Death of a grape.

Click image to enlarge.

Not wanting to become wine,
Freed itself from the vine.
Down it came falling
But alas, now it's dying.
Landed on a sharp blade
Of a leaf, this young grape,
Met its death with an orchid.
One less fruit for me, or the kids,
Or the birds.

How sad!

I can't bear to see it impaled right through its heart...this seedless green grape.

Not Cabernet Sauvignon.

My mood swung the wrong way,

'Twas not a good day.

Though not a breeze in the air,

Every which way went my hair.

It was not Dom Perignon,

Nor Cabernet Sauvignon.

Sad, so sad.

That day was bad.

PMS?

*********************

A Woman's Work is Never Done.

I'm almost done with my cleaning. All the books I kept are now organized on the shelves and on the rack. My drafting table is still piled with papers, sketches and whatnots; and while shifting through the heap I uncovered a verse written sometime in 2005 or 2006. I don't remember who wrote it. It must've been one of my friends. Holler if it was you - Nance or Nini; or a collusion between you two.


This poem is in Tagalog. It was written during those days when we were chatting online and playing with words.

Kahapon at Ngayon

Laba kahapon, laba ngayon.
Luto kanina, luto ngayon.
Linis dito, linis duon.
Takbo rito, takbo ruon.
Si Manang ay laging pagod,
Pinakahihintay ay magdilim
Upang siya ay maka-idlip
At maipahinga ang kanyang isip.
Ngunit sa sandaling siya ay napikit,
Si Manong naman ay kumakalabit.
Ito na ang kanyang pinakahihintay
Pikit mata siya'y nagpakulong
Sa matitipunong braso ni Manong.
Ay, buntong hininga si Manang.

Nakatulog kaya sila?
Shhh
**********

Clutter and more clutter

I’ve been cleaning the room I’m using as my atelier. This is where I do my drafting, design work, and my paintings. It’s a small room, 12’ x 12’, and it has my drafting table, a console table, a rack and my easels; and it is now cluttered with a lot of things. I have hardly any room to move around. I have to sort out all the clutter – throw some away, shred some, keep some and organize them. I have an old record player I have to discard. I thought I could still play my old vinyl records, the turntable, however, doesn’t work anymore, and so does the cassette player. The radio is the only one that works and the speakers which are in very good condition. I, however, have decided that it has to go bye-bye.

Old documents I have sorted out careful. Those with vital information I have to shred them. That would prevent identity thieves from stealing them; old magazines, books, others I tossed in a recycle box.

As I sorted through the pile I found a poem written by “Boney.” I’ve been looking for this poem for a long time; and I found an old Christmas card dated Dec. 1993, which was sent to me by a young woman. I met her three years before that. She was a nice young Filipina born and bred back home. She was charming; has so much respect for her elders, always addressing me and my husband with that word “po.” I rarely hear those words nowadays, except of course here in the internet from young men and women born and raised back home. After she sent me that card, she stopped coming to my house. From what I heard she’s doing well. I miss her and I wish the best for her.

I found a shoe box full of old letters from back home, dating back in the 80s. I reread some of them, and then shredded each one of them. Letters from my mother are still tucked away in my closet, untouched.

The books and magazines I kept are now organized on their respective shelves. My drafting table, however, is still cluttered. I am slowly sorting them, and I found some old poems which I have written sometime ago. My sketches will be filed in an album.

To this day I am still sorting some odds and ends. It’s been more than a week already. I thought I could do it in a day or so, but it’s taking me longer than that.

The poem by "Boney."

Stan and Sam

There was a man
Named Stan
Who drove a van
And owned a toucan
Named Fran.
Bored on the road the man,
Drove over a soda can
And stopped his van;
And fell asleep with Fran,
His beloved toucan.
Unbeknownst to him his van
Was unlocked, and Stan,
The next morning drove his van
And heard a voice not of Fran.
The voice said, “Sam, I am.”
He looked around and saw Sam
Sitting behind a can of Spam.
The voice said again, “Sam, I am,
And I do not like Spam,
Please being me green eggs and ham.”
So Fran told Stan
To drive to Pam’s
Where he traded the Spam
For unknown Sam’s
Green eggs and ham.
When Stan returned to his van
With green eggs and ham
To his surprise there was a man
On top of Sam.
For Sam wasn’t a man
But a woman named…Samantha.

“Boney”

****************************

The Mist

The Mist

At times I see the mist

As the sun rises in the East.

I see it among the trees

Kissing the yellow, amber and green leaves;

Clinging to their branches and twigs;

Saying hello to birds and bees,

As they await the morning sunburst.

Life moves--a seed from ground would burst;

Behold! as leaves unfold seedlings;

Life awakens in all our surroundings.

The sun rises higher...and higher

The mist can no longer linger

And it's shape and form disappear--

Vanishing into thin air--

Dying in the atmosphere.

It reappears tomorrow

On every Green Pine bough

An end, there'll never be

As mist is born in every new dawn.

On The Flight to Frankfurt

I wrote the poem below right after getting back from a cruise on the Black Sea in Eastern Europe. My husband and I boarded the Lufthansa Airlines in Los Angeles, California headed for Germany, our first stop. Next we headed for Athens, Greece where we embarked on the ship Insignia of Oceania Cruises, in Piraeus.

On the Lufthansa

Like sardines we were packed

Air turbulence--we rolled and rocked.

Food served on trays, tiny and cute

But, it almost made me puke.

Chicken with sauce so creamy

Made my stomach queasy.

The food inside me tumbled,

It complained and grumbled.

Oh no! I have to go.

Line is long; hold before I let go.

Finally, my time has come.

I sit and poof, it's gone!

Only air, sigh, what a relief,

Now I can relax and breathe.

Aaah!

Sept. 13, 2004

Nothing Much Going On

Update...this just in...

I've been busy lately taking a nap on the couch. He he he...so now it's midnight and I'm wide awake. I was making a box earlier this afternoon getting ready to pack something. I would soon send this thing away and bid it good bye. I'm having second thoughts about it, if I should send it away. But...sigh...I have to.

tQERQASDFHJKIP

Fill in the void...

Just like it said, fill in the void. There's nothing much going on. So, in the meantime, I'm going to post a short poem I wrote as a comment to my friend Nini. I've been thinking of doing this for quite sometime now, but I've been napping too much, my hair in back have been rubbed off and my scalp is showing already. Time to do something more productive, like take a walk to the fridge and get some ice cream.

Now with the poem, but first let me quote what Nini wrote.

"Just Vanity

Logging the time
Counting calories
Making the trips
Diet to keep
There’s but a face
I still chase ...
Mine!
Of years ago :-) "


My response.

Mine of years ago
Now that face I don't know.
Over the years,
Wrinkle here and there,
Have come
And have not gone.
I chased,
It was a waste.
It picked up speed
down the hill like a sled.
I gave up...
I'm grown up,
And grown old
With so many folds.
They are here to stay
And I can say,
Been there, done that.

Tula

I dabble in poetry. I was inspired and encouraged by my good friend, Nini, a poet. I can say, without any reservation that she is one of the best, and I'm sure some of those who have read her poems agree with me. (Pssst...you agree? Right? Come one say something.) Her poetry takes one off to her world; to her feeling of joy and soars with her. It is a gift. How I wish I could write just like her, but, alas, I am not to be. I am a mere rhymester...not a poet.

Here's one I wrote in Tagalog.

Ay, Hinagpis

Si Mang Isko ay naghihinagpis
Di makakain; singnipis na ng ipis.
Ang paningin ay nagkaekis-ekis
Nang ang mahal niya ay umalis.

Ito ay nangibang bayan,
Tumawag o sumulat nakalimutan.
Si Mang Isko ay nagmuk-mok
Kanyang ulo'y ipinuk-pok.

Sa pader na walang bukbok,
'Sing tigas ng martilyong pamukpok,
Hanggang siya'y nagkabukol-bukol
Animo'y kalsadang Maynila na bakul-bakol.

Maawaing kapitbahay ay di pansin
Kahit may dalang bibingkang kakanin.
Maawa na sana ang mahal niya
At bumalik na sa piling niya.

O, hinagpis.

Aug. 19, 2004

Night Delivery

UPS man came a-knocking
At my door left something.
Lo and behold! What have we got?
A Christmassy looking box
It has some nuts
And other whatnots.
A couple of delicious red apples,
Some sweets of truffles.
Umm, said Mick,
As the chocolate he licks.
Love those pears and cheese,
He eyes them and gives me a kiss.

Thank you UPS man
Send my love to that friend
Who had sent...
The lovely present
As sweet as she,
None other than Nini.

Thanks my friend, I love it.










Psst. For perfect ball shape I used a template.

I quit the chase.

The chase went on, but I quit. It went too fast for me... sliding down the hill. Vanity is what it is...but no more for me, my wrinkles are here to stay.

Here's a poem by Maya Angelou, describing herself...

On Aging

When you see me sitting quietly,
Like a sack left on the shelf,
Don't think I need your chattering.
I'm listening to myself.
Hold! Stop! Don't pity me!
Hold! Stop your sympathy!
Understanding if you got it,
Otherwise I'll do without it!

When my bones are stiff and aching
And my feet won't climb the stair,
I will only ask one favor:
Don't bring me no rocking chair.

When you see me walking, stumbling,
Don't study and get it wrong.
'Cause tired don't mean lazy
And every goodbye ain't gone.
I'm the same person I was back then,
A little less hair, a little less chin,
A lot less lungs and much less wind.
But ain't I lucky I can still breathe in.

Mail

Parcel post by USPS
It'd be there the soonest.
Handle with care,
Please do not tear.
Do not bump
On a hump.
Do not crunch,
I'll give you a punch.
Come what may
Bring to her doorway.
It'd be there by Monday,
If not maybe Tuesday.
Mr. Mailman do not delay.
She'd been waiting so many days,
Dreaming of it in so many ways.
Parcel post by USPS
It'd be there the soonest.

Can you read me now?

Mnie of yeras ago
Now taht fcae I don't konw.
Oevr the yeras,
Wlkrine hree and tehre,
Hvae cmoe and hvae not gnoe.
I ceshad,
It was a wtsae.
It pekicd up seped
Dwon the hlil lkie a seld.
I gvae up...
I'm gworn up,
And gworn old
Wtih so mnay flods.
Tehy are hree to saty
And I can say,
Been three, dnoe taht.

The poem above I posted as comment for Songs of Nini's blog. It's jumbled, but it doesn't matter in what order the letters are in a word, as long as the first and the last letter are in the right place. The rest can be a mess, but it can be read without a problem. The human mind read the word as a whole, not by every letter.

Try it here.

Through My Eyes

These verses were written as a response to someone's poem.

Through the Eyes of a Daughter

I've seen my mother's sad eyes;
I've heard her every sigh.
All through my childhood days;
All through my grown up ways.

I saw the pain in her face;
I saw it nights and days.
Came he one day from nowhere
I'm home, he said, this stranger.

This gallant philanderer--
My mother's tormentor--
The man I called father,
She prepared him dinner.

He, I've never known
No love for him has ever grown
All through the time I needed him
He was away with another woman.

Years ago he passed away,
Some tears I did shed
He was after all...my father.

10/11/05