How dark the sky...

How dark the sky,

Bright the water

When silver fish

Reflect the moon.

Originally posted on Abbey of the Arts: Transformative living through contemplative and expressive arts on October 29, 2011

Moonlight on Yellowstone Lake (1977) by J. Schmidt

Our Lady of the Philippines

OUR LADY OF THE PHILIPPINES

Trappist Abbey

When the moon climbs the cloudless sky and stillness pours into valleys pooling waters of silence, I rise from sleep to dress, shuffling off loose dreams like a sack.

Stepping outside, I inhale brisk air like snuff—suddenly, I am wakeful, a clock about to spring. I toss out bags of sand to rise more quickly.

In the early chill the mountains stand as guardian shadows and night gleams like dragonfly wings.

I am eager for the work of God beckoning at the end of a solitary path just beyond a row of trees bristling at wind snapping like a flag.

Bits of gravel bite at my soles as turning the corner, I lift up my heart at the sight of light spilling gently from the entrance to the church.

Stepping inside, I am greeted by the bright echo of kneelers knocking the stone floor, and softly rustling pages of stapled paper hymnals.

Gradually, ethereal plainchant rises like a river, gathers itself, solidly transforming into one long sonorous brilliant golden bell.

Originally published in Magis: Official Publication of the Magis Deo Community (July 2014), page 15

View of the cloister, Our Lady of the Philippines Trappist Abbey

Batanes

BATANES

I am a traveler

In my heart

To a place of sky and sea—

A sky so pure,

Deepest blue,

Sea, same color

As the sky—

Not so distant

As the farthest reaches

Of the earth or so

Inaccessible, yet

Sufficiently remote

So that solitude

Is a lone bird

Hovering

And silence

Is the expanse

Between two gray islands

Barely visible

As you stand

Atop a cliff

Dropping steeply

Down to shore.

Breakers whisper

As I breathe in sweet air.

Inhaling to my fill,

I lose all appetite

And dine on the wind.

No longer corporeal,

I am a subsistent soul.

Originally published in Magis: Official Publication of the Magis Deo Community (July 2014), page 12

Batan island, view overlooking the West Philippine Sea

You are the reflection...

You are the reflection on the pavement of a rainy day,

Mirror of the sky painted briefly by shadows of a bustling world.

Where is my soul but in your image?

Eternity will reveal your beauty glistening in the memory of water.

Dedication in unpublished Master’s thesis, Culture, Corruption, and the Prospects for Change: A Statistical Study (March 2009)

You are the reflection on the pavement of a rainy day...

Coffee

COFFEE

What shall I say of coffee?

He is a brown man

Made from soil,

Pressed into shape,

Fired shiny,

Waxen as a lizard,

Hat white like dried-out shells,

Pulling at reins of a rearing horse,

Hooves sharp as pickaxes

Kicking up bright clouds of lime.

 

Early morning he is a dark and fragrant visitor.

He makes his diffident presence felt—

Memories of fresh bread,

Woody nuts,

Heady camphor.

 

Coffee fragrance is a medicine man

Opening his cabinet

To relieve slumbering burdens,

Heavy luggage hauled around

By traveling wakefulness.

He hands out syrups to sweeten unfulfilled dreams,

Hot poultices to soothe unforgotten nightmares,

Energy drinks to answer a world ceaselessly ringing,

Tonics for the family,

Ointments for friends,

Bandages for the heart.

Originally published in Brew Your Best Year (June 11, 2014), an online publication of The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf

I love coffee...

Fort Santiago

FORT SANTIAGO

To José Rizal

I visited your cold, stone prison.

Bereft of spirit,

Empty of words.

Your cell rang like footsteps

Inside a bell. I could not

Imagine you alive.

Supine, you lay

Motionless, a pigeon

Strangled by the hand

Of forces greater than

Your idealism, stronger than

Overpowering sentiment—

Your love of country exceeding

Your love of life, a pearl.

Yes, you penned poems, essays,

Two novels. You wrought

Drawings, paintings, sculptures—

One famous piece:

The Triumph of Science over Death.

Buildings, cities, towns, streets

Today carry your name.

Yet you are not deathless.

You are dead,

Slain by migrant necessity

Born of want, poverty

Pulling grubs from the soil,

Nailing down rusty iron sheets

To fashion flimsy shelters

Soon blown apart like paper

By tornadoes, locusts

On annual rampage.

But wait—now I see you rise,

Arms bound, marching off.

As if on a stage, players assemble.

Your back is to the firing line.

At that moment of volley

I see you transformed:

You turn—shot as a traitor,

Dying as a martyr.

Despair spinning into hope.

Originally published in Philippines Free Press (December 31, 2011)

Also published in Eastlit (December 1, 2014)

Bust of Jose Rizal, Kepaniwai Park, Hawaii