A welcome surprise

It’s already after five in the evening in La Mesa, and Doro is late returning home from the provincial capital.  As he makes his way to his house in the poblacion from the main highway, he smiles at the activity filling the streets, the sounds and sights that will always remind him of home when he is away for work.  Kids are playing in the street with makeshift toys, girls and boys laughing and running together until their nanays call them home.  He sees Marie has already set up her barbeque trays for selling meryenda to those looking for meryenda as well as Ricardo with his pushcart calling “Fish Balls!” Just the words are enough to make him hungry, and he can almost taste the salty sweet food in his mouth.  This makes him quicken his pace home to his own wife’s dinner but not so much that he can’t greet the Bienvilla family and the Viloria family as they rest in plastic chairs on their front porch and lawn, “chikka-ing” about the happenings of the day.  Everyone smiles tooth-gapped grins at Doro and waves back in greeting, asking “Naggapuam?” or “Where are you coming from?” He answers with a smile and in return inquires about their families, how the harvest is going, and whether they think there’ll be rain any time soon. 

Finally, he approaches his own gate, and he opens it to enter, noticing that he needs to repaint its green-flecked surface again before typhoon season starts once more.  He is not over-worried, though, because he knows that is a few months away.  Right now, greeting his family is a more pressing matter.  He hears his wife’s small Pekingese yapping from inside the house in greeting, but Bea, his love, has kept the door closed to prevent the dog’s escape.  Carefully, Doro manages to open the door and get inside the house while being enthusiastically greeted by the dog but preventing her escape.  “Cholo, calm down!  Off!” Doro exclaims, with little impact on the dog.  But then Bea calls to her, and the dog runs into the kitchen, distracted by the optimism of food.  Or, at least, affection, for she is, after all, Bea’s dog.  The TV is blaring the evening news, but he notices his older daughter isn’t paying any attention to the headlines on the screen or his entrance into the house because her attention is absorbed by her telephone.  He notices it is tethered to her power bank, and he can’t help but wonder how long she’s been messaging her friends on the contraption.  He finds himself reminiscing about when she was still young and seemed like her world revolved around him.  She had always made Doro so proud to come home.  His reminiscence was interrupted, though, by the entrance of his young son, who was still that little boy fascinated by his father.

“Tatang, you’re home!  Look at my new dinosaur I drew!” Little Teddy was waving around a piece of lined notebook paper with a green monstrosity on it.  “Wow, Teddy, what’s his name?”   “Brontosaurus, he’s the biggest dinosaur there is, Tatang!  His neck is like a snake and his legs are like trees!” As Teddy stomps around the living room doing his best imitation of a brontosaurus, Doro suddenly hears from the kitchen, “Teddy, let your Tatang in the house.  Let him rest before you attack! And put your toys in your room.  It’s almost time for dinner.” “Yes Nanang,” Teddy answers exuberantly and stomps off with his dinosaurs in hand. 

Doro exhales loudly and kicks off his shoes at the door, walking over and picking up a plastic chair from in front of the dining table.  He carries it into the entrance of the kitchen, places it out of the way, and kisses his wife on the cheek while she finishes the evening meal.  “Good evening, amor, what are you making?” He sits down in the chair to watch her and she answers, “Pinakbet, your favorite.” She pauses, smiles, and says, “without bagoong, just as you prefer.  Sometimes I wonder if you’re really Filipino” Bea adds with a sly smirk.  “Ay sus, woman, you know I’m allergic; but what is the occasion? You haven’t made pinakbet since my birthday.” “Well, Doro, I have news.  It appears like we’ll need to finish the expansion on the house sooner than we had originally planned.  We’re going to have another child.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The waves

I watched the waves
pummel the shoreline
endlessly
a pull and tug with the moon
as the sun
lowered in the sky

The water glistened like gold
shimmering in the setting simmer
seeming solemn at a great distance while
thundering against the rocky shore
with frenetic determination

The rocks held sway in the battle
holding sand in place
but they were weather beaten
bruised
thin wisps of matter
holding onto a promise of tomorrow

I watched the waves
as one such precipice
singular in its layer of lava
a breath's thickness
was broken by the battering
ram of inevitability
surrendering in a tumble
into the water insatiable
its claim of clay and clattering
collecting above the surface
like a landed lord
gathering payment from his vassals

The sand
the rocks
the calcified remnants of
oxygen-wielding monsters
may succumb
into the depths or
erode into ash
but the water will remain

Hard Knocks

A man sits disheveledly on the sidewalk, back pressed up against the hard plastic of the bench bolted to the concrete.  He stares angrily at his feet, cursing the slippers that have abandoned them.  His toes are gnarled and his soles whitened with callouses earned step by step as he wandered the city streets, shuffling between sky-kissed monoliths, in search for a quiet corner of rest.

His eyes are unfocused and dry from lack of moisture; he can’t remember why.  If he could recollect, he would ponder on the last time he had encountered clean water, the last time he could remember eating food that didn’t come from the trash pit of a restaurant littered with pale-skinned and shiny tourists.

He looks down at the sidewalk again, barely making out the line of a sandal, dark against the light-colored cement.  Suddenly overcome with a despairing anger, he picks up the first object his hands find and begins to beat the shoe mercilessly.  If he could construct a reasoning within a public court of appeal, he might claim that exhaustion drove him to a kind of madness to lash out at the object whose absence had caused him so much pain and grief.  He might claim the shoe was society and had abandoned him to live in the grime and oil of society’s modern runoff. 

But he could not explain his motions, only continually attack the object within his sight, within his control, within his cathartic reach for release.  The sound of the beating echoed off the glass and metal giants standing quietly in reproach, ignorant of their inner complicity.

following the soap

I wash my mouth with soap
like my Daddy always told me
followed by a swig of whiskey
to get the sin back in again
the compromises of
a recovering Catholic.

nuance

she expresses emotions

in shades of white

waiting

for someone to see the colors

so she can take them home

keep them in her heart

until it wanes weary

at last

ceasing its incessant beating

Justified

More and more
butterfly corpses litter the sidewalk
choking on the absence of oxygen
falling to their doom
beauty in motion
almost absurd in its sudden stillness

A familiar refrain
on the failures of man to give wing
to potentialities
slumbering in the poorest of people
as measured in caricature
rather than character

We are Cain and Abel
amnesiac in our inability
to recognise our own brothers
while we somnambulize
through our ragged breaths
wheezing against the fumes
that keep us drugged and dreaming

We murder with pen and sword
drawing arbitrary lines in the sand
to maintain the proper colour of things
in the properest of places
and call it justified

Lost in tomorrows

anchorless by shores
foreign, without harbor, just
growing lighthouses

seas swell with hunger
jutting rocks like jagged teeth
gape for sustenance

time, but a construct,
becomes fleshy, a wet sponge
seeking to be squeezed

in-betweens

like a papaya tree
growing into the earth
instead of reaching for the stars

my fruit at the base of my trunk
for all to savour

expanding inward to
fathomless depths
wood rings and circular meanings

folding memories into pockets
like postcards
pictures of what never really happened

silent sentinel
of the forgetting of things

left behind
stored safely in a box
that will never be opened

I am within the breath of in-betweens

Has the moon lost her memory?

I hear the crickets singing
the humming fan on high
the occasional buzz of
a motor passing by
but I can't hear the soft snore
you sleeping at my side
or the rustle of my sheets
as you dream away night

Echoes of your radiance
leave marks upon the dark
it incinerates your glance
of shame at morning's light
I forget your cowardice
or how you made me cry
when I broke into pieces
the feel of you inside

I thought you really saw me
You only saw through me

Another shore

Today I drove by the sea 

along a shore thousands of miles
from you 

The smell of the salt air

transported me to

another clime

another place

another time

watching the mountains

soldiering on across the strait

the blackbirds pecking amongst the bouldered disorder

the remnants of trees transposed onto the beach

a final resting place

to be salted and dried

like the mounds of tiny fish

left by different fishermen on different shores

to be preserved in the daily heat

I force myself to focus on the present moment

the palm fronds and sand

waiting to become baked in another summer blaze

the large swaths of corn

waiting to become food for so many rutting ruminants

the smell of plastic being burnt into a cancerous ash

I know this land now

the seasons measured by crops instead of temperature

the horizon shifting from the low-lying field of rice

to the sky-high reach of corn towering over humanity

But I know this land could never be my home

this place of so little belonging

this place yoked into subservience by its colonial ancestors

In the quiet moments

in between happenings

my skin tingles

with a colder breeze from another shore where

on the cusp of my vision

I see you

wind-swept and hair-wild

one eye on the sea

one eye on the rocks and shells

conglomerating to keep you afloat on that island

far from me

where you belong with your every fiber

my filaments forever foreign

a pretty good show

Some say you got a purdy mouth
but your mind just don’t match that ideal
Due to that inner ugly
your friends are fairweather
your enemies circling from a safe distance
waiting on that sweet smell of blood
signalling your defeat

How does it feel
the sensation of so many innocent skulls
crushed beneath your heedless heels? 

How does it feel
knowing one day you’ll fall
from that lovely ladders of yours
into an anonymous grave? 

Not a soul will be stirred to mourning
Some may even be grateful

Since you left

Since you left
I've moved through seas

Since you left
I've climbed mountains

Since you left
I've found all the edge pieces

Since you left
I've ditched the dead weight

Since you left
I've shared smiles and tears

Since you left
I've learned to be alone again

Since you left
I've realised that I'm better off without

But it doesn't mean I don't still miss you
Since you left.

the earth is not flat

There are thousands of miles
thousands of images
thousands of sights and smells
foreign to your shrinking self-centric reality
playing through my memory
rolling along the curve and flex
of my tongue 

You quake
at the vast prism of humanity
while I seek out the corners
the edges
the defining parameters
that play out in a Vennic exactitude
hinting of chaos

I crave flavour and sensation
like you crave white bread and vanilla cake

Bring me your multitudes
so I might take them by the hand
guide them around the bend in the road
across the mountains
towards a different potentiality

Breaking point

Somewhere
between the shore and sky
the trees devour the ocean waves
give way to wind song
dancing through their limbs

The flux of tree and wind
water and current
could be that of a two sided mirror
assuming the barrier between elements
the crash deafening
from either perspective

If only we could breathe water
feel the tumble and smash
of elemental division

If only we could frolic in the breeze
like a leaf
being caressed on every side
dare to take the risk
of falling
into the whim of the wind.

With the tide

In the early morning light
the water undulates
dark with mystery

The waves break
in jagged crests
roll on unperturbed
a long held note
moving from shore to shore
between two islands

Death is not an impossible ending
for any souls
on this journey

The depths are teeming
with crocodile tears
and hungry mouths
ignorant of satiety

This is known
yet we ride on
bobbing insignificant on the surface
vessel pointed
in the general direction
of our assumed destination

Will we reach the shore or
will we continue on
seeking out that mirage
that future promise of
certainty?

the path untraveled

I followed the path
to a fork in the road

instead of left or right
there were paths in every compass direction 

I sat on the ground
leaning against a signpost
contemplating my options

I thought about your response to this dilemma

My mind worked its way through the options
counter clockwise
eventually concluded you’d find fault
with every choice 

Instead of walking forward
towards a blue horizon between blustering clouds
you’d have me shovel through clay and burrow
between the roots of wandering trees

Instead of finding my way by foot
you’d launch me over the hills
by trebuchet
the grass no doubt greener
though you’ve never seen it

Instead of risking death or spiritual decay
I choose blindly
closed eyes and trusting feet
an indefinite plan to follow each path
clockwise
until the ferns swallow my footsteps
and I can no longer find my way back

I don’t know where I’m going
but I know where I’ve been
and I have no intention of reliving
what has already expired

consummation

there was a spark as you shifted hard against the flint of my skin
and then it caught, small at first then flaming as it consumed the fuel

my bones, my hair, my soul

the conflagration shone bright against the dark of night
as the moon lay hidden on the other side of the sun

hiding from the uncouth ruminations of civilization

the melting of you into me was so beautiful
onlookers had to turn away to prevent blindness

the kind that erases the vision of the soul

no one wanted to assume the role of empty shell
wandering through the hours as a lost white rabbit

eventually the fire flickered and died out

as you turned away, covered your dermal bruises
the eyes of others looking away, awaiting their judgement moment

in the cold unseeing black, there was yet something lovely

like a flower on the cusp of fading into decay
you placed your palms on either side of your legs

the killing words spoken, the last breath bestowed

you wrenched yourself into the night, shears in tow
from where you had cut the blossom from the stem, irrevocable

Lies

When it comes to where the truth lies,

it is in the mouth or the eyes?

Do you sense sound or sight of things

that can at once make your heart sing?

And do you sing with joy or fear

when the day is done, night is near?

I trust in vision’s tyranny

to keep from drowning in the sea

of susurrant desires mired deep

‘neath the crescendo where you sleep.

Night hides a multitude of sins,

but when hope dies, nobody wins.

Sounds of silence

I lie in the quiet
in search of peace.

There is none.

I feel my lost thoughts
take on physical manifestation
like ants
stealing unbidden on my arms.

I pinch them into a silent death
but they return
stealthy
hunting out the sweet meat in my bones
the sustenance to keep them alive
with purpose.

I walk without destination
seeking solace in movement.
I count my steps
feet falling in sequential inevitability. 

Still I am pestered
by concerns that defy articulation.
The prison of my isolation
is a blessing I sometimes wonder at
but still manage to crave
my drug of choice
that saves me the pain of abandonment the catch being
I can never abandon myself
my doubts and prejudices
my predilection for self abasement.

Ah the silence
that is ever full
of internal noise!

That Space Between

king, slaughter a feast for the gods to be cradled against the belly of the mountain with its peaks like a titanium crown stabbing the skies in ragged regal form choose now the form of your birth or sprawling worship to that space between earth and sun as all before you raised from the earth lowered from the heavens in the carcass of a tree silent in its observation of the folly of man that burning lust for immortality do you smell the ash smoldering within your veins?