Monthly Archives: February 2014

Done

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I’ve finished my seven-day challenge to myself. Now off to a new frontier.

I’ll be hosting our city’s poetry night which I think is long overdue. Poets have been springing out of newspapers and magazines but they never get to do their pieces beyond pen and paper.

Now they will on Feb 28 8pm at Chaibodia Bistro. :))

See you guys there!

Different Houses

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Building dreams together is one of the perks of being in a relationship. It makes me look forward for the future. But when the relationship gets awry….
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She met a boy who wished for a simple home in a suburban neighborhood. No qualms and chaos. Just there to have peace and quiet. Now, he is gone.

She almost fell in love with a man who wanted a house on top of a century-old tree. He would build his own tree house and put a sun roof so all the light would come in. Now, he is pursuing someone else.

She fell in love with a man who dreamt of a Pi-shaped house with her. A white Pi-shaped house with an Olympic size swimming pool in between the elongated parts of the house. Now, he is with someone else.

The tragedy of it all? They never asked her what she wanted.
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In all fairness, I still don’t know how my ‘dream house’ would look like. o.O
What does your dream house look like?

Peace out!

Poetry Night in CDO Soon

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I’ve had the honor to perform in Xavier University’s Recite Night, organized by Xavier Center for Culture and the Arts (XCCA) and Xavier English and Language Organization (XELLO) in coordination of the celebraton of National Arts Month in the Philippines, last February 6, 2014. I was awestruck at all the talents. The poetry these young artists have are phenomenal. A couple of poems even made me cry.

And then I remembered there was this Poetry Night somewhere around Cagayan de Oro (CDO). I don’t remember where it was exactly so I made a status in Facebook. Lo, and behold, a friend commented on my status. And the rest was history.

We’re organizing a poetry night here in CDO on Feb 28, 8pm at the Chaibodia Resto Bar. It’s gonna be exciting. Musicians will play. Poets will perform. Artists will be in one place. 

I’m getting giddy!! 

 

Peace out!

Once, Twice, and Thrice

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I finished this one quite recently. Well, I sort of got into it because of the poetry reading event held in our school. It was a way for poetry and literature in general to be democratized (in a very good way, I might add).

Inspiration? Hahaha! I think it’s pretty clear how this poem got started. As to who this muse is, I’d rather not say. He/She/It might not even know about this.

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I like you

Even before we met,

Even before we were introduced.

Cliche #1 – You are the man of my dreams

the epitome of an idea that sprung to life.

Cliche #2 – You stuck out like a sore thumb

in a sea of faceless strangers.

Once, You saw me sitting alone

You kept me company.

Until, we each had to go

for some reason.

I do not remember anymore.

Twice, we sat alone together

Same time

Same place

Unplanned

Unannounced

Sipping our teas and started

Talking – a series of reveries and revelries that got us

bearing our souls which were torn by

the same glass cannons

we have fostered home.

A light breeze ignited my slowly ebbing heart

and just for a nanosecond

I thought maybe – just maybe

the idea of you and I

Us

is in the realm of possibility.

We both wear our hearts on our sleeves.

Although, I hide mine

better than you do – or so I think.

Remember we talked about destiny?

How our decisions and circumstances have led us to this:

Now

Now, I definitely know there is a Higher Power

for how can I not believe in Him

and witness this miracle

of the eventuality of us

But

Oblivious

Oh, that you are.

Fun Fact: did you know

we’ve already been introduced thrice?

Cliche #3 – Three time’s a charm!

It’s alright.

I’ve already come to terms with the brutal truth that

You will never fancy me.

 

You just don’t

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This is from the time I got broken-hearted. The situation was complicated. I was young.
I don’t remember how I finished and what I felt when I was writing this. Angry – obviously. But, I don’t remember exactly.
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You don’t get to call me in the middle of the night,
you don’t get to ask me you need a friend;
oh that ended the day you let go of me.

You don’t get to love me,
and not love me at the same time.
You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.
You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.

I know I was pathetic,
I know I was weak,
Holding on to bonds that we shared,
Saving everything we had.

You don’t get to ask me if I’m alright.
No, I’m not alright.
You broke my heart, shattered it to pieces.
You chose to break my heart.

I see you when I close my eyes.
Much more when I open them.
You don’t get to haunt me in my dreams.
You don’t get to hold me in my sleep.

But it’s time for me to make a stand,
and start moving on.
I’m building my own dreams without you.
I guess you already did that a little ahead of me.

I see you everywhere.
try to purge you out of my system,
but I want to embrace your memory even more.

And yes, I’ve already forgiven you
but no, I will never forget.
I will never meet someone like you;
Cause I’ll meet someone better than you.
I deserve someone better.
I deserve someone better.
Am I right?
Am I right?
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Too sad? Too bitter? Too.. what? Do tell me what you think about it.
I’ll be waiting.
Peace out!

Would it?

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I wrote this when I was ‘past the point of no return’ and started noticing that I still liked the things he liked even after we broke up. I know some of my friends hate certain things simply because these remind them so much of their exes. I saw myself not hating these things at all, no matter how much I wanted to, if only to forget him.

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Would it matter if I still love the things you made me love?

I still love the coffee down at the bakery where we used to share a cup. I still love the book you bought me at the thrift bookstore when I didn’t have enough money. I still love the film you made me watch because you said it was amazing. If I still love the things I associate with you, then does that make me still love you?

I found a place that serves better, and I mean way better, coffee than that bakeshop. I bought a book and have actually read it more than a couple of times. I watched a film that made me laugh, cry, and love my life even more when I got out of the cinema. But I still love the things you love, does that make me still love you?

Would it matter if I still love the things you made me love? Maybe. Maybe not.

I’m with good company, if ever you’re wondering. Nope? Oh, my bad.

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Well?
Peace out!

from a fox

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I got inspired by ee cummings. How he didn’t capitalize on the i’s really fascinated me. SO here is my attempt at it.

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i once met a little prince

he had cute little eyes

and cute rosy cheeks

unlike his adorable appearance

he was mean and scary

he shouts at people with his mighty roar

and hurts people for no reason at all

but behind the shouts and roar

lies a warm and fuzzy heart

so i gave him hugs and kisses

to show him that he is loved

and so he loved me back

with hugs and kisses too

then he grew warm and gentle with the other people

and just like everything small

he grew up to be a bright young king

with a scepter and crown for ruling the land

so he had responsibilities to keep

and had no time to visit me

so i waited and waited and waited

hearing the clock go tick and tock

and that’s how i taught him patience

and that’s how i taught him how to love

and be loved by someone like me

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Peace out!

Handkerchief

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I wrote this when I was cleaning my room and I found le ex’s hanky. dun dun dun dun….

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Handkerchief. That handkerchief. That red tribal-printed handkerchief was all he left her; was all she kept. She threw everything away; those gifts, those letters, those poems, those promises, except for that handkerchief.

To tell you honestly, he didn’t give her the handkerchief. She stole it form him. Or maybe he knew she took it. He just didn’t bother getting it back from her.

That’s what he did. He stole her. He robbed her of her innocence and she gladly gave it away. Was it still stealing?

Memory. At some point, a stimulus will cross her path and activate those neurons in her brain to tap the black box of forbidden and ill-forgotten dreams. Like a movie reel, the past plays before her like an unstoppable force of reckoning.

That handkerchief. That red tribal-printed handkerchief. She is burning it.
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Have I ever written anything not sad? I dunno. I suck at writing happy things. >_<

But what do you think?
Peace out!