847.
The Legend of my 7th Job
After Assumption School I had
My 7th Job I prayed to God
In March 6, birthday of the father of me
I applied for a job to our Mayor Attorney
In March 7, birthday of Sandro Marcos my love
I submitted my PDS to the office of the above
In March 10, I started a Novena to St. Joseph the Worker
I prayed for my 7th Job sooner or later
In March 16, Magellan's discovery of our country
I had my biometrics in the LGU of our municipality
In March 20, St. Joseph's Feast Day celebration
I started my 7th Job after a long, long vacation
This is the legend of my 7th Job
A job I hope no one from me can rob.
-04/07/2023
(Dumarao)
*Good Friday
They say the train appears
only when the night is deciding
whether to keep its secrets.
It rises through the clouds,
steam curling like old prophecies
that forgot their endings.
The moon watches closely,
amber and patient,
as if it has seen this journey
a thousand times
and still refuses to explain it.
No passengers ride inside.
Only choices~
the ones people almost made,
the ones they feared,
the ones they lost in the noise
of daylight.
The conductor is a quiet figure,
hooded, ageless,
guiding the engine along a track
stitched from cloud-light.
He never speaks,
but every so often
he leans out the window
and drops a single spark
toward the sleeping world below.
If it lands near you,
you wake with a thought
you didn’t have yesterday~
a direction you hadn’t considered,
a door you didn’t know
you were allowed to open.
By dawn, the train dissolves
into the pale sky,
its myth intact,
its work unfinished.
And somewhere,
someone rises from bed
with a new certainty
they swear arrived
from nowhere.
Two men riding a train to Blue Ridge
seated opposite Calvin Coolidge
They bet the POTUS they could get on his nerves
that they could make him say more than two words
But try as they might, Calvin’s lips were sealed tight
all through the day and then through the night
The entire time Coolidge sat there quite amused
at his stop opened his mouth, said ~ “You lose!”
An angel in heaven she'll be
Seeing her best friend Kenny
Another legend in the sky
Spreading wings so she can fly
She gave us songs of truth she told
That were about her life and bold
Along with cute and happy ones
That were catchy and so fun
She was an angel down here first
Her heart brought happiness to earth
She helped those who were in need
She was never rude or mean
She grew up poor but she was humble
Never a complaint or grumble
Just a country girl that stayed
To her unselfish caring ways
In heavens choir she is singing
An angel voice that is bringing
Joy and happiness above
With her gentle and pure love
Solitude in search of peace
Omnipresent with the.universal being
Obedient to my chain of command
Kindhearted and willing to share
Dedicated to my family and duty
Enthusiastic about the future
Optimistic over the choices I make
Magnetically inclined to the truth
Artististically believing in myself
Neutral towards everyone I make contact
Ambitious to present my talent
Nonsensical leader to follow what is right
Skeptical about my friends
Intuitive patterns of thoughts
Naturalistic to the call of creation
Generous towards the weak and unfortunate
Honest and hardworking to achieve
I carry a secret of mythical proportion,
a tall tale stitched into every pair I own.
Tailors sigh, measuring tapes surrender,
and zippers negotiate terms before dawn.
It arrives before I do,
like a parade float rounding the corner,
casting a shadow that deserves
its own weather forecast.
Park benches scoot over politely.
Doorways raise an eyebrow.
Statues whisper, "Well, that's excessive,"
and mountains feel strangely competitive.
I never mention it directly.
Why spoil a perfectly good mystery?
Let imaginations do the heavy lifting,
for they rarely travel light.
So I walk on, humble as I can be,
guardian of this improbable monument,
a living reminder that sometimes
nature enjoys showing off.
He was old, so old. Not just old, but archaic, ancient. In his seventies when I was born… and I remember, his face well worn. We shared a feeling, the two of us. A feeling, a family, a faith in our heart. He was old and I was young. Together, we found the wonder of love. Love built on the sharing of ice cream cones. The love built on knowing that chestnuts were best consumed after they’d been roasted in Granny’s old wood stove. A love built on knowing that Granny knew more than she should. And the time would come when we’d feel better on the porch than we could in any room. Together we shared a feeling, a family, a faith. Faith in each other and faith in God’s amazing grace. Faith in the old spring’s water. Faith in the hay God made. Faith in Granny’s garden. Faith in Jesus, the Way. He was old, older than I knew. Him and me found a purpose in planning our days and we’d agree, life would never be the same after he passed away. His light, though, would remain, to brighten the way with truth. The truth that tells me, he was my proof that there is good in this world and there is love, too.
too old to say no
he was a living legend
offering me hope
God and Goddess,
Written in the stars,
To be doomed, to be apart.
This is how the legend of Love and War starts,
Beautiful Aphrodite,
Raw Ares,
With only one world to stay amidst their destiny.
I am Venus, you are Mars,
We are written in the Stars,
Separated by one Earth,
With only one eight billion people around.
Love, divine it is,
And divine gods we are,
Shamed and judge by the ignorant,
They say our love was taken too far.
But we are gods.
We are Love and War,
And a wise man once said,
Everything is legal in Love and War.
We are stars and we are planets,
We are gods and we are goddess,
Mythology and astronomy discuss us,
They try to discover, understand us.
The legend of fading stars,
their fame sinking like a rock.
With such passion in their eyes,
back when pictures couldn't talk.
As the lights of the city,
shining brighter and brighter.
The stars wear their coats of grey,
When pulling an all-nighter.
When watching a tv show,
and the receptions a miss.
I remember watching the moon,
but not missing...the kiss!
'
A friend told me
over a cup of joe
that the devil quakes in Prada,
barring the gates of hell
from the one who now hunts
beyond the mortal plane.
I chuckled, asking
“If that were the case,
wouldn't the sky be a constant
affixed with blinding cracks
electrifying both day and night?”
He simply shook his head, grinning.
Then the flash of a screen drew attention
to images of Death shell-shocked,
huddling in a hospital bed, quaking
with agonized fervor as if
he saw Death himself and lived.
It was then I knew
he was speaking the truth
as the sky crackled above
with bolts clashing
like steeled fists,
reunited at last.
Earthen motte mounds and bailey burg
Sludge strongholds severed for siege
Norman castles cut of stone surge
Vowed vassals, the lords of liege
Round refuge tower of ashlar
Lured strums of Celtic cither
While they tend to tiers of mortar
Howling high waters hither
Gemlike blades grassy shades of green
Sailing seas beckon smartly
Hair to partly pare ployed the teen
Pirate Queen awaits Bartley
Homeland hush weave no words but mum
Forum flouters of gainsay
Dark Lady of Doona they hum
Legend of the Blacksod Bay
Fortress chieftain forges her case
Ní Grace unbowed by Bingham
Royalty rises face to face
Let them lie Ó Máille clan
Lyrate luck of her Irish pride
Aside vassal villeins sought
Herstory harmonized resides,
‘pon castles cloaked earthen motte
In winds of battle and flashes of steel,
Heroes march on with unbreakable will.
Each step echoes courage across the sky,
Each blow drives the rising darkness awry.
When Earth itself trembles before the war,
They rise once again as guardians once more.
No endless night, no chaos above,
Can conquer their promise, their strength, their love.
For as long as hope burns bright in the heart,
The Avengers’ legend will never depart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The neon hums like a dying wasp~
flickers Roy Orbison in wounded pink,
while the gulf wind tongues
the screen door’s loose hinge.
A quarter rolls from my palm,
kisses the chrome throat
of a machine that remembers
Patsy Cline, but not my name.
Some nights, the bartender lets it play
the same cracked track~
Crazy—on loop till dawn,
while shrimp boats cough diesel
into the salt-thick dark.
I press B-17. The gears grind,
spit out a melody warped
by hurricane sweat,
by the weight of all the songs
it swallowed and never digested.
When the power fails,
the jukebox still glows~
a ghost lit by its own stubborn heat,
singing to the empty stools,
to the tide’s slow retreat.
They say Tom Dula didn't do it
As it says in the Folk Song
They say Tom Dula didn't do it
And they got the verdict wrong
Some say it was Colonel Grayson
Among the suspects named
Some say it was Colonel Grayson
And they had Tom Dula framed.
Some say it was a triangle
One of love passion and hate
With him being an innocent
But for Tom Dula far too late
For if a verdict is wrong
And they come to realise
After applying a Death Penalty
It’s too late to apologise
They say Tom Dula didn't do it
As it says in the Folk Song
They say Tom Dula didn't do it
And they got the verdict wrong
I drew my vibro blade ready to embrace my death if need be
He my master did the impossible he turned off his light saber
In my rage I took my blade as if to strike him down
only to see I was already at peace
my rage ended
My madness defeated by Love
The Love of my friend
He died for He my friend me took the fatal blow for me
I never knew he has such Love for me
Until my master told me he was actually my best friend
that he had a world filled with best friends for me to meet
I never knew in my dark side I had given into my darkness
but he my master was never a master at all
He is my friend and he rose from that death to live forever now
Jesus my best friend thank you for everything you did for me
You brought me back into this life out of death
Thank you Lord Jesus for dying for me and for seeking me out in my darkness and giving me your life in the dreams visions and people you placed in my life to help show me you are for me not against me
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