So yesterday, wannabe me attended my very first creative writing workshop. It was either my attention-seeking or masochistic side but I was a little disappointed when none of my poems, ugly or not, was chosen to be one of the entries to be admired or torn to pieces by the writers invited to serve as our panelists. I would’ve liked to have my creative work commented on by people who really write for a living, if only to somehow feel that I’m finally on the right direction, inch by painful inch. On the other hand, I don’t feel completely bad about it. Almost all of the poems and short stories scrutinized were really good and had merits of their own. In my head, I was already cringing in embarrassment thinking of how mediocre and obviously amateurish my own works sounded, compared to theirs.

But since my mediocrity and inexperience apparently has little effect on my shamelessness, I’m posting one of the poems, anyway. I think this would have been torn to pieces by the panelists for what I now realize is cliched language and lack of metaphors, so read at your own risk. This is my small, defiant contribution to the voice of countless Filipinos who vouched for PNoy almost 6 years ago and are now tasting bitter disappointment in our mouths.

The Color Yellow

We the people,
Faithful, fickle, and fun.
We of the land
Of poverty, beauty, and fun!
We cling with mighty hope
To whatever, whichever way we can.
To every Joe entranced
By us exotic brown,
To the greener pastures
The other side of earth and town.
We cling to divine Roman ponchos
Soaked in tears and rain,
We cling to narrow, straight lanes
And promises in vain.

For we the people,
Forgiving, forgetful, and kind.
Buoyed by the truth,
Lured by every lie.
We suffer fools gladly,
And the thieving fools are glad.
For we are of the land
Of bridges never burned,
And lessons never learned.

So here we are the people,
Toiling, waiting, and tired.
We hang our head and realize
How dear the price
We paid to know,
That deceit is blood-red,
And disappointment, yellow!

Isn’t English a Funy Language, Part 2

Are there a lot of virgins in the Virgin Islands?
Are you telling the truth if you lie in bed?
Can a stupid person be a smart-ass?
Can fat people go skinny-dipping?
Crime does not pay. Does that mean my job is a crime?
Could crop circles be the work of a cereal killer?
Did Noah keep his bees in archives?
Do blind dogs have seeing-eye humans?
Do hummingbirds hum because they don’t know the words?
Do hungry crows have ravenous appetites?
Do infants enjoy infancy as much as adults enjoy adultery?
Do mass murderers kill in church?
Do people in Australia call the rest of the world “up over”?
Do pilots take crash courses?
Do stars clean themselves with meteor showers?
Do vampires get AIDS?
How can someone “draw a blank”?
If corn can’t hear, why does it have an ear?
If corn oil is made from corn, what is baby oil made from?
Is it ok to use AM radio in the afternoon?
Now that Microsoft is big, should it be called Macrosoft?
Crazy English!

            -credit to the crazy, witty mind whose owner I do not know.

Isn’t English a Funny Language?

There is no egg in eggplant or ham in hamburger.
Neither is there apple nor pine in pineapple.
Is the plural of choose, cheese?
If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
In what language do people recite in a play and play in a recital?
Ship by truck and send cargo by ship?
Have a nose that runs and feet that smell?
Park in driveways and drive in parkways?
We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes,
We find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square
and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor a pig.
Why is it that if writers write, fingers don’t fing, grocers don’t groce,
and hammers don’t ham?
If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn’t the plural of booth, beeth?
One goose, two geese. So, one moose, two meese?
How can the weather be as hot as hell one day and cold as hell another?
When a house burns up, it burns down.
When you fill in a form, you fill it out and an alarm clock goes off by going on.
Why, when I wind up my watch, I start it but when I wind up an essay, I finish it?
English muffins were not invented in England nor French fries in France.
How can “slim chance” and “fat chance” be the same, while “wise man” and wise guy” opposites??

No wonder I failed English!

   -credit to the crazy, witty mind whose owner I do not know.

Wandering Jew

I wish to love so let me,
I wish to live so let me breathe.
Allow me to seek the things I believe,
Discover the road I need to travel,
This world’s a mystery yet to be unraveled.

 Follow me then if you dare,
As I grope in the corridors of my anxieties,
In the place where
My dreams and uncertainties kiss.
In the voice of my laughter,
Hear the resounding echo of my fear
Try to halt my perpetual masquerade,
And behold that I
Am nothing more than a face that’s scared.

Triggering Her Who May Not Exist

Did you fall asleep, Muse?
The day I let my pen,
Run out of ink.
The day I watched carelessly,
As the last loose leaf of paper,
Drifted into the grasp of empty air.
The day I and my lifeless fingers,
Stopped breathing, bleeding words.

Are you still asleep, Muse?
What will it take to rouse you.
Perhaps you are dead, Muse?
And it was suicide,
The day I killed you.
Your silence worries me.
For now I am quite
Certain of the doubt,
If you are, Muse
An illusion or reality.