I am a hundred faces staring at me
 Unlike Narcissus, I am not thrilled by what I see
 Somehow, the faces are familiar and strange
 all are  distorted, even  grotesquely so -
 and their eyes, their eyes are accusing,
 sad, amused, angry -
 all at once
 Could that be me on the mirror?
 who am I
 who am I
 Where do I stand
 before the Eyes that know
 how the images combine?
 Who is the vision
 who is real -
 the ones I see
 or the one
 I perceive myself to be?
 Where is the truth
 out of this confusion?

For DVERSE’s Poetics Prompt, Lilian wants us to write about amusement parks, rides, state fairs, and such. For this prompt, I bring myself back to the Bangor State Fair in 2012. Contrary to the tone I used in the poem, I had fun in the Mirror Maze. It was one of the rare attractions that I enjoyed at the fair. I really do not enjoy the rides. They make me sick and make me deathly afraid. My poor children can never ever expect me to accompany them in their rides. The one time I was prevailed upon to take them to a kiddie plane ride, I screamed louder than my four year old. I really cannot fathom how people pay to scare themselves silly. 🙂 That’s just me – no offense intended for those who love roller coasters and such.


A rose blooms for every soul born
the mother’s heart is a garden
expanding with each seed sown.

Her heart is never divided
into smaller portions, until it becomes
crumbs doled out to begging mouths.

Love is multiplied
and her heart is given whole
to each fruit of her womb.

Here is my baby, my fifth child.  I am so thrilled at the way he grows and learns about his world.  At the same time, somehow, I miss the days when he was but a helpless infant.  The above poem came to me when he was but little.   It should not have been a surprise, but I was still struck by the truth that I love this fifth child as fiercely as I love my first (and every) child.

Daily Post: Baby

Dverse Poets’ Open Link Night 190


This is a photo of my son standing before a whiteboard at around noontime on a sunny summer day.  The shadows were cast by the window blinds in a room with glass walls. 


Here, my son plays on a puddle while resting after walking around the zoo on a hot summer day.  The place was perfect for a stop considering the shade provided by the maple leaves.
The light was so strong that it made these shadows of the beams on the ground.  The shadows and the beams almost formed a tunnel of lines on that hot summer noon.

WPC:  Shadow

IF ONLY (WPC: Solitude)

“We live, in fact, in a world starved for solitude, silence, and private: and therefore starved for meditation and true friendship.” ~ C.S. Lewis


Somewhere in the day, between duties and daydreams
Solitude awaits to dispense her blessings –
a book of introduction to people I would never have known,
words in a jumble wishing to become a poem
There could even be music to highlight the mood
the sweetness of cake and warmth of coffee, dark and bold.

Of course, I will help myself to all of those
if only I could find this Solitude’s repose.



WPC:  Solitude


I want to hear Silence
winding its way in the crowd
picking up the noise 
and zipping them  in his bag.

I would like to hear him sing
in the treetops and on the ground
accompanied only by birds
carrying their rhythm 
to the clouds.

I would love Silence
to sit with  me on the bench
tell me stories I'll never hear 
while the children screamed
and the world bickered.

It's a lovely day when Silence visits 
and wraps me in his embrace
that bathes me in tranquil currents
quickening my heartbeat
to the softness of a flower's breath
or the glorious voice of God
indwelling in my soul.

DVERSE's POETS PUB Open Link Night 


Mount Hope Cemetery, Bangor, ME
I used to be very scared of cemeteries. When I was much younger, I would shut my eyes tight whenever I passed by the cemetery in our village. Unlike American cemeteries where coffins are lowered about 6 feet under the ground, in traditional Philippine cemeteries like the one we had in our barrio, coffins are sealed inside whitewashed tombs that have been built aboveground. Depending on the availability of land, tombs would be stacked one on top of another (like the one in this photo) as they were in our barrio.   For most of the year until All Saints' Day, our local cemetery was not maintained.  Grass would grow tall, the whitewash would peel off, lichen would grow over the cement tombs, and the place would, to a child, look utterly scary.  It did not help that when I was younger, the cemetery was located  in a rather secluded place that was surrounded by trees and wild growth.
Mount HOpe Cemetery, Bangor, ME
During the rare times I  passed by that place, I was afraid that something, a monster or a ghost, would come out of the open tombs or float over them.  I was wondering how people could live near it.   Would there be dogs howling inside the cemetery at night or the smell of candle wafting in the air, perhaps?  Would the cool breeze make their  hair stand while nightbirds hoot?

To this day, I still get the just a  tad  nervous when I step inside a graveyard. I imagine that the  ground opens and a hand grabs me on my ankle and drags me down to the pit.  But I have come to terms living close by a graveyard.  From our bedroom window, I can see the city's cemetery.  In our neighborhood, there is no better place to see autumn than the cemetery with its  tall maple trees lining the graveyard paths and hills.  There is no quieter place either.  What a lovely contrast it provides to the busy roads that run along our neighborhood.   Its gates used to be open to the public but untoward nocturnal activities of some people compelled the parks keeper to restrict access to the place.


A tiny cemetery in a small town in ME


All Souls' Day is coming. To us Catholics, it is a day set aside by the Church to remember, as one whole family, those who have gone before us. It is a time to pray especially for the departed souls who are still in purgatory to obtain their eternal reward. In the Philippines, we observe the day by visiting the cemetery to pay our respects to the deceased. Hopefully, my family and I can visit the graveyard across the street to observe the holy day.
A photo of the cemetery in our neighborhood
If not, we will have to honor the day and the faithful departed from our bedroom window where everyday, I am reminded about the transience of life and of the permanence of the life that awaits beyond the grave. The thought certainly make me more than a bit nervous.


Daily Post:  Eerie



I look at you
and I am filled with a longing
to hold you as you were –
the infant in my arms.
it seems that the sun rose
and the sun set overnight
and here you are-
an infant no more-
discovering your world on your own.
And I look at you
I see a man
carving his path in the world
and I am filled with a longing
to hold you as you were –
the infant in my arms.
I look at you
I see what was
and what will be
all at once.

WPC:  Nostalgia