Friday, December 14, 2018

Ang Apo ni Tasyo ay Atorni

Marahil kung ipunin ang bawat
minutong aking ginugol kapag
naghihintay tawagin ang aking
kaso -- dati nga nakatitig lang
ako sa dingding, hanggang natuto
na akong makinig sa huwes, tapos
naging alalay sa mga kapwa
abogadong kapos sa palusot,
at sa labis na ngang kabagotan,
inisip ko na lang na kunwari
isa akong preso, nagnakaw ng
motorsiklo, carnapping ang kaso,
trip lang ng barkadang paglaruan
ang Shakey's delivery, eh hindi
pala ako marunong mag-motor,
kaya tinakbo ko na lang, ayun!
Nahuli tuloy. Ngayong umaga,
sesentensyahan na raw ako. At
nasa dulo kami ng listahan.
May abogado rito na gusot
mayaman ang Barong, siya ay ngiting
asong nakatitig. Kung sana ay
ako kaya ang abogado at
s'ya ang preso? -- Malamang may sagot
na akong naisip sa tanong ko,
ang paghahatol ba ay tulad ng
delubyo nang wasakin ang bayan
ng Sodom at Gomorrah ng apoy
at asupre, o di kaya naman
nang magwika ang bayang Judea
ipako'ng anak ng karpintero
sa krus dun sa bundok ng Kalbaryo?
Ay naku! Magkaiba ang sagot! Kung ako
ang abogadong taga-usig o
ako ang inuusig na preso!


Monday, August 06, 2018

Home is not a place

Last night I dreamed I was back in Pola,
lying on the bed where I used to sleep,
in the old house made from trunks of Narra.
There were strangers who were welcoming me
“You’re finally home,” they said, “You’re the boy 

who was brought here when you were just three months
old.” Indeed, I recognized the same house 
by the sea, the sound my Grandma makes as 
she sweeps the street in the early morning,
the gentle rhythm that used to calm me.

But not last night in my dream as I was
restless. And I shouted at the strangers.
“Where is she? Take me to her! This is not
my home!” And I woke up and clutched your hand, 
thinking, my home is wherever you are.

Tango Celeste

You’d be surprised to know this tune
is about winning a horse race
Por Una Cabeza, which means
by a stallion’s head. It reminds

me how twenty one years after
we’re dancing to this beat, inspired
by Al Pacino. Taking turns
to lead and follow, trying not

to break the rhythm, laughing
”wide, wide, quick, side, slide, turn, again”
and being laughed at the way that

we normally do, when someone
has taken a thing seriously
like me tonight, tipsy on gin,
dancing like a Japanese pug.

The night that I asked you to be 
my wife, I almost missed, because
a meeting took too long, traffic
got in the way, you’ve been waiting.

You left, your patience expired
I caught you not a second late, 
Por Una Cabeza, I could 
be singing this song instead, me

alone, guitar in hand, childless
”wide, wide, quick, side, slide, turn, again”
”wide, wide, quick, side, slide, turn, again”
were it not for a stallion’s head.

Friday, July 27, 2018

Holy Iron

I was a teen-ager when my Grandma 
took me to task for this ministry of 
well-pressed pants. Why should I dislike, she asked, 
the long preparation to gather the
leaves of bananas, light the coals, set them in
the flat iron? 

To patiently wait as I fan them ‘til 
the heat is right, ready for the smoothing?
And there is a method to this ritual, 
she said: You start with the pleats
and pockets 

and make your way to the cuffs.
Follow the 
rhythm as you hold the pants 
on the board  — 
fold, press, back  to the dock, fold
press, and back 
again. If you mind yourself 
long enough, 
it resembles the sound 
on Good Friday 

of penitents passing. There is a small 
pail of water to soften the textile, starched, stiffened, and baked.
You dip your fingers 
a bit and bless the  fabric. She had more things to say: the scent of burnt leaves
reminds her of monks praying. The clothes make 
the man, I know, but Grandma taught, the soul, 
vain, reckless, is mastered in the pressing.


Tuesday, July 24, 2018

Some deaths stay with us

Oh, I will never forget Palomo,
black-spotted Dalmatian who came every
now and then to bark and get some viand
leftovers before lunch as he goes to
market; he'd do a few tricks for us like

stand on his hind legs, pretend his human.
He's someone else's dog really but he
pays us a visit like the friend who comes
for coffee to share some thoughts on a bit
of politics, history,  relations,

except that he's a dog.  Until one day
somebody rushed to the house, "Palomo's
been poisoned!" Palomo walked to our yard,
he's making strange noises, his mouth dripping
with bubbles, and he looked at us as if

begging us to do something. Someone said 
make him drink Coke with sugar. My Grandpa
obliged, held Palomo by his neck and
poured the concoction on his mouth, but poor 
Palomo laid down sideways on the ground.

My Grandpa wept as he held Palomo,
who took his last breathe shortly. I touched his
soft fur to say goodbye. Wet eyes staring
on blank space.  Ah, this happened 40 years
ago; I sob like t'was this afternoon.

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

Dose

Nung araw, nagtayo kami ng team
Iba’t-iba ang pinanggalingan:
Probinsyano, batang squatter, rich kids
Pandak, matangkad, payat, mataba
Problema lang, lahat kami point guard.
Pag-hawak ng bola, dribble, dribble, 
tuloy tira basta maka-shoot lang.
Ay! Walang panalo kahit isa.
Ngunit minsan dumating si Coach Jay.
Marami siyang itinuro sa’min.
Gumaling kami. Natatalo rin
pero iba. Kung baga sa pan de
sal, tinama niya ang mga sangkap
harina, tubig, pampaalsa at 
asin. Minasa ng katamtaman.
Kaya kami yumabong, nagbigay
ng lakas, ‘di lang sa amin mismo,
pati na rin sa mga kalaro.

Isang gabi bigla siyang hinuli 
ng mga sundalo, rebelde raw.
Isa sa aming dose rin pala
ang nagsumbong. Ang balita namin
pinatay siya sa bundok kasama
ng mga magnanakaw. Subali’t
anuman ang sabihin nila ay
pinagmamalaki namin siya at 
maski kailan ay hindi namin siya
malilimutan. Mula noon ay
palagi naming inaalala
sa kahit anong gawain, mapa-
laro, trabaho, o pagsasanay: 
Sino sa atin ang gaganap sa 
papel ng minamahal na Coach Jay?

Friday, June 08, 2018

Borong Borong

Let me tell you how I learned empathy.
I was probably three years old back then.
My parents were in Manila; I lived 
with my grandparents in Pola, small town,
by the bay, lush mountain, sweet bananas.

One day while playing on the street, I met
Borong Borong, a boy older than me 
by a few years. He had a scooter, which
was made of scrap wood and junk steel wheels,  which
he used to roam around town for errands.

Now, my Grandma asked him to come one day
To get some stuff from the market on his 
scooter; he asked me to come along with 
him. I gamely obliged riding on the
platform, while he stirred and pushed as we rolled.

So, Borong Borong got the stuff and we 
went back home to Grandma who was  waiting.
She was so happy when we arrived and 
she handed him a coin in gratitude. 
And I protested as she didn’t give me 

any, not even a poor “mamera.”
But Grandma told me Borong Borong was
an orphan, and the coin is for hot soup
for him when he gets hungry when there is 
no one to feed him and he misses his 

mommy. And I don’t know what hit me but
I cried so hard and pressed my face on the 
wall, surprised that Borong Borong, jolly 
fellow with the wooden scooter, had no
mommy or daddy. And until now I 

regret why I felt I wanted that coin.

Friday, April 20, 2018

Elegy

Almost done with breakfast,
got startled as you shreaked
begged me kill the cockroach
under the table please.
As I stood, knife in hand
searched for the intruder
Stepped on the evil thing
smashed, squished, and crackled so
the sound of frying egg
“I killed it with a knife.
That’s truthful, isn’t it?
Misleading, but valid.”
I saw the insect’s kin,
the corner of the room,
A whimper, “You humans!
Your words hide cowardice.
By an assassin's Crocs
My dear daddy is dead.
My mother will be shocked.”

Monday, April 16, 2018

Prelude to a Fight

Said the white rooster 
to the red
“Don’t you tire 
of this pecking? 
Our beaks are sharp
our necks strong and flexed,
are we meant
to serve 
a higher order?”

And the red replied,
“Impertinence!
Bury your claws on 
someone’s throat.
To perish with 
bloodied combs,
no reason 
can be as great.

And the white
turned away,
flapped, jumped
and crowed in 
memory of a love, 
who laid,
with ketchup 
by her side.


Friday, April 13, 2018

Plato in Boracay

Charming island 
blue sails
where coconuts
grow on sand;
warm afternoons
on your cold floor
lured everyone to come.
Athens of the east
to all who search
and the few who find.
With you the hemlock 
is sweet 
escape from 
sophist souls.
Die if we must here.
Kant is a moron.
The truth is cradled on
your shores.

Friday, March 30, 2018

Foucault gets drunk on Good Friday

What knowledge can be 
more powerful than 
knowing that You are
God?

A thousand different 
things I would do if 
I suppose I were 
You.

I snap my fingers
Calvary would have 
turned into a crois-
sant.

Your trick turning blood
into wine but I 
prefer a Pinot
Noir.

Pontius Pilate I 
would have turned him in
to crumbling cheese of
blue.

Yet two thousand years
ago, You knew that
the Word that made all
words 

possible will end,
life lived well will meet 
a staggered humble
death.

And I, contemplat-
ing this last bottle
shake my head as I
sleep.

Sunday, March 04, 2018

Friday Night Rhapsody

What could be a better deal than this?
I give you my money
You give me in 
toxi
cation.

The spirit I can’t hear it.
No, I can’t see it. 
Only one way to do it
in
toxik
cayshen.

Smile when I smell it
Taste but no tether
it won’t give me in
tohksi
cayshen.

I gulp and I'm done
I'm done and I'm gone.

This is how we live today
distracted by the focus
focused on distraction.

In
tok
shi
kay
shen.

Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Impeaching Sereno is a giant step backwards

A couple of years ago, I posted here that the appointment of then Justice Sereno is the most important defining moment of the PNoy Presidency. She was the only nominee who was insulated from powerful interests and  with a reputation for academic excellence, and integrity. Further, being the youngest nominee,  she could ensure that the Supreme Court would be stirred towards independence beyond the terms of succeeding presidents. And she proved PNoy’s appointment motives right when she herself voted against the PNoy Administration’s pathetic defense of the infamous pork barrel scheme known as Disbursement Acceleration Program (DAP). 

Is it therefore any wonder that the agenda of the Duterte Administration is the impeachment of CJ Sereno? Duterte wants things done and the last thing he needs is an indepenent court run by an academic with an apolitical leaning. He and his people have said many times that the drug addicts are not human and they don’t deserve due process. In his first State of the Nation Address, he grumbled about human rights, in the process revealing his authoritarian leanings. Duterte and Sereno stand in opposite poles of the political spectrum, one a despot who fashions himself as a spartan; and the other, a religious libertarian free of Vatican dogma.

I’m afraid CJ Sereno’s ship, which once stood as formidable, has been found to have holes. Her issue with her Statement of Assets and Liabilities and Net Worth is not a magnet that could rally thousands to oust her; but, since her predecessor stumbled on the same thing, it’s a legal excuse that the Senate and Congress dogs of Duterte can use to impeach her. Never mind if it’s not even a high crime as required by the Constitution.

I’m looking at the Senate line up whose votes would determine CJ Sereno’s fate. What would be their gains in voting for CJ Sereno’s acquittal? It doesn’t look good. If only CJ Sereno can rally people to her side; yet her pedigree is anathema to the ways of the morally-compromised politician that sadly is the proto-type of a Filipino leader. The people should realize that the impeachment of CJ Sereno is a re-establishment of the old order, a return to the ways of the “bata-bata” system that made it possible for Ferdinand Marcos to legitimize his cling to power in 1972. But nobody cares at this point. Duterte has the nation bewitched with several narratives that cut across interweaving interests; the Chinese invasion of Philippine territories, the tax TRAIN, the drug menace, the roll-out of  infrastructure projects, and the Dengvaxia vaccine fiasco, among others. 

What depressingly interesting times we live in. 
#StandwithCJ