close to real living 

A way of life or just away 

From living?


Dreams are all clanging inside this tawdry piggy bank.

How wonderful if only to spend it in an hour. Arguments could be avoided and spirit would have been lifted. 

Blockbuster rose

She might just be a rose with faux mink eyelashes 

Blood red petals with everlasting sweetness 

Surprise! Surprise! She might just make a great girlfriend 

Underneath the redness is a stinging bareness. 

She’s a blockbuster rose surviving the harsh soil 

Filling fragrance under the same sky or the impossible black hole

The only thing she might not do is to make you pluck her away 

From the brown earth that turned her into a thriving rose, a persistent blockbuster. 




Every drop of milk is sound against sound. Every time I miss you a thought always glides and I’m reminded that Love is never linear. When I read a book, watch a film, climb the highest mountain and pause to think, I start to dream. When I dream I get so sappy so romantic so enthusiastic that many times I realize that I’ve left my sanity in a different vortex. I’ve once envisioned myself up there, there on top of the mountain, writing names to every star my eyes could reach, breathing every ounce of you along with the whistling leaves of the night, feeling so mighty whenever my skin remembers your fire. I think I could moan better than Madonna by just staring at your eyes. My ears are for love they hear your silly and naughty outburst and I just couldn’t help but give it another moan… 

You and I together, let’s be vulnerable to turn the shadows into one single silhouette as we recline. 


The world on the sides

Most of the time we stand at the center surrounded by guests. We think full. Today I’m at the periphery where two different ends meet, the sea licking the shore, the river flows and comes out to a place unknown– words jump out of a great thought and my shadow grows taller behind me, risking hyperbolé, to be a better stick.



Is a word to mean everything for someone; the soul can recognize alone.

Loving someone intensely but without haste is such that—–

Like feeling you flesh and bones with zero probability. 






I have been told that of the gods and goddesses 

I have been warned of their wrath 

I have been spoken to

by many 

But I cared less of what was told- a history 

But here now I ask you 

If you are prepared to die abandoned or if you’ve seen some sing in despair

and yet continue to blow the ashes this life has given knowing

the consequences of unreturned passion that sifts within 

Once, in that embrace, I was convinced that 

No matter, we all have to suffer-

to go through what we ought to and surrender most of our physical value in order to lay the carpet for whichever path the sun chooses to illuminate 

Or would you let it?

I want to know if you’re ready to sweep the floor from unwanted sadness 

Ready to excuse yourself from immense boredom 

To help you grow, to lead you on

to have so much compassion towards the pain of others and to the pain you made for yourself 

I’m interested to know if you’re interested to live, day by day,

In this world that never lacks commodity 

What was turned to oblivion then now becomes a necessity 

I’d like to know if you can still turn your back, to look at what was left behind now is in front of you

and say here’s where I stand, I know what’s beneath me and from here I’m marking a new path 

I’m going without turning my back.

Because even the gods and goddesses know of God.






There’s a bonsai plant in my room

Probably not the red rose in your head

The flower we constantly give to someone –

A dear friend, beloved mom or to our short of love self

Not the yellow and white chrysanthemums in a glass vase

There is a bonsai plant in my room in front of my TV set occupying the brown shelf

It makes sense how this bonsai spins wonder more than the shows on my TV screen

How my eyes tend to look at its way subconsciously every time I move around my cabin room

It seems it’s calling me, attracting me the bonsai way

One afternoon I found myself throwing tantrums to this sublime bonsai

When suddenly I stopped.

I realized how it stood still even at the fan of air as a response of my “what the heck is going on- roaring self”

There is a bonsai plant that greets me in the morning with a steady look and a knowing grace

When I’m sour graping after a good night’s dream.

I have a fetish for bonsai plants

When I see one distant memories start a slideshow

And I remember passing by Peace Street with three grand houses in my adolescence

The orange house, the white house and the black house

Among these houses I love the white house most because

they have rubber pots with bonsai plants and every morning I see Doctor Robberts watering her plants

Some bonsai plants are shaped as fish, some a tower, some ducks

But I love the bonsai shaped as a cage most

I thought I could live there somehow

Doctor Robberts has one big pair of orange metal scissors and

Every Sunday afternoon she would snip the leaves growing out of the aluminum rings and greet other passers-by with an old smile

Her house has that autumn feel as some flower puffs, narra leaves and flowerets fall on the ground giving off an aromatic smell to lil neighbors like me

There is a bonsai plant in my room and it’s gaining prominence in my heart that sure is in bloom. 







Love letters #1 how we connect the awkward way

FB_IMG_15013181125488358That was supposed to be the night I opened my heart to tell you the truth that I held inside. I thought about how to start, many times. The introduction was right but the body and the closing lines messed up. Those words were not the ones I wanted to say, at least, not the ones I’d like you to hear on a last day. But funny how this life somewhat changed the situation. Either we ended up all too serious or we ended up the comical way. 

The thing about us

Was supposed to be this not that 

Shouldn’t we sit there–

no, we don’t even care 

The intention was to discuss prior concerns,

hey the interview, I knew. I knew! I knew? 

All but the best except my spoiled coffee 

The night simply peeled off the awkward way. 


Like in some twisted fate,

They rolled it. Like in some sick way, they both kept testing each other’s reaction. Waiting for some signs, the green light to just go ahead and speed up..

“He likes her; She likes him”

Probably even deeper than that, who knew?

If only the other one knew. (?)

Like two strangers, they just kept pushing; pushing the same one wall towards each other.

Always with a question —

No better cure.

The song of heartbreak fills the air
As the peacock sits on the mountain peak
The beasts recognize her sorrows tune
And sit behind the queen most high!
Exiles a wishful thinking
Of a throbbing past below her chin
O come with me, sit with us
Heartbreak it is that we must nurse!

Cebuano poems #2

kay kadtung mga kalipay nga milabay sa aku ang atubangan sama sa usa ka dakung dug-dug sa sayung kabuntagon nga mibu-ak sa aku ang paghikatulog, ma o nang hitabu-a nga nagpabiling lab-as sa daplin sa akung aku sama sa bata nga gidaman-daman, iyang pangalan ra ma-oy nigisi sa aku ang dila arun malituk ang pulong sa gugma.



The wave that lashes out the cliff when the tide is high and the moon is bare

The wave strong enough to wash you away

The wave that drowns most fishermen at night or even as they scatter their nets to hoard fish

The wave enchanted for tourists and mellow natives

The wave that manifests the sorrows of the sea

Home to diversified beauty and ageless mystery

The wave that takes away what you give it, stores it somewhere neglected

The wave that tells the story it reads from the secret bottles collected, from little stones of wishes thrown, from screams of people who visited 

The waves unstable, dangerous and calming 

If I were the waves, would you be my surfer instead?


Cebuano poems #1 sa akung mga higala

ug tu-ud man handumun ku mga kagahapun nga gipalit ug gisaw-an sa atu-ang panaghigala-ay , laumun ku gihapun kini hangtud nga mubuswak nasad ang sunud nga hudyaka sa atu ang isig ka kinabuhi. Apan, samtang ani-a pa kita, makita ug mabati, ibayaw ku sa mga bitu-un sa kagabhion kining kalipay nga miguhit sa atong isig ka mga ngabil. Kay nahigugma aku sa akung mga higala, sayri kana.

How can I not love you? 

Please meet me tonight. Let’s see how many words will be spoken. And how much tears would fall for each word spoken.

Then from that point,

What must you tell your heart?

is all up to you.








Many times, it seemed no matter how hard I tried nothing seemed to get through. I surmised even with this so called “Law of Attraction” I still fucked up. Last year was the hardest year for me. Everything just went out of proportion. Relationships, work, family, the losses were grand I thought it was impossible to get back up. I was filled with self-doubt, stuck in a rut, fearful to do the things I was most passionate about, out of focus, depressed, so vulnerable, pitiful yet I kept them all up. There was no one to talk to. No one to trust and can be trusted because either I met people who were judgmental, mediocre or just plain hopeless as well. It was so hard getting by on your own but I had to since nobody knew; no one was capable of knowing and helping. So I forcefully tried my best to pull myself up and it seemed I made it slowly after telling myself some lies, slapping myself the truth and the reality around me of course, I made it. I was back to that smiling freak mode again and I told myself, “you’re doing fine. You can do it. Yes, a little bit more, more, more, more. Smile, smile, smile some more, laugh, laugh, some more because if you don’t and if you won’t you’ll cry, cry, cry more, more and more until nothing’s ever going to move forward, you wouldn’t like it, would you?” So I never cried once. I refused to I was strong. I did things on my own I was used to that.  I held so much of that string otherwise I’d snap and go crazy. I just didn’t know what to do. I tried figuring things out and yes I knew myself all too well, I failed. I was difficult to give up because I was optimistic at least, I’d like to believe that. What happened, not happened and what was about to happen were vindictive yet I only had myself to blame. I had been beset by the ill-thoughts running in my head. I was so afraid to lose more than what I had already lost.

Living alone. Doing things alone. Everything decided and created all by yourself is your comfort zone. You aren’t lonely. Because being in the c-zone is happiness.

The challenge is when you’re Not asked, Not dared and Not forced to share that space with another special person.

Someone who matters to you, who is determined to embark on a new journey with you. Someone who loves you. Sometimes, someone totally different from the people you’re used to having and taking.

And you…

Are just there mystified, rambling things in your brain, rationalizing, doing reality checks, making-decisions, nit-picking, finger-pointing and,

at other times just dreaming, fantasizing, miraculously writing songs, singing, wishing and carving wood, spilling beer,

frightened to leap, to be a fool, to make mistakes, to regret the only decision you made from the many options you had –it could be wrong, could be right,

I might be right, might be wrong

Afraid to live a different life, scared to be with a different person, scared to discover a new person in you, not wanting to do things, fear to lose control in doing so, experience the ruin of all things gradually in your face like colourful confetti up in the air, difficult to catch with your two hands when it falls–only gets even worse once it lands; filling the ground wet, dirty and useless.

Then, you’re back to square one.

And the good side? 

Because it’s the opposite; varied, difinitely not an empty experience. 




That time of her life when she was there on top of the mountain, staring at the world around her, thinking, planning on how to kill those bats, wolves and snakes…screaming at an imaginary enemy behind the clouds, slicing the wind with her hands, determined to take down any one who stood in her way…

“one day, I’ll be successful! And I will blow the fog clean to write my name in the blue sky! The world will witness my victory and all of them will forever be defeated! HAHAHA “



There he was…the man she loved, on the ground, playing a kite! 


When a person tries to heal from a past wound…


She travels. Hermits. Keeps silent. Smile. Goes out. Meets friends. Laughs. Packs her emotions in a zip lock bag

But in her head.. Lines play on repeat. 


Let’s hope I’m fine after I break my heart. 

I’ll still smile 

Like I’m allergic to tears

I’ll break the spell in style 

There’s no way you can wonder why

People won’t notice 


“I’ll be okay” even that will be rehearsed 10x.

The end.


Sometimes NOT knowing anything of the situation can be very comforting as days are nothing but vapor. It rises up then disappears. Shapeless. Bodyless. Painless. 

But with knowing comes pain. And fear becomes inevitable when it starts to take the form of a witch. One is forced to accept any thing served on the plate. This time, It haunts. It stabs. It kills. 


That’s the danger of focusing on one guy, she tells a friend.

“You get everything torn yet feel obliged to tape it on. Alone!”

—————- yeah, like it rings a bell?

“Think long term”, from the magazine I read.


Ten years, let’s say.

– – – – – –

Brain fast-forwards to 2027.



“In ten years, will it matter?”, the head asks brain.


Brain says: I ain’t done yet!



The mask

Each of us has a mask to wear

Perhaps mine’s the heaviest, the grandest and the most towering

That bears mostly the truth that we hide; the reality we dislike

So much pain and trouble, I wish to tell the world

But my heart wears an even stiffer veil of a true recluse

That even with this insurmountable desire, I let the world be blind

Or maybe, I am the one with an incurable eye decease 

In essence, I go on ‘quiet’.

With this mask I purposely change and wear

Different for every scenario

I go on ‘quiet.’

I am deeply affected

That the sun with its laser light

Gradually burns my soul when its high and sharp

But only get comforted by being left in the coldness of the night

I’d like to put the mask down

Sometimes I go on and off

Play true or false

Alone with my mirror not getting enough sunlight

To retract this loneliness, this heaviness

I wish to put down.

While I know this mask adorned with free jewels and peacock’s feathers

Won’t go dirty any time soon

There’s not much fire left in my heart

I need your help

Please come to me very soon.




short poems # 11 Change

When something is worth remembering, we freeze it. So one day when we, too, become a stranger of our own memory; our reality, we defrost it and everything is in motion again. But like ice that melts, we do not live like how we once were.

Let the demon out

Puke darkness from my mouth

The large insects and larvae

From my head now has resurfaced

As my body bends and my head turns

Let the harlot possess

The light it exudes

Consumed by sins

A pixie-slave

The idols in my brain

Idols are in my brain

They scream through every cell

I hear echoes everywhere

I let out a demon

Who roams around night clubs

She licks out blood

The blood of another’s spouse

There’s an evil in my body who

takes over this mortal vessel

And turns it a starving black angel


It is because love has died out?

Or is it because I killed it?


I let the demon out




“Are you okay?”

“Are you okay?”

I want to ask.

Ten letters to type,

It only takes three words forward,

a question mark and a quotation mark

one by one,

I delete them backwards.













This is how worried I am about you.



in my subconscious

In my subconscious

Searched to equilibrate water in my head

To know if we cared enough

Hazy images appeared in the shadows

It seemed a mascara, black liquid eyeliner, face foundation, white teeth,

Pointed shoes, maybe sneakers, a dark horse,

A Parisian chick, a scythe, a dark red coffin, a wolf, a snake

tu es l'amour de ma vie

This gale-force wind like dream

I would still love it

If only—

To wake up next to you

Arms locked one morning

To meet your sleepy eyes and kiss your warm coveted lips.



How easy it is to push a button,

how easy it is to cause some waves,

easy to make noise in silence

easy to frost in the snow

to want someone

to be a couple but not really


but with one blow of a secret–


everything, everything simply 

becomes flat.

Her story

My sister came home this morning

Out from home


I asked her if she had breakfast

She said she didn’t eat much

What took you so long?

She used to be busy during the day

‘Til she lost her job

So she’s got time in most days

Oh, why were you crying?

She was silent but in deep sobs

We fought again, uttered her

And I just didn’t know what to say—

She—coming from that toxic cycle

Was pathetic in so many ways

While I was the one who held her hand

My tears found a way to rip my floodgates apart

Looking at the bruises the MAN just knew how to mark

At home

A lot became litters looming on the floor

Hard to pick ‘em up they were in bits to crumbs

What happened?

She said, ‘’He was his usual self.”

She was at work

he was drunk all night


Where were my lil tomatoes and baby ostrich?

At home, terrified and crying

Why did you leave ‘em there?

He locked em up; she had to run

The only thing she could say

Can’t we do something?

She said, don’t do anything.

She can fix it; she will fix this-

The lies she had to tell

It was her fault, she was nagging him

I said, shame on him!

There’s no way you’d feel sorry

For him who knew nothing

But to injure, damage and destroy

Why won’t you leave him?

‘There was nothing much I could do’ was all she had to say

And so leave him! I told her that

No, I can’t! she blurted out

‘My kids won’t have a father—‘

This and she left our house

She went home and found

The TV broken, the rice cooker

On the floor with rice spread in waste

The clean clothes now wet with urine, burnt

Some ants crawling and cockroaches feasting

On the fouled, soggy left overs

Poured on the pile from her hard-earned labor

Near the doorway diffused widely on

the mat-less floor,

her blood stained the wall after he

hit her with his knuckles

and every day, it seemed a habit

they both couldn’t adore.




Of low self-esteem

I don’t have the disposal

Don’t have the time

Don’t have the

Good times


The good ideas

I don’t have the chance

Don’t have the nice waist line

Don’t have the certificates of an A-lister

Don’t have the brain of

Dear Einstein


What I have


is a heart made of pen

a notebook for all my poems

my smile that doesn’t make much money

but it does make friends to a heart that’s dull and weary

my eyes that are seldom recognized by their beauty

because they speak all watery

my hair that flies left and right

sometimes tucked behind two cute ears

that don’t wear earrings all days


really where’s my self-esteem,

if it isn’t found above?


I don’t have the song

Only the music

Don’t have the object

Only the texture

Don’t have the destination

Only the footprints of my journey

Don’t have the answers

Only the trial and error


Do they count for my self-esteem?

Probably they don’t.


I want to build a ship

But I forgot the sail

Don’t have the money

I think I’m going to fail


I don’t know how to swim

Really three seconds and I’ll come up for air

My friends they laugh

Can’t dive, can’t make a clean butterfly stroke—

I can’t even float!

Just imagine the thought when

They thought I’m a freaking happy fish

Who doesn’t know where her gills

And her beautiful fins


I love to try

Make my own

Desire the limelight


I think

I can do better than that

I thought first of that

I have tried it can I tell you how it was?

I know that, can I tell you more of that?

But my mouth

Is like a zipper it zips suddenly

When my heart throbs roughly

And my head lost its density


Then, it’s gone for all eternity.






Today at the Hall

She sits behind her table

And takes precious calls

While she’s doodling some trolls on her pad;

rolling her eyes til China meets Africa,

A caller begs her request not to be put on hold.

She said, “Your endorsement letter is ready for pick up at 11 a.m.”

Her tiny heart runs to the exit door

And got to the City Hall.

When she asked the lady for her fortune,

She said, “I don’t know anything at all.”

Sir Pablo and the cult leader went out of town

No less than Bohol.

Damn that empty confidence and her deceitful


Surprised by the lady’s ignorance and all,

The kitten asked for her rat but

was denied of her turf

Why summon a tiny hopeful

Trick her—

Make her worry for an empty porcelain paper?

“Please come back at 3 p.m perhaps they’ll

Make an appearance together once more.”

I said, Ms. I’m sorry I don’t have that play time and all

She said, “Too bad so bad we have no choice at all.”

So, can I get my fortune?

No way, I know nothing at all.

This is goin’ nowhere, Lord

Dubai, Canada, Spain, and Brazil

So long, farewell; I gave my all.

Guess for this bunch of Immortals inside

The marbled house

They don’t care about Juan’s downfall

behind the wall.

It seems a simple comedy.

If only Karl Marx was wrong—







To the stranger from the opposite city hours and miles away from here

O lover of the future

O stranger of the day

Anything but not a parting

I bet you wouldn’t want it either–

I love you, I love you

No matter the size of your panties

And the worrisome of your house

However, you crouch or squat

And tear the clothes you wear

I swear–

Before grandfather complicates your absence,

I love you until your time zone meets my time zone

or penguins join goats

and carps sing with trumpets

whatever the conditions may be

Soaked chicks can get sick

Injured dogs get pushed away

And none of the club members

Would even take a whale-torn skill.




Please come the tender rain

Please come the tender rain.


Do you hear that sound knocking on your spirit?

Dried and barren as the red sand.

Although I know little of my existence

can reach you,

I wish today is the day each sadness

Will fly away to leave you and your scorched heart.

Don’t mock my song, I’ll leave with this music.

As you go on to your path remember

The days you sat one summer

When you prayed for me to come

Like tender rain.

Please come my tender rain

And bring the flowers to a bloom again

Let the rivers run full again

And a radiant rainbow once again

Take me back to that precious memory

When I am no longer tied up to my inner conflicts

Around you like tender rain,

Come to me young and anew.

I hold your breath every time the water trembles

And I see my own before a mirror

Even if only for one change of season

Visit me like you always do

Wash me away along the rigid gutters of the city

To the salt less river where my forefathers

Had raised me

Back to the ocean to be free.

Sing the ancient music; the song for my soul

Grant me the freedom to wander around

My beloved home

Come to me but a rushing soul

Come rain on me you, simple soul.

 Please come to me you, the tender rain.





Reine d’avril


I am sorry.

I wanted to bring you two deep dark red roses.

You; the commonplace of my immoderate zones.

But I clad two in my frock

with each trudge, one rose capered

no way to suppress the darkened spades.

The air blew with the first petal

Came ‘round and in circles

until none of them were seen dangling.

My cloak inflamed; perfumed.

Today I could but not give two deep dark red roses.

But, my cloak still inflamed; perfumed.

How you have held the fort.

Tainted wide with royal fingerprints?

Peasants genuflected in the presence

of the nobles.

How this servant’s heart interluded

with taunting breakage but in


Two deep dark red roses

where they flew a respite,

wilted thy bounty.

Strayed, cascaded down the rivers

sinking beneath the unsettled ambers.

Tonight, I will be inflamed; perfumed.

For the memories of two deep dark red roses

soon will draw breath.