frozen delight

she will never look at cherry ice cream bars the same way again.

it was one of those nights again. the kind that puts her to bed early due to exhaustion at work. the kind that wakes her up at midnight. the kind that makes her grope the other side of her bed, looking for something. looking for someone. upon confirming the void on the other side, she sits up and steps into the waking world.

she got out of bed and went to her kitchen to get a glass of cold water. semiconsciously she opens the freezer. and there, as if mocking her, was the unfinished package of ice cream.

a muffled laugh escaped her throat. she picked up the aluminum package and patted her face with it. the coolness of it made her shiver. she closed her eyes summoning the
the memories of a night not too long ago.


she remembered trying to fight off sleep that night. she had barely slept the night before. she wanted to stay awake while he was with her, but she was slowly losing the battle. she closed her eyes and fell into unsolicited sleep.


something stirred her from her light slumber. she knew it was him, but she did not open her eyes. she sighed and buried her head in her pillows. she hid her smile underneath the tangle of her her black hair. she can feel his breath on slope of her neck, her weakest spot.

she heard him chuckle.

and then she felt it.

it was an icy electric shock against her skin. instinctively, she shuddered and turned to face him, but she heard a hushing sound from him. his breath warm on her ear.

she closed her eyes as he traced indistinguishable shapes on her shoulder. a slow smile crept to her mouth. she wanted to face him, to read his eyes, but before she could turn, his lips, his tongue retraced the trail of ice cream he left on her skin.


she will never look at cherry ice cream bars the same way again.





*crimson eve
11/25/07 7:58pm
bergenfield,nj



*************************************************************************************
a lock of hair, bleach, roasted coconut. i've been meaning to use some of things that have awakened my senses to write a short story. who would have thought that an ice cream bar would trigger such an idea? but c.e. is reduced to her prudish self and she can not continue with the details. might as well save them for the secret chamber of memories. sigh.

na naman

sugat ka sa aking balat
na tuwi-tuwina'y
nagpapaalala
ng sakit na
naramdaman sa aking
pagkadapa


akala ko'y
tuyo na ang aking bahay-luha
ngunit
dahan daha'y
may tumutulo pa rin
dumadaloy sa aking pisngi


papunta sa aking dibdib
naghahatid ng hapdi

at ang nakaraan ay parang
pagguho ng yelo
mula sa tuktok
ng bundok ng aking kamalayan


pigilin ko man
malakas ng dagundong


pikit-mata
bukas bibig
piping sigaw

11/10/2007
8:19 am
bergenfield,nj

**************************************************************************************
talagang pangmatagalan ang sakit na dala ng nasirang pag-ibig. marami pa akong panahong bubunuin. pero kailangan kong pagdaanan,bago ko malampasan.

time out

parang mitsa na sinindihan
ang linya
ng ating
talastasan

mainit
nag-aalab
hintay lang muna


parang nasisilip mo
ang pinakamadilim
kong mga pagnanasa


may halong kaba
ang aking halakhak
dahan-dahan muna
darating din tayo diyan


ngunit sa isang banda
tama ka
hindi na tayo mga batang
nabubuhay sa nakaraang milenya

pero hintay muna
bagalan mo naman


painitin
mo lang ng
dahan-dahan



*oktubre 7, 2007
bergenfield,NJ


di mo rin talaga matanto ang biro ng pagkakataon. heto si panginorin at biglang tumitiklop. ganito pala kapag nakahanap ka ng sikretong katapat, biglang naglalaho ang tapang at talas ng dila at kaisipan. nagbabalik sa pagkamanang. parang batang maihyain muli, ngunit sa pag-iisa'y parang pinakawalang bennu sa dilim, nagsasabog ng liwanag at init mula sa baga.matapos ang walang tulugang magdamag.matapos makipag-usap kay MS

I am trying to be strong

I am trying to be strong
but it seems my strength has eluded me
it walked away from me when
I lost this fight for your love


I am trying to be strong
to wake up each morning and
welcome the sunrise
knowing time won’t stop
to grieve with me


I am trying to be strong
to play the role of
a responsible adult and teach my
students about the language of life
but my eyes are too honest
I know they smile for me
I know they know their teacher’s heart is waning


I am trying to be strong
as I drive around the neighborhood
killing time as I try to look for my laughter
maybe I left it
on the street corner
or misplaced it by the bus stop

I am trying to be strong
as I put food in my mouth
my body has to feed
but my soul has been fasting
trying to cleanse a life I
thought I lived


I am trying to be strong as I unlock the front door
and go into the waking world
my body knows no sleep
my mind has been weary
my heart?
it is barely beating


I am trying to be strong
because I know nothing else but be


I am trying to be strong
for me.








April 30,2007(8:10 am )
englewood,nj


* My class was fortunate to receive a poetry writing workshop grant with a resident poet from Harlem,NYC. He introduced the technique of repetition to my students. As I was going through some tough shit myself, I wrote one line that I told my mother in one of those numerous overseas calls to home. I rarely write sappy stuff in English, but I have to let out this grief and corniness. How come I can never write verses when I am happy?

Pag-ibig Ko

Ang kamay ng orasan ay
Hindi tumigil
Ang galaw ng bawat sandali ay
Patuloy
Tulad ng pagmamahal ko sa yo


Ang pag-ibig ko ay hindi
Preso
Hindi kita ikinukulong sa aking templo
Walang tanikala na pipigil sa yo
Sa pagtuklas mo ng sanlaksang
Hiwaga ng mundo

Bagkus,
Ang pag-ibig ko ay malaya dumadaloy sa pagitan nating
Dalawa
Tulad ng karagatan na malawak ang kinasasakupan

Dahil hindi iisa ang ating puso’t kaluluwa
Andiyan ang puwang sakaling hanapin mo ito

Tulad ng paglakbay mo sa
Pusod ng kalooban at kaligayahan mo
Malaya mong hanapin ang kapayaan ng kaluluwa mo



Ang pag-ibig ko sa yo
Ay hindi maramot
Ang lungkot na nadarama ko ay mapapawi rin ng panahon



May 18, 2007 (6:56pm)
bergenfield,nj


* Ang Propeta ni Kahlil Gibran ay isa sa mga librong lagi kong binabalik-balikan, lalo na kapag ang puso ko'y nalulumbay. Mayroon akong lumang sipi na bigay sa akin ni Uncle Choncho. Matanda pa ang librong ito kaysa sa akin. Isa ito sa kakaunting librong ibinaon ko mula pa sa Pilipinas.

song of the dying wanton

she stared at the moon. it was a bright and dark night outside. the night air whispered kisses at her skin. she brushes the cold breeze with a sigh. how long will this take? she shakes her head in defeat. it is futile she muttered. what is the point of all this. she felt she was awakened from a deep slumber. but there was no kiss. there was no prince. there is only herself.

she takes her guitar and plucks a lost melody. she serenades no one. a waste. she sings sweetly from her kitchen window. it is no tower. it is her self-appointed prison.

the song comes back to her. she caresses the chords lovingly. her throat strains at the last few words. her eyes fixed intently at her reflection. so many empty kisses. the sighs she won't utter again.

her friend told her it will take a while for her to heal. it will take a while for her to feel alive again. for now she must exist on existence itself.


how long will this take?


************************************************************************************
i've never been a chocoholic. these days i eat a lot of chocolates, go figure. sometimes it's sick how life throws these curve balls at your face. thank goodness for friends who i can talk to about anything, i mean ANYTHING. richard, is this why you eat a lot of chocolates, huh? after this post, i went to my bookshelf and hunted my little red book.

acoustic set

The weather was too dreary outside. She has been indoors since 5 am. She never even got out to get her coffee, instead she settled for a cup of double shot chai tea with soymilk for her morning drink. Ceremoniously she lit and inhaled the crisp scent of her slim cigarettes. She played an old Pretenders CD to complete the early morning ambiance in her kitchen – her corner in the flat.

She did not sleep well through the night. Something about her conversation with her friend unsettled her. Yes she has missed out on a lot. She stubbed out her cigarette impatiently and made her way to her dimly lit bathroom. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, raised her right eyebrow in mock disapproval and proceeded to strip. She ran a very warm shower. She scrubbed her body as if some invisible film of dirt was all over her. She toweled off, brushed her teeth and put on her favorite coconut scented body lotion.

She tiptoed to her bedroom, an unnecessary gesture since she was all by herself now. She opened her newly organized underwear drawer. She took out a pair of black lacy bra and matching panties. She distinctly remembered the time and place where she purchased this set. She was out with Eve and Nikki. They visited her for the weekend. She went shopping with them and she thought about getting some inexpensive lingerie for herself. She gingerly put on the panties, followed by the bra. She could not help but gently brushed the tattoo on her back as if fondling the wings of her phoenix, as she clasped the hook of her bra.

She winked and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She feels she has come a long way. Like the past few months have been so long ago. She felt liberated. She felt strong. With her damp towel draped around her, she closed the blinds in her apartment. She never liked the sunlight. She was comforted by the dim shadows in her room.

She thought of putting on her chemise, but decided against it. She walked into her living room and unhitched her guitar from the tripod. She turned on her AC. She pulled the folding stool in the middle of the room, took off her towel and sat down on the chair. She closed her eyes, as if meditating to the humming of the AC. It was getting chilly in the apartment. She welcomed to the appearance of goosebumps on her arm. She opened her eyes and strummed her guitar. She started a sad bob dylan song. Her song for him who had left her. She sang faintly, almost whispering, as if finding her voice.

But her strumming and plucking of the metal strings became stronger, more fervent. Her voice getting louder until finally she can hear herself against the sound of the machine. She did not care for the neighbors. She did not care for anything. She sang her heart out. And cried.


“You just kinda wasted my, precious time, don’t think twice, it’s alright” her song trailed off.

written after an overseas call with fagless hag. she suggested a write a series of entries about the adventures of the black lacey whore. wala lang, emo mode. halay mode.