Topped with terra cotta- tiled roof
the house stood on a hill with pine trees,
partly covering it from view,
with its turrets opening like watchful eyes.
Rumor runs, at night from there,
people hear strange wailings.
Scoffing it as the weird fancy of crazy minds,
eager to prove the irrationality of it,
one night I ascended the hill,
leading to that cozy mansion.
As I paced faster and came closer,
the house looked so imposing
with a wide yard and a porch
surrounded by ornamental railings
with a winding driveway
lain with marble squares
and leading to the entrance
Close to the house but safely distant,
I noticed a narrow pit hidden among shrubs
Nothing was unusual about it.
I walked round and round.
Couldn’t see anything to rouse suspicion.
When I was about to leave,
as a proud victor after a thorough search,
I saw a skeletal figure emerging
from the pit and rising into air wailing.
In horror, as I looked on,
like a bird, on the pine branch, it did perch
and soon shape shifted into a man.
Fancy or Fact, never looking back
I took to my heels as fast as I could.
Look! Can you see? Out of the window?
Snowflakes are falling, white blankets are forming.
Patience, little one,
Soon it will be quilted and quiet.
Not far away, three small mammals are doing their sleeping:
The dormouse, pipistrel and the solitary hedgehog -
Mystical prickled pig of the hedgerow.
Ssh, she's away with the fairies.
Snug in her nest, may her slumbers be blessed.
One in a million,
She's a spherical urchin
Curled tight on a cushion of twigs.
Hedgehog is dreaming, snuffling,
To chobble on tanklements of millipede and earwig.
No, no, no!
No mediaeval harbinger of doom -
She's a bristly broom,
Self-anointed by toad skin and poo,
She brushes in spring anew.
And in the half-lit, moonlit summers,
Her little donnies will write spells -
Not ‘ills’, with her quills,
As trails of silvered cursive script
In the glistening ink of snails -
Near nanny’s pots and pails on the patio.
Later, little one,
Her thorny needles will stitch cobwebs of autumn
Between the railings on the hill,
Knitting together a tapestry of seasons.
Shapeshifting.
Bewitching.
Protector of metal and mother of corrode.
A shade quietly defiant for all exposed.
Verdigris, refuses to be overlooked.
Copper darkens then seals its insides like a book.
This green is not about keeping its youth.
It is ancient, holding a story or two.
Coins, roofs, railings, are claimed by time.
Verdigris makes sure it will not die.
A silent companion of history endured.
Continuity, this color, assures.
I cherish this green, this quiet armor.
A green, a shield, an everlasting murmur.
The house looks so imposing and majestic from outside
With a wide yard and a porch surrounded by ornamental railings
It was situated on a hill with pine trees partly covering it from view,
Rumour runs, at night from there, people hear strange wailings.
Scoffing it as the weird fancy of crazy minds,
I was so eager to prove the irrationality of it.
One night I ascended the hill leading to that cosy mansion.
Close to the house but safely distant, I noticed a narrow pit.
Though I walked around, nothing seemed unusual about it.
When I was about to leave as a proud victor after a thorough search,
I saw a skeletal figure emerging from the pit and rising into air wailing.
In horror, as I looked on, like a bird, on the pine branch, it did perch.
A cracked, lone brown leaf
Spiralling quickly downwards
Knows only the ground;
But in that motion exalts
As if a plunging falcon.
-------------------------------------
Fallen, wind-blown leaves
Huddling against grey kerbstones
In abject neglect.
Already parks quieter...
Their iron railings more stark.
-------------------------------------
The thick sap retreats
When gnarled bark tightens its grip
On inner heartwood;
Summer faded into nights...
Autumn, failing, covered all.
When I was a kid,
I only knew the sea from a distance—
from the deck of a ship,
sailing from Manila to Bacolod.
I’d lean against the railings,
watching the water stretch limitless,
wondering what it felt like to touch.
It wasn’t until high school
that I finally stepped into it.
Waves around my legs,
sand between my toes.
And just like that,
I fell in love.
There was something different there.
Not just salt air and sun,
but a kind of peace I didn’t know I needed.
I live in the mountains,
where clouds kiss pine trees, and the fog hugs you tight.
But the sea… the sea pulls me.
Sometimes, when days feel so tiring,
I catch myself daydreaming—
of sitting at the shore
watching the sun disappear into the horizon,
waves brushing my ankles,
nothing else to do, nowhere else to be.
Oh, how I love the sea.
I can’t wait to meet it again next summer.
no more porch railings
mud daubers are unhappy
seasonal home gone
The city speaks in static
not loud, not soft, just
indifferent.
It hums beneath the sky's neon bruise,
where overpasses arc like broken spines
above rivers of unmoving faces.
I wait for nothing at the pedestrian bend
a chipped corner where the dust
gathers like the memory of a voice
I haven't heard since home.
The gum-stained cement remembers me.
The railings dull with a thousand greasy hands
do not.
Trees here wear ash instead of green.
They do not rustle,
only sigh
when jeepneys groan past
with their lungs of diesel and plastic saints.
I sit in the cubicle I do not own,
trace the fake leaf of a plastic plant,
watch the blinds half shut,
half giving in
flutter like someone trying not to cry.
And no one sees me.
And that is the loudest thing of all
I watch it slowly leave
the river and enter the Bay,
its bow parting the calm
with an efficient quiet.
Another hour and the ship
will be cutting through
the swells of the open sea.
Men in orange overalls
lean on railings at the stern
looking back
over a long wake.
I try to imagine what thoughts
are washing across
their minds. Perhaps
it's the menu for that night
or the blurred monotony
of seeing another foreign port
with its cranes and marshalling
yards decompose
into the fading light.
Or more likely the thoughts
of love ones waiting for them
at home.
Seagulls follow them out
and spiral over the ship's
dissolving churn,
dipping down into the water,
lifting up again on wings lit
by the last rays of a setting sun.
There is a sadness
to the sight of departing ships -
it touches something deep
as if calling up the echoes
of ancestors saying their last
goodbyes to sons and daughters,
siblings and the grandchildren
they will never meet.
The road that we all follow, in the pursuit of mankind,
Often leads to more questions, that need to be defined.
It's a journey that we seek, even if it is only to find.
Allowing us to see clearly, not to remain forever blind.
Along the way it can be deafening, by all the noise to hear.
Yet one must listen carefully, with a discretionary ear.
It's a path to be learned from, while some others may ignore.
Where consequences may endure forever, like never before.
Since being imperfect, we often fail to eventually achieve,
To set the bar higher, to a new standard that we can believe.
Within the railings, obstacles exist, between the lines of love and hate.
Testing the burden that we can lift, towards the enormous weight.
In the shadows we must also discern, between the crazy and the sane.
With judgements that are measured against the inhumane.
So then we're left to reason, between what's real and what's fake.
All the while maybe not realizing, what's all that's at stake.
As our judgement tries its best, to know the truth versus a lie.
We'll try to stay within the guidelines given, before we lay down and die.
frenzied mud dauber
porch railings are no longer
we are the killers
he bores hole in post
angry about the railings
what will they call home
will he sound alarm
will army wasps come to fight
dejected he leaves
The porch looks great
She has had a complete face lift
The old rickety rack stuff is gone
New space opens up to a larger landscape
I am enjoying my yard for the first time
No railings, which always prevented my view.
A costly job, but well worth it.
Freedom calls out to me,
just over the railings.
Freedom dances,
just out of reach
Freedom sings,
”Abandon your jailer, abandon Life
Abandon your duty, abandon Life,
Jump over the railings,
and join me in death.”
Desire possesses me,
a promise of freedom offered
with a heavy price to pay.
Behind the railings hide
A choice that may cost my life
Hesitations hold me back,
Ropes of responsibilities restrain,
Buried under building burdens.
Forced to forfeit my freedom.
You have clipped my wings,
Cries of desperation pulling me away.
I am bound. Trapped. Chained.
Won’t you set me free?
The shadow I cast on the corridor wall
Covers my father’s radiant photo frame
Night’s transcripts are saved on the iron chest
Stacking the secrets tied in bundles
Apologies are like incense sticks and the
truths are ever scrawled on my arid skin
I want to talk but my voice down and down
till it becomes barely a whisper
It is one of those nights when I can't
Close my eyes and sleep in tranquility
Moreover moonlight wants to dance on the shaky railings and try to slip inside
I want to reach out and take his hand
Each moment waiting its own turn to go back
There I leaned against the iron railings
of the high ridge overlooking the bustling port,
where a large ship hooted its loud warning,
It was waiting to depart to far-off lands.
My love was surely one of the passengers,
waiting to depart forever. A small breeze
blew around me but provided no solace.
She will be gone forever, my heart ached.
A hot tear fell along my unshaven face.
"Hi there," she exclaimed. I was excited.
She was there beside me. "I could not leave you."
"Crying?" “No,” I said. “Just dust from the breeze.”
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