Nature’s Moral Stories VII






Left and right are valid ways

Defining consequences therein await.

Time is constraint.







East and west bring winds

Testing faith:

One can only hope for the best.







North is the default quest;

South is meant for few back steps–

Find yourself.






Head straight.

‘To be or not to be,’

To bugs, that’s not even a question.

Imperatively, ‘to be’ comes with consequences:

Of the greatest, frantic’s fate is in green plastic

Called slapstick, death in split second.

‘To be or not to be,’

To ants, that’s not even a question.

They’re too busy; They cannot be questioned.

So unaware they face destiny:

Always genocide, ever extermination.

‘To be or not to be,’

To flies, that’s not even a question.

They hover and hover faithfully–

Sadly, that hovering leads to notion:

‘Stink, dirty, bad’ says very judgmental nation.

‘To be or not to be,’

To mice, that’s not even a question.

‘To be’ face deadly, bloody, tragic fate in notorious traps and poisons.

Yet they’re quiet, quick subservient.

Sewers are their homes sweet homes.

Man is always a scared man. Prejudice is his terminal disease. May God heal the fearful land!

My last employment was with the State of Hawaii, Office of the Public Defender, which is under the mandate of Department of Budget and Finance. I was hired as a Fiscal Clerk on Monday, December 4, 2017. I resigned Monday, December 11, 2017. What happened during the seven-day employment, is something I am gathering right now.

Regardless, I consider all my employment at will. Although, this very last one is meaningful to me, which I will tell how and why in days to come.

I wish to say in details the psychological warfares of some sociopaths; but let craps belong to crappy minds. Facts matter. Also, it is through relentless prayers, along family support that I am back on my footings–Thank God for these feet! I thank God for my family.

Thus, please allow me to extend my deepest gratitude to my loved ones in the Philippines. To my Ate Camille (the eldest in our family of three), my kids Carlo, Cathrina, and Caevene, my friends Ethel Genuino, Wilma Yamzon, Blessie Cirera, Aileen Intia, and Betsy Ison (who are all respected editors and journalists back home including my sister, and I am proud of them all): Thank you, guys! I love you so much!

Lastly, one critical realization that I learn during this trying time: I am not alone. That I have family and friends who love me. And they’re more than enough reason for me to get up and gather myself.

To God be always all the glory!

Water is a handyman
Filling the thirsty,
Cleansing the dirty,
Moistening the barren and arid,
Streaming stream; no job too extreme

Simply plain;
Simply humble—
Seeks the lowest—Try tumble
Into sea; You’d see
Him and corals at the bottom—guaranteed

Air is a superwoman
Filling lungs and spaces,
Supporting the living,
Touches and embraces—
No regard to faces

In most days kind,
In most days welcoming and calm,
But always shy.
She will not come out
Even if you blindfold—try

Two bare heroes of the natural world,
Who make life possible;
Who make men up and able–
Such an undisputed generosity!
Such a refusal to reciprocity!

Without water and air, what are we? Dead certainly.

(Revised: Original date of publication: December 16, 2016)

Sprigs in rust,
Red, gold,
And yellow
Are filling the meadows.

Falling leaves are hurrying
To kiss
The crying ground
Notwithstanding what abounds.

In a murder
Of their dream to be together;
Reality
Is the cold-blooded killer.

Wistful bliss is declared
Dead on the Scene.
Gusty winds
Are accomplice.

Forsaken trees sing elegy
While dead heart
Deliver its own eulogy:
“Odi et amo-” her closing verse.

The tearless bereaved is catatonic;
While the Grasshoppers mourn.
And the crickets,
They’re startled; they’re speechless.

They have never
Ever seen
Such an inundation
before.

(Courtesy of YouTube)

Who can be lonelier than the deserts?
Imagine, eighteen hours or more everyday
Of nakedness,
Of drudgery
Being solely with the sun—that isn’t fun!

There’s a fine thing in winter dusk;
There’s a fine thing in melancholy
That modest, noble cousin of sad,
Telling every breathing thing
Has its fair share of pain and sorrow.

Immortality on Earth
Belongs to songs,
To skies,
To I Love You,
To day and night.

Pagan: I am.
Pagan: You are.
Pagans: They are—For we are the men of this land.
But amid flaws, ruins and division,
We all strive inexorably to get things done.

Though one day, we would eternally be forgotten once gone.

Recommended Song:

We’ve Only Just Begun
by Jim Brickman
(Originally by the Carpenters)

May faith

Be a thing of muscles;

Fit to endure weight

Of every obstacle

That makes it stronger.

May hope

Be a thing of height:

Unfazed by mountains,

Always wanting to kiss the sky,

Ever present at sunrise.

May kindness

Be a thing of light:

Gets a free ride with the wind,

Touching everyone,

Even grasses are deserving.

May love

Be a thing of volume

That hate could not cope

Nor, antipathy could take a hold—

Speaks no if and but, just because.

These coddle joy: To have with no remorse.