PERMUTATIONS

Read Me by Dr. Ophelia Dimalanta

2010-11-05T00:57:00.001+08:00

whenever my voice flings arrows
your way at a fiery pace,
read, discover there is that
something in me that dies to go gentle.
for when i viciously tangle
with you trying to throw
you off course, inside, i am raring
to cover you, take you, become
all of me fire and fluid.
when i try to lord it over, empowered,
it is because inside i am already
slave groveling ready to heed your bidding,
crawling waves lapping you up
sea shore hillocks sky
all the way up, all drool and drivel.
and when i insolently seek out
pulpits to mount my gospel truths,
i am really one humped question mark
thrashing about for your steadying light.
and when i try to light you up whole,
there is really a part of your flame
i would want extinguished
to die rekindled in me alone,
and when i am wind taking roots
in your solid ground, i am roots as well
ready to take flight upon your wings.
when i prance around proud in times square.
i am child carousing in the greener
fringes of the heart's final roosting.

read this idiolect,
read well, decode, detect,
and love me when i seem to hate.

NOTES from Ambit's Gambit:

Read Me as a love poem thrives on the tension built around a love/hate syndrome which becomes the vigorous thrusting, grovelling, thrashing, flowing, crawling, drooling that culminates in the “heart’s final roosting.” This love poem is a superior to Jose Garcia Villa’sPoem 40 (Centipede Poem) as an erotic exercise.

This Morning's LSS: Another Suitcase in Another Hall

2010-10-06T09:41:00.001+08:00

Not particularly cheerful this morning. Must be the stress of sleepless nights trying my best to mop up a botched project - lots of blood shed, really. Robert and I have just about been bled dry. Time to move on then, hence the song.

Filipino Tribal Minorities Bring Home The Gold

2010-09-20T18:38:00.000+08:00

The Aetas, Mangyans, and Dumagats are considered minorities in the country, but from Thursday to Saturday last week they made the nation "major major" proud by bagging three golds, a silver, and four bronze medals in the first Southeast Asian Tribal Olympics.

Clad in their traditional G-strings and armed with hand crafted bows and arrows, spears and even blowpipes, the tribal athletes proudly showed off their medals from the recently concluded competition held at Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia.

The Philippine contingent bested fellow tribal athletes from 11 other ASEAN countries. They won medals in the archery, tree top archery, assault archery and blow pipe competitions. The athletes said they would have earned more medals had the scheduled games for running and spear throwing pushed through.

The two events were cancelled due to unfavorable weather.

Poem: Train Rides

2006-08-30T14:28:00.000+08:00

strangers on a train
are better off
than two
who constantly share pillow thoughts
but could only meet
at given stations
on certain dates

the rides
are always brief, frenzied and hurried--
a rush hour commute,
with never enough time
to marinate in the melded flavors
of having arrived
at the same destination
together

hours after,
another train ride,
a new pair of strangers
are locked in conversation

we too are trapped
inside misted windows,
our turn to count lamp posts
and wonder how many more
stations, platforms and train rides
loom ahead the likes of us
who weren't blessed to be strangers
on our separate ways home.

steph cruz

Poem: The Candle

2006-08-23T17:21:00.000+08:00

Anne Stephanie Cruz
Revision 1

my candle burns at both ends
you say,
primed wick licking
cast paraffin,
tip-to-tip

preventable, yes
but listen:
wax drippings are memories,
not tears--one end passion
the other pain;
a trail of petals shed,
overlapping then melding
into a molten mirror
of itself

it may not last the night,
i know,
its flame is a finger raised to your lips:
hush luv,
candles were made to yield;
its soul is life emptied to create light,
burning bright
before self-extinguishing
at the appointed hour

if, as you tell me,
everything is borrowed time
i should, like the candle,
embrace the inevitable:
yield to that last brush of wind
from your lips,
myself becoming a spent
burnt offering

a candle
unafraid to be consumed
choosing to burn
irreverently for you
than live in a glass case
damp and unlit.

Dominatrix

2006-08-17T18:03:00.000+08:00

conducting
a chorus of toads--
in leather and whip

tuesday
8.15.06

Monsoon Rains

2006-08-17T18:02:00.000+08:00

I used to love the rain. I remember, as a little girl, I would look forward to bathing in torrential showers with my playmates. I played hop and skip in puddles. And even then, I always kept an eye out for lightning. Rain used to be my refuge whenever I felt sad. Cliche' as it may sound, I can vouch that crying in the rain does bring about catharsis--an outpouring then cleansing then renewal.

Those days are long gone, though. In the last few years I have found myself turning dreadfully sad at the onset of the monsoon. Rain now makes me feel like the loneliest person on earth...and I hate it that we have such an extended rainy season. Sometimes i think the rain is trying to swallow me and drag me to the bottom of the lake. And I just lie there open-eyed, taking in everything that goes on in the world, but living perfectly detached from it. No longer a part of the picture, just a stranger looking in from the rain-scratched window.

~stephie~

Poem: Territorial

2006-08-09T19:37:00.000+08:00

Territorial

instinct
turned this cub
into a lioness

one whiff
of a fellow feline
in heat
shed eight lives'
past naivete

ripening
with the moon
her womb
carried her first-born fury
to term

she fed it claws
and in stealth
stalked
the unsuspecting,
but pussy-footing
competition

in the morning...

lioness queen
licks her bloody paws
clean

Steph Cruz, 8.9.06, rev.1

Speaking In Tongues

2006-08-06T10:40:00.000+08:00

by Mary Rose O'Reilley

I go to church every Sunday
though I don’t believe a word of it,
because the longing for God
is a prayer said in the bones.

When people call on Jesus
I move to a place in the body
where such words rise,
one of the valleys
where hope pins itself to desire;
we have so much landscape like that
you’d think we were made
to sustain a cry.

When the old men around me
lift their hands
as though someone has cornered them,
giving it all away,
I remember a dock on the estuary,
watching a heron get airborne against the odds.
It’s the transitional moment that baffles me—
how she composes her rickety
grocery cart of a body
to make that flight.

The pine siskin, stalled on a windy coast,
remembers the woods
she will long for when needs arise; so
the boreal forest composes itself in my mind:
first as a rift, absence,
then in a tumble of words
undone from sense, like the stutter
you hear when somebody falls
over the cliff of language. Call it a gift.

Senryu

2006-08-01T14:55:00.000+08:00

wet morning--
trimming hedges
pruned by my lover

There is no Forgetting

2006-07-26T12:00:00.000+08:00

If you should ask me where I have been

I have to say, Life goes on.

I have to speak of the dirt

that obscures the stones and the river

that endures and is destroyed:

I know nothing except the things the birds have forsaken,

the abandoned sea, or my weeping sister.

Why so many different regions?

Why is one day joined to another?

Why does the mouth gather black night?

What of the dead?

If you should ask me where I came from,

I have to talk with things I forced away,

with utensils much too bitter,

with huge, sometimes-rotting beasts

and with my grieving heart.

There are no memories that have crossed over

nor has the yellow pigeon that sleeps in forgetting;

only tear-stained faces,

fingers at throats,

and what has collapsed from the leaves:

the obscurity of a day transpired,

a day which has fed on our blood grief.

Here are violets, swallows,

all that pleases us and appears in the sweet cards

of the long passing lines of our time and our pleasure.

But we cannot grasp beyond these teeth,

nor nibble at the rinds the silence gathers,

because I have no answers:

there are so many dead,

and so many dikes that the red sun breaches

and so many heads that strike doorjambs,

and so many hands that encircle kisses,

and so many things that I long to forget.

~Pablo Neruda~

Haiku in Filipino

2006-07-18T12:09:00.000+08:00

Dapit hapon--

pilit niyayapos

huling sinag ng araw

stephie

Yol Jamendang Poems

2006-07-04T14:02:00.000+08:00

1. Tubig

Tubig
Bagyong mapaniil ang gabi.

Heto ako,
nakababad sa dilim,
natutunaw
sa aking pag-iisa.

Lason
ang mga ala-alang
pumapatak
sa aking diwa-
ang mga gabing
isda ang iyong dila
sa dagat
ng aking balat,
tinutuklas
ang mga bahaging
tubig lamang dati
ang sumasalat.

Binuksan ko ang bintana
para bumuhos ang
liwanag
at hugasan ang aking
pangungulila.
Sumalubong sa akin
ang libu-libong
patak
ng ikaw-

nariyan at nariya'y
hindi ko mayakap.

2. Wakas

Kalungkutan
ang hangganan
ng mga bagay
na inakala nating
walang katapusan.

Kailanma'y
hindi natin narinig
ang babala
ng paghihiwalay;
ang kanyang
mga pahiwatig
na isang patak lang
ang ating dagat,
iisang dangkal
ang ating langit.
Nilunod natin
ang kanyang tinig
sa ingay
ng mga damdaming
hindi natin pinangalanan,
sa mga luhang
itinago natin sa isa't isa.

Tapos na ang lahat.
Ang nagpapatuloy
na lamang
ay ang pagpatak
ng mga luha.

Oh just a paper I wrote

2006-06-21T14:49:00.000+08:00

HUMAN RESOURCE MANAGEMENT AT MC DONALD’S

Perhaps one of the worst personal insults talent searchers ever dished out on international television is: “you’ll never be worth more than a job at Mc Donald's!” Denigrating because the statement perpetually boxes in the more than 1.6 million people employed under the arches in over 100 countries as busboys, order takers, or food delivery crew—jobs, which some people condescendingly categorize as fit for the not-so-bright, or those who can’t find work anywhere else. (“HR challenges... I'm lovin' It, 2005”)
But David Fairhurst, vice-president for people at McDonald's UK, says this is the farthest thing from the truth. "People do come in with a 'job' mentality, but after three months or so, they become evangelists because of the leadership and community spirit that exists in stores.” () Fairhurts’ claim is backed up by the fact that 80 percent of store managers were former crew members who were paid hourly wages; and that the average length of service for a McDonald's manager is 10 years. (“HR challenges... I'm lovin' It, 2005”)
MC Donald’s is a top retailer of food products and services all over the globe. With over 30,000 restaurants, serves nearly 50 million people in more than 119 countries each day. It was founded by Raymond Albert Kroc, a first-generation American of Czech descent. He was a salesman whose family ran a small restaurant and inn near the Czech village of Plzen. Kroc’s original business was distributing the five-spindled milk shake maker called the Multi-mixer. In 1954, he heard about a hamburger stand in California that ran eight multi-mixers at a time and became interested. (“Mc Donald’s History, n.d.”)
There he met with brothers Dick and Mac McDonald and broached the idea of opening a chain of “Mc Donald’s” restaurants---the perfect market for his multi-mixers. A year later, he opened the first “Mc Donald’s” restaurant in Des Plaines, Illinois. (“Fascinating Mc Facts, 2005”) From the outset, Kroc advocated franchising as the company’s principal mode of doing business. Worldwide, some 73% of its restaurants are operated by roughly 5,400 independent business people. Mc Donald’s corporate structure was specifically “decentralized” and rooted in the specific markets they serve. (“Mc Donald’s Corporate Responsibility Report”)
McDonald’s employs more than 1.6 million people, but only 398,000 of these are directly employed by the company. The rest of the workforce is under the management of Mc Donald’s independent owners and operators, but with training, guidance and technical support from the corporation, franchisees handle all aspects of restaurant operations. While each restaurant is responsible for individual policies they may have on bringing in, compensating and rewarding their employees, franchisees or independent owners, are required to promote a general set of “people practices” espoused by the company. This is checked through regular assessment of restaurant operations and recommendations by corporate specialists on training and research. (“Mc Donald’s Corporate Responsibility Report 2004 (Supplement)”)
Roughly 60% of Mc Donald’s staff is aged 16-21. These are the “crew” whose tasks may include mopping floors, taking orders, flipping burgers and assembling sandwiches. For majority, Mc Donald’s is their entry point into the workforce—these are teenagers who were enticed by free meals and the idea of earning hourly wages—but eventually ended up staying
With the company for at least 1.6 years, which is twice as long as their peer-groups employed in other companies. (“Tootelian, n.d.”) Mc Donald’s accounts this low employee turn over rate to its well-developed Human Resource policies and training aimed at developing their basic workplace skills and attitudes.
As they grow in their jobs, the crew gain experience and are given escalating opportunities for leadership and management. Some of course move on to careers in other fields, but a significant number make their way up into the company’s system. More than 1,000 U.S. restaurant owner/operators were former employees. “Even Mc Donald’s President and CEO Charlie Bell, Chief Restaurant Operations Officer, Claire Babrowski, and McDonald’s Ventures Managing Director, Mats Lederhausen, all started as crew members” (“Corporate Responsibility Report 2004”)
The Mc Donald’s system prides itself with its diversity program that gives equal opportunities to marginalized sectors of society. It is a proud member of the US Business Leadership Network, a group that advocates the sharing of best practices and resources in the area of employing people with disabilities; and supports the inclusion of minority groups (Hispanics, African-Americans, Asians) in the roster of employees. Mc Donald’s also recognizes the sensitivities and needs of its gay and lesbian employees. (“Corporate Responsibility Report 2004”)
With regards to ethical, business and training standards, Mc Donald’s restaurants all over the world follow a strict code of ethics, as well as the Management Development Program and its training classes. However, a centralized orientation program for new employees is the base of their training efforts.
Crew members training is traditionally passed on by experienced crew members, using a trainer’s guide, a handbook and a broad range of other materials. Each rookie must learn the basics of safety and security in the workplace before moving on to cleanliness, food safety, customer hospitality. The next step is closely observing aspects or levels of production, which may require that he be assigned to different restaurant stations. Finally there’s training on effective customer hospitality and coworker relations. (“Mc Donald’s Training, n.d.”)
For those who exhibit leadership characteristics, a management program has been set up and focuses on “people practices”. Apart from advanced training, mentoring, basic supervision and leadership and basic shift management, potential managers are taught how to create a positive work environment; support a workplace where individual differences are respected, utilized, valued and appreciated; find ways to enhance crew and customer satisfaction as well as evaluating the restaurants people practices.
Most crew members who aspire for a management career at McDonald’s do succeed and progressively work their way up to higher-level positions throughout the organization. From crew or team leader, they train for the position of MT or manager trainee whose primary duty is to assimilate the company’s policies and procedures in order to prepare for managing shifts in a restaurant. This early stage, potential managers must develop a keen sense for human relations as he or she must be maintain an open line of communication between the staff and would be required to follow-up on their progress. He is also asked by his superiors to establish an individual development plan that focuses on his or her own personal career development objectives. The basic question asked is: how far do you want to go in your career with Mc Donald’s? (“Mc Donald’s Carreer Paths, n.d.”)
From Manager Trainee one move to the Second Assistant Manager position who is responsible for managing people, products and equipment and ensure Quality, Service, Cleanliness and Value (QSC&V) on all assigned shifts. Mentoring also begins here as the second assistant manager is given crew members to train and motivate. More than paperwork handling, he is also placed in charge of controlling food components, labor, waste and cash flow while managing specific areas. After learning to handle people, the next level prepares the employee to run the Mc Donald’s business. (“Mc Donald’s Carreer Paths, n.d.”)
First Assistant Managers are directly responsible for recruiting, staffing, scheduling and retaining employees, and more importantly, demonstrating and reinforcing leadership behavior and people standards. It is necessary for him to build trust and earn commitment from his crew and other shift managers apart from building sales, and keeping down costs to deliver optimum business results in the different restaurant areas. Moreover, first assistant managers must effectively maintain the Mc Donald’s standards of product quality, service speed and quality, cleanliness and sanitation; and controlling assigned profit and loss line items. (“Mc Donald’s Carreer Paths, n.d.”)
Through all of these, the employee’s performance, attitude as well as the amount of time it took him to progress from manager trainee to first assistant manager, are all taken into consideration and weighed by HRD. A final evaluation is conducted to determine whether he or she is fit to assume the role position of Restaurant Manager. Some outlets, in fact, have “steeper” corporate ladders for their employees to climb. In California, for example, managers in company owned restaurants, follow a unique management career path that requires him to work on the restaurant’s different “zones”. The aspirant begins as a Front Counter Zone Manager responsible for client hospitality within the restaurant. From there, one moves to Drive-Thru Zone Manager, responsible for service, profit and labor; then Grill Zone Manager who focuses on restaurant production. Each step is accompanied by a prearranged training program, with the goal of becoming a Restaurant Manager. (“Mc Donald’s Carreer Paths, n.d.”)
As Restaurant Manager, he or she must oversee the entire operation of a McDonald's restaurant. He or she is tasked with training and developing assistant managers; must be able to measure external customer satisfaction and execute plans to increase brand loyalty. Apart from this, he must implement and conduct in-restaurant procedures, and ensure the execution of all security, food safety and maintenance of the restaurant. Apart from these, he or she must monitor and accomplish different procedures in the restaurant-among these the pay, incentives and personnel records. The restaurant manager is also responsible for forecasting profit and keeping losses to a minimum. (“Mc Donald’s Carreer Paths, n.d.”)
But career growth doesn’t stop there. Experienced restaurant managers may eventually become business or operations consultants—in other words, full time expert resources for restaurant managers and owners/operators. One such position is Operations Supervisor, who must provide leadership, coaching and direction to the restaurants he or she is assigned. The operations supervisor maximizes long-term sales and profit potential for each restaurant and is tasked to build a positive business relationship with Restaurant Managers and Restaurant Leadership Team. (“Mc Donald’s Carreer Paths, n.d.”)
Training Consultants, on the other hand, conduct training classes to motivate and improve performance. He or she also doubles as operations expert and consultant on McDonald's operation standards, management tools and training systems. Business Consultants, for their part, help a designated group of individual owners boost restaurant profits, QSC, profit and lay-out parameters for people development; while the Human Resources Consultant is asked to dispense best-practices information, recruiting recommendations analyze individual restaurant needs and develop recommended customized solutions. (“Mc Donald’s Carreer Paths, n.d.”)
The Mc Donald’s system not only monitors the progress of its staff and crew who possess leadership and managerial potentials. It has set up and developed a streamlined training as well as additional enhancement courses specifically for this purpose. Since 1961, Mc Donald’s very own Hamburger University, a 130,000-square-foot facility in Oak Brook, Illinois, has been offering courses for restaurant managers, owner/operators and corporate employees. Course materials are available in 28 languages, and classes have been translated into as many as six languages at one time. The university’s curriculum can be credited towards a two- or four-year college degree. It is the only restaurant organization to be awarded college credit recommendations from the American Council on Education. (“Mc Donald’s Training, n.d.”)
Finally, strict business and ethical standards are hammered onto all McDonald’s employees worldwide. Mc Donald’s has set clear-cut rules for proper ethics and conduct for its staff . Each employee is informed of their basic rights, what the company offers to protect them from harassment; that they are given equal opportunity while under the employ of Mc Donald’s and are briefed on what constitutes conflict of interest; non-disclosure of classified company materials and financial records. Subsequently, everyone is also informed of the corresponding penalties and violations. Management then asks them if they have fully understood and if they are willing to abide by the said guidelines, prior to letting them start work in a Mc Donald’s restaurant. The company expects their staff to act responsibly and hold themselves accountable for keeping an eye out for violations and subsequently reporting the perpetrators to their superiors. All reports are treated by the management as confidential, and the employee is granted full anonymity for his or her protection. If proven guilty, the employee will be meted out a warning; may be suspended or terminated, and depending on the gravity of the case, legal prosecution. (“Mc Donald’s Corporate Responsibility Report 2004”)
When it comes to benefits and incentives for its employees, much is to be expected from Mc Donald’s. The rewards program they have designed is aimed at attracting, energizing and retaining the talented and dedicated members of its staff. It is divided into four tiers, namely: base pay, incentive pay, long term benefits and recognition programs. (“Mc Donald’s Benefits, n.d.”)
The base pay is considered the most significant portion of employees’ compensation. Mc Donald’s maintains the competitiveness of its base pay through an annual review of both external market data and internal peer data. In their corporate, division and regional offices, a broad banding compensation system which allows for flexibility in terms of pay, movement and growth is used. On the other hand, incentive pay gives the employee a chance to earn additional compensation whenever the restaurant performs well and sales are exceptionally good. The company makes use of a Target Incentive Plan (TIP) which links employee performance with the performance of the business they support. TIP pays a bonus on top of employees' base salaries based on business performance and their individual performance.
Long term incentives are awarded to both reward and retain key employees who have exhibited sustained performance and have the potential to affect long-term business at McDonald's. Recognition programs have likewise been set up to reward and recognize strong performers. The Presidents' Award, for starters, is given to the top 1% of individual performers worldwide while the Circle of Excellence Award is handed to top teams worldwide in recognition of their efforts to perpetuate the Mc Donald’s vision. (“Mc Donald’s Careers—management, n.d.”)
At the same time, McDonald's rewards programs are designed to help its employees maintain or regain the right balance between work and outside life. Corporate, division and regional office employees may be able to arrange with HRD for an alternative work approach. They can opt to take flex time or compressed work week for full-time positions and part-time scheduling and job sharing for part-time employees. Restaurant Managers, and all of Mc Donald’s corporate employees enjoy the benefit of paid vacation leaves. The length of vacation time is based on the number of years the employee has worked. For other qualified regular employees, Mc Donald’s gives nine paid vacation days. Part-time employees are also given paid leaves, but the number of days are subject to company discretion. They can also opt to take an eight-week sabbatical for every 10 years of full-time continuous service with the company. (“Mc Donald’s Benefits, nd.”)
Likewise, McDonald's provides a leave of absence program with specific policies. This includes family, medical, adoption and funeral leaves. Mc Donald’s also supports the continuing education of its employees; and extends even child care or home and auto insurance aids. Some employees were assisted by the company in adoption cases. (“Mc Donald’s Benefits, nd.”)
A comprehensive health and insurance benefits system is also mapped out for employees and their immediate family members. McDonald’s gives them medical plan options that use the First Health network of providers. The medical plans include a prescription drug program feature and lifetime health benefits that include preventive care and once a year executive check-ups for employees and their nominated family members. Well-baby care, child immunizations and inoculation are also covered. Mc Donald’s also placed provisions for vision (includes eyeglasses and contact lenses replacement and discounts on laser vision correction surgery) and dental expenses coverage. An employee may also ask the management to put aside a maximum of $5,600 from his pre-tax income for a health care spending account . (“Mc Donald’s Benefits, n.d.”)
Mc Donald’s also extends free short and long term disability coverage for all its employees. Short term disability readily compensates an employee who is rendered unable to work by injury for 10 or more days, consecutively. Long term disability, on the other hand, gives the injured employee up to 60% of his or her monthly basic pay. He is compensated for the entire duration of his disability. McDonald's also provides free basic life insurance equivalent to twice the employee's base salary. In case of death or serious injury caused by an accident the company gives out accidental death and dismemberment insurance which is worth twice the employee's basic pay. And, in the event of an accident when traveling for personal reasons, travel insurance, amounting to twice the basic monthly pay is also given. If the employee is sent on an official trip, an additional $100,000 or $200,000 is provided as business travel insurance on top of the regular travel accident coverage. (“Mc Donald’s Benefits, nd.”)
With regards to the finances of its employees, Mc Donald’s encourages them to invest and save by offering several money management programs. McSave, which is a special money market fund set up for McDonald's employees while MCDirect Shares allows them to invest and reinvest dividends in the company. There is also a Profit Sharing and Savings Plan which lets employees set aside up to half of their basic pay. The plan’s 401(k) feature matches employee contributions with $3 for each $1 of the first 1% they set aside, and $1:$1 for the subsequent amounts they save up. (“Mc Donald’s Benefits, n.d.”)
In conclusion, Mc Donald’s human resource development policies provide its employees a challenging career and a nurturing work environment. Inspite the controversies and intrigues that befell the company in the last two years, Mc Donald’s has managed to reinvent itself not only by reestablishing its reputation as a provider of nutritious and high-quality food by giving its consumers healthier meal options, but also placed the training and continuous development of its staff as the heart of its operations. Its people policies make each employee proud of holding a “Mc Job”. The workplace is secure; their inputs and suggestions are welcome; they are aware of what the company expects from them, and what they get in return for their loyalty and service Moreover, the values and code of ethics Mc Donald’s instills in its employees are invaluable and applicable to any job they may hold in the future.
References
“HR challenges... I'm lovin' it”. Personnel Today Magazine 06 September 2005. Retrieved June 8, 2006 from http://wwwPersonnelToday.com

“Mc Donald’s History”. Retrieved June 8, 2006 from
www.mcdonalds.com/usa

“Fascinating Mc Facts”. Firsts-Fascinating Mc Facts (Microsoft Word document 4-7-05) retrieved June 9, 2006 from www.mcdonalds.com/RMHC

“Mc Donald’s Corporate Responsibility Report 2004”. (McDonald’s Corporation Oak Brook, IL 60523 CS-5565 MCD02-4190A) Retrieved June 8, 2006 from www.mcdonalds.com

“Mc Donald’s Corporate Responsibility Report 2004 (Supplement)”. Retrieved June 8, 2006 from www.mcdonalds.com

Tootelian, Dennis H., The Mc Donald’s Footprint. Retrieved June 9, 2006 from www.mcdonalds.com

“Mc Donald’s Training”( ©2005-2006 McDonald's Corporation) Retrieved June 8, 2006 from www.mcdonalds.com/usa/work/m_careers/training

“Mc Donald’s Career Paths”. ( ©2005-2006 McDonald's Corporation) Retrieved June 9, 2006 from www.mcdonalds.com/usa

“Mc Donald’s Benefits”. ( ©2005-2006 McDonald's Corporation) Retrieved June 8, 2006 from
www.mcdonalds.com/usa/work/career/employee_benefits

“Mc Donald’s Careers—management”.( ©2005-2006 McDonald's Corporation) Retrieved June 8, 2006 from www.mcdonalds.com/usa/work/m_careers/career_paths

Monday Thoughts

2006-05-22T14:26:00.000+08:00

Once again, I am

a good morning message

sent to many

a half-thought verbalized

as you shake off remnants

of weekend sleep

involuntary as a yawn;

a long stretch,

or the repeated creaking of your neck

workweek routine sets in, yet i feel

like that first splash of water

on your skin.

~stephie~

Translation: Should You Forget

2006-05-19T17:05:00.000+08:00

Should you forget

how we once unclasped our hearts

to play and seek refuge from its maddening beats,

to look for the wings of the angel of darkness

and soar to the vagabond planets lying within us--

as one-- limbs and spirits entwined, whole

and unmindful of on looking stars

Do not grieve beloved, do not be sad.

Nothing changes.

I shall continue to walk this rope of tightly-woven moments,

and living on remembered sighs and giggles, return

to the silent footprints youve cast in my heart,

touching always these fallen crystals from your lips.

But should you forget me

should the love letters I etched on your skin fade,

should your tongue lose its memory

and forget even how to speak my name,

Ah my love, do not be afraid.

Nothing will change.

I shall never let go of our memories,

for I have sworn to every on looking star

and promised each vagabond planet

that one night we spent together,

was the last that Id unclasp my heart.

Translated from: Kung Sakaling Malimutan Mo Ako

by Anne Stephanie Cruz and Marlon Hacla

somewhere in time

2006-05-11T15:09:00.000+08:00

tapping the hourglass

taped on the table---

bidding time return

stephie

Ode to Kal-el

2006-05-11T15:00:00.000+08:00

** because I will always be the little girl who fell for Superman

I embraced you,
full circle around Kryptons sun,
certain your fire will consume me
until I am nothing but particles
perpetually dancing in space,
feeding on the energy
of being loved by a phantasm
whose identity I hold
in the quiet of my mortal heartbeats.

Ive long given up trying
to solve the riddles of this universe:
of wanting to mend the tatter in time
that caused meteors to pelt the earth too early,
but brought me to you too late.

I could only love you in compromised acceptance.

We are locked in a dream with a termination date.

Immutable laws of the cosmos breached with each kiss,
the great divide forgotten in a fortress of solitude
no windows, no doors to shut behind us
we etched doubt in mirrors of fragile peace.

This is my beat under the heavens
yours lie beyond dismantled suns
past extinguished stars, spent comets
and silenced human hearts
that taught you to yield and let go.

Love alone cannot eclipse the truth:
youll always be a god amongst men,
but you werent destined to save me.

~Anne Stephanie Cruz~

Tanka:

2006-05-11T14:44:00.000+08:00

Lachryma Christi*

uncorking

a bottle of vintage

tears, one sip

to cleanse the palate

of sin

*Lachryma Christi (Latin, "Tear of Christ") is a name given to red and white wines grown in an ancient vineyard on the slopes of Mount Vesuvius, in Italy. The name Lachryma Christi comes from an old legend that Christ, crying over Lucifer's fall from heaven, cried his tears on this land and gave divine inspiration to the vines that grew there.

Short Poems

2006-05-11T14:42:00.000+08:00

i.

teardrop moon
rising over the docks--
solitary nightwatch

ii.

midnight harbor

two ships berthing--

company for the night

iii

ripening slowly

over mango trees--

Sunday afternoon

Recipes for Suicide

2006-05-11T14:37:00.000+08:00

suicide by coffee

five, six mugs a day

heart palpitation by 80

crossing the street

thinking of hall of mirrors

shaking stumbling

excruciating pain

7-11 slurpee---

blood curling brain freeze

bright burning ember

a very slow poison

cigarette stick

daily fare of gin

balut cholesterol and alcohol

heart, kidney, liver

man without hope

swallows several wishbones

death by lechon manok

each night, a toast

to guardian angels

death by San Miguel

bloodsucker

hangs himself in guilt

death by mosquito net

washing first heartbreak

out of her hair

death by shampoo

after the bestman

makes a monkey out of you

death by banana peel

SMS Rengga by: Andoy Castellano and Steph Cruz

Saturday, May 6, 2006

Tulang Sangre*

2006-05-11T13:42:00.000+08:00

At nabasag ang salamin ng gunita...

ang mga bubog,

naging kristal na along nakatanaw

sa makabila nating pampang,

mga hiyas na ngayo'y pinupulot isa-isa

hindi para muling buuin,

kundi upang mag-iwan ng mga sugat

na maghihilom rin kalaunan.

Saka pa lamang mananaludtod

ang bawat pilat at ilalantad

ang mga tulang sangreng

iginuhit mo sa aking balat.

*blood poem

Vaccination

2006-03-09T20:18:00.000+08:00

(for A.)

I submit to pain
consciously and wholly,
administered in incremental doses
growing more potent over time
'til the body is forced to cope
and develop on its own
some primitive form of resistance.

To an affliction
with no prescribed cure,
where the only known defense
is deliberate, repeated and prolonged
exposure to the carrier,
the sado-masochist belief
that cruelty is an act of mercy,
becomes gospel truth.

Once again, I bend over
relenting to your wish to be kind.

Inoculate me,
until this body is rendered immune
...to you.

Anne Stephanie Cruz
3.09.06

Tea Ceremony

2006-03-07T12:32:00.000+08:00

Tea Ceremony

i.
a tea pot
sits,
kettle whistles

ii.
brown leaves
steeped:
remembering

iii.
silence,
strained then poured
into cups

Dressing for Mourning

2006-02-21T17:45:00.000+08:00

Dressing for Mourning

By: Anne Stephanie Cruz

I dressed for mourning in black string underwear,
mutely condoling with me by snugly hugging
milk-white skin, where I am most vulnerable.

True, that’s the only support
swatches of barely-there fabric are meant to give,
but to a woman about to come to terms with grief,
they’re modern-day chainmail and armor.

She puts them on piece by piece,
gently tugging at strings and straps
until she fits into pre-cast molds of black.
Like satin hands slipping into iron gloves,
she remains the same sensuous woman he adores.
However, this time strong enough
to wield goodbyes and walk away
unimpaled by her own sorrow.

Only after the cycle has closed
does she abandon her stance, strip;
and in absolute nakedness--weep.

When a woman like me dresses for mourning
in black string underwear, laugh not:
it means you tried, but weren’t strong enough—
and that you leave me no other prerogative
but to sever the very fibers that formed and knotted
this odd friendship of sorts, as only I know how.

Tonight, for our mutual benefit,
kiss me then hand me the scissors.

Kung Sakaling Malimutan Mo Ako

2006-02-08T18:06:00.000+08:00

(pasintabi kay Neruda)

anne stephanie cruz, marlon hacla, 2/8/2006

Kung sakaling malimutan mo

na minsan nating kinalag ang ating mga puso

upang maglaro at takasan ang kabog

ng ating mga dibdib,upang hanapin ang mga pakpak

ng anghel ng dilim, upang liparin ang mga lagalag na planeta

ng ating mga damdamin

nang buo, hawak-kamay at nagtatalik ang diwa,

nang di batid na nakasilip ang mga tala,

huwag kang tumangis, huwag kang malungkot.

Walang maiiba.

Patuloy kong lalakbayin ang hinabing-lubid ng mga ala-ala,

mananahan sa bawat hibik mo't hagikhik,

at babalikan ang walang-imik mong mga yabag sa aking puso,

patuloy kong hihipuin ang mga nalaglag na kristal

mula sa iyong mga halik.

Kung sakaling malimutan mo ako

at mabura ang mga alpabeto ng pag-ibig

na inukit ko sa iyong balat,

kung sakaling maumid ang iyong dila at malimutan

maging ang bigkas ng aking pangalan,

huwag kang mabahala. Walang maiiba.

Hindi ko bibitawan ang ating mga gunita.

Sapagkat sumumpa ako sa nakasilip na mga tala,

saksi ang lagalag na mga planeta,

na huling pagkalag na ng aking puso

noong gabing kapiling ka.

***

Thank You, Marlon!

http://you.inq7.net/express/02162006/exp1-1.htm

Tulang Tuluyan:

2006-01-30T12:40:00.000+08:00

Tubig-Tabang

by Stephie

Sa ilog na lamang tayo magtagpo mahal. Kung saan marahan ang agos ng tubig sa batuhan. Di tulad ng mapupusok na alon sa dagat na makailang ulit ka ring tinangay. Pailalim. Sa isang
panaginip na ubod dilim.

Dito sa ilog malinaw ang lahat. Naaaninag ang tunay na hubog at kulay ng bawat bagay sa ilalim ng tubig. Samantalang ang dagat, tuso at mapaglihim. Mapanlinlang ang kabuuang ikinukubli ng lalim at bula ng tubig-alat. Batid kong hanap ng iyong mga paa ang pinong buhangin ng kaniyang dalampasigan; ang kiliting dulot ng halik ng tubig sa talampakan. Pagsapit ng takipsilim, unti-unti niyang inilililis ang mga alon, paanyayang muli mong sisirin ang pusod ng kaniyang alindog.

Minsan ka lamang namahinga sa ilog. Nanalungko sa batuhan at minasdan ang sarili. Hindi nagsinungaling ang tubig. Hinugasan ang asing ngumangatngat sa kayraming mga sugat. Kay alat ng iyong mga luha.

Umawit ang ilog, ngunit tawag ng alon ang tanging naririnig.

Sa ilog na lamang tayo magtagpo, mahal. Kapang naunawaan mo nang hindi maaring maging dagat ang tubig-tabang.

January 29, 2006

Pag-Ibig sa Alon

2006-01-27T12:51:00.000+08:00

Tula ni: Enrico Torralba

"Akala ko'y di ko maiibig ang dagat."
--mula sa TAKOT SA TUBIG ni Rio Alma

Ang kanyang pagdampi sa labi
Ng dalampasigan ay lubos
Na pagtangi sa bato at buhangin.
Sa tuwing siya ay dumarating,
Lagi siyang may handod
Na taludtod ng tilamsik at ginhawa.
Kaya minsan, sa muli niyang pagdalaw
Siya ay aking inangkin,
Siya ay aking inaruga
A ipinaghele sa aking mga palad.
Ngunit sa bawat pagbubuntis ng buwan,
Nararamdaman kong
Ang pananatili niya sa aking piling
Ay panunuyo ng kanyang tinig.
Ayaw kong mawala ang awit ng alon
Kapag sinusuyo ang dalampasigan
Kaya minabuti kong masdan na lang
Siyang lumisan pabalik sa dagat.
Mula noon, natitik sa aking isip
Na hindi para sa akin
Ang pagmamahal ng alon.

**one of the poems in Sir John's chapbook. Do I need to explain how much heartache and tears are mirrored here? I keep remembering the poem "Gabu" I've read in college...It is the sea that pursues a habit of shores. Yes, it is another shore that he wishes to come home to...

adaptation

2006-01-25T13:30:00.000+08:00

Out of my element,
I gasp and thrash about
like fish washed ashore.

Forced to walk
,imaginary limbs claw air
for handrails or even the tiniest foothold.

I am told: adapt,
it's the only way to survive.

As if they didn't know,
evolution takes its own sweet time--
humankind waited in bated breath
for the ape to walk upright.

stephie
1.25.06

Love at First Sight

2006-01-20T10:52:00.000+08:00

(Wislawa Szymborska, translated by Walter Whipple )

Both are convinced
that a sudden surge of emotion bound them together.
Beautiful is such a certainty,
but uncertainty is more beautiful.

Because they didn't know each other earlier, they suppose that
nothing was happening between them.
What of the streets, stairways and corridors
where they could have passed each other long ago?

I'd like to ask them
whether they remember-- perhaps in a revolving door
ever being face to face?
an "excuse me" in a crowd
or a voice "wrong number" in the receiver.
But I know their answer:
no, they don't remember.

They'd be greatly astonished
to learn that for a long time
chance had been playing with them.

Not yet wholly ready
to transform into fate for them
it approached them, then backed off,
stood in their way
and, suppressing a giggle,
jumped to the side.

There were signs, signals:
but what of it if they were illegible.
Perhaps three years ago,
or last Tuesday
did a certain leaflet fly
from shoulder to shoulder?
There was something lost and picked up.
Who knows but what it was a ball
in the bushes of childhood.

There were doorknobs and bells
on which earlier
touch piled on touch.
Bags beside each other in the luggage room.
Perhaps they had the same dream on a certain night,
suddenly erased after waking.

Every beginning
is but a continuation,
and the book of events
is never more than half open.

**
Is the world trying to tell me something? This poem found its way to my mailbox this morning, and its uncanny how it is closely (or rather inversely) related to this Haruki Murakami Story I stumbled upon yesterday. Read and enjoy!

FB Senryu

2006-01-18T14:26:00.000+08:00

F...

old man
ogling well done breasts---
lunch time queue

B...

martini stories:
marriage is cold and on the rocks---
can I buy you a drink?

FB stands for food and beverage, and, something totally different. If you're sharp enough to understand, good for you. If not, tough luck. ~stephie~

Here's another one, inspired by a Duncan Sheik song...

to a mirror
she prays,
for a glimpse of herself

Good In Bed

2006-01-16T12:05:00.000+08:00

Loving a Larger Woman
by Bruce Guberman

I'll never forget the day I found out my girlfriend weighed more than I did.

She was out on a bike ride, and I was home watching football, leafing through the magazines on her coffee table, when I found her Weight Watchers folder — a palm-sized folio with notations for what she'd eaten, and when, and what she planned to eat next, and whether she'd been drinking her eight glasses of water a day. There was her name. Her identification number. And her weight, which I am too much of a gentleman to reveal here. Suffice it to say that the number shocked me.

I knew that C. was a big girl. Certainly bigger than any of the women I'd seen on TV, bouncing in bathing suits or drifting, reedlike, through sitcoms and medical dramas. Definitely bigger than any of the women I'd ever dated before.

I never thought of myself as a chubby chaser. But when I met C., I fell for her wit, her laugh, her sparkling eyes. Her body, I decided, was something I could learn to live with.

Her shoulders were as broad as mine, her hands were almost as big, and from her breasts to her belly, from her hips down the slope of her thighs, she was all sweet curves and warm welcome. Holding her felt like a safe haven. It felt like coming home.

But being out with her didn't feel nearly as comfortable. Maybe it was the way I'd absorbed society's expectations, its dictates of what men are supposed to want and how women are supposed to appear. More likely, it was the way she had. C. was a dedicated foot soldier in the body wars. At five foot ten inches, with a linebacker's build and a weight that would have put her right at home on a pro football team's roster, C. couldn't make herself invisible.

But I know that if it were possible, if all the slouching and slumping and shapeless black jumpers could have erased her from the physical world, she would have gone in an instant. She took no pleasure from the very things I loved, from her size, her amplitude, her luscious, zaftig heft.

As many times as I told her she was beautiful, I know that she never believed me. As many times as I said it didn't matter, I knew that to her it did. I was just one voice, and the world's voice was louder. I could feel her shame like a palpable thing, walking beside us on the street, crouched down between us in a movie theater, coiled up and waiting for someone to say what to her was the dirtiest word in the world: fat.

And I knew it wasn't paranoia. You hear, over and over, how fat is the last acceptable prejudice, that fat people are the only safe targets in our politically correct world. Date a queen-sized woman and you'll find out how true it is. You'll see the way people look at her, and look at you for being with her. You'll try to buy her lingerie for Valentine's Day and realize the sizes stop before she starts. Every time you go out to eat you'll watch her agonize, balancing what she wants against what she'll let herself have, what she'll let herself have against what she'll be seen eating in public.

And what she'll let herself say.

I remember when the Monica Lewinsky story broke and C., a newspaper reporter, wrote a passionate defense of the White House intern who'd been betrayed by Linda Tripp in Washington, and betrayed even worse by her friends in Beverly Hills, who were busily selling their high-school memories of Monica to Inside Edition and People magazine. After her article was printed, C. got lots of hate mail, including one letter from a guy who began: "I can tell by what you wrote that you are overweight and that nobody loves you." And it was that letter — that word — that bothered her more than anything else anyone said. It seemed that if it were true — the "overweight" part — then the "nobody loves you" part would have to be true as well.

As if being Lewinsky-esque was worse than being a betrayer, or even someone who was dumb.
As if being fat were somehow a crime.

Loving a larger woman is an act of courage in this world, and maybe it's even an act of futility. Because, in loving C., I knew I was loving someone who didn't believe that she herself was worthy of anyone's love.

And now that it's over, I don't know where to direct my anger and my sorrow. At a world that made her feel the way she did about her body — no, herself — and whether she was desirable. At C., for not being strong enough to overcome what the world told her. Or at myself, for not loving C. enough to make her believe in herself.

**currently reading Good In Bed By Jennifer Weiner ... this article, penned by the lead character's ex-boyfriend, is the take-off point of the whole book. Fell in love with it after browsing through the first few pages at Powerbooks, ATC yesterday.

Share: Firefly Sestina

2006-01-13T10:49:00.000+08:00

You said they were stars,
the flowers in your clothes,
a fragrant race
of insects in a river
heading toward us,
light turning to matter.

Did it matter
if they were stars
or they were us
looking too close?

Our eyes are also rivers
in a race
for the future, a race
with matter
over time and the river.

The stars
are close to us,
all of us:a race
that will kill to close
a matter,
erase stars,
defile a river,
even this one river
forever heading toward us
we barely navigate, like fixed stars
in a racethat ought to matter
and never close.

Wearing no clothes
we step into the river.
No matter
that it covers us
with darkness,

whose race
over our bodies fills with stars.
Whose stars
clothe our bodies as they race
toward a river of no matter to us.

**Picked up this sestina from Antioch Review, I must have read it three or four times before feeling the full impact of the piece. Oh the days when one feels like a firefly—free, flying, but carrying a desire that burns and consumes the self, sometimes for days at an end!~stephie~

Cheshire Cat Tales

2006-01-13T10:28:00.000+08:00

i.

walk in closet
a Cheshire cat licks
paws clean

ii.

giddy little girl
shaved clean--
Cheshire cat grin

stephie
10.25 am

daga: a senryu in Filipino

2006-01-09T09:56:00.000+08:00

sepilyo't colgate
naiwan sa kwarto kagabi
may dagang uuwi

stephie
Pasay MRT

"Comfort Sex"

2006-01-06T11:18:00.000+08:00

Walang ibang kulay ang gabi kundi pula.

May anghang ang mga labing kapwa
naghahanap ng pagkandili.
Hindi nag-alinlangang magsukob,
may pangangailangang pilit pinupunan
ngunit batid na kailanma'y di matatagpuan
sa isa't-isa.

Sapat na ang malamang pula pa rin ang
dugong umuugong sa nag-iinit na mga tainga;
na pula ang kulay ng kaligayahan bagamat bahaw;
at pula ang kasukdulang naabot at lalatay sa ala-ala.

Huwag mo lamang huhubarin ang pulang blusa.
Baka malimutang pumipintig pa rin ang iyong pusong kulay pula.

stephie
4 am

Bathroom Confessions

2006-01-06T08:39:00.001+08:00

Kung sana'y agua bendita ang ibinubuhos,
o krusipiho ang ipinangkukuskos
baka sakaling matanggal pa
ang mga mantsang naiwan sa paanan ng dutsa.

Ang kaso'y sa harap ng domex at eskoba lang
kayang mangumpisal ng mga tulad kong
sa nakapinid na silid nagkakasala.

Kaya't ang bawat buhos ng tubig
sinasabayan nang pagluha,
baka sakaling sa paglilinis
makatagpo ng pagpapalaya

stephie
1/02/06

short poems

2006-01-06T08:39:00.000+08:00

i.

sensual origami---
deft fingers on pulp
folding in surrender

ii.

a butterfly
hugs its cocoon goodbye--
maiden flight

iii.

mirror image--
making passionate love
in a pool of tears

iv.

plucking feathers
from singed wings---
a fistful of faith

ELEVEN

2006-01-02T14:47:00.000+08:00

by Stephie

"What's better than a ten?"

Quarter past lunch,
you twitch in remembrance.
Glazed eyes seeing her flushed, fucked face in the mirror;
lips and skin playing out frame by hungry frame
of a Tuesday feeding frenzy.
Images rise with your quickened breath,
like steam, more vivid than a transparent overlay.

Muscle memory conjures sensations of being wrung out,
sucked dry then finally coming---
senseless and beyond pleasure.

Hungrier than when you stepped out for lunch,
your knees buckle in recollection.
So good,
you count to eleven before crossing the street.

Tag-tuyo

2005-12-28T09:09:00.000+08:00

by: Anne Stephanie Cruz

Tag-tuyo na naman.

Tapos na ang panahon ng morkon at hamon.
Buong Disyembre ring nagpakasasa sa sarap ng karne.
Pumapalatak pa, napapapikit,
ninanamnam ang bawat pagsimsim sa katas ng malasang laman.

Bihira kasing mamantikaan ang mga labi.
Bihasa na ang mga daliri sa paghimay ng tuyong
saglit lang idinarang sa mainit na kawali.
Manhid na sa halos isang taong pagdidildil,
matugunan lamang ang kalam ng kalamnan.

Ngayon, tag-tuyo na naman.
Ngunit di tulad ng mga nagdaang panahon,
may kislap sa mga matang maghihintay na muling masayaran
ng hamon ang mga labi kong inaalat.
Nangangarap na sa darating na taon,
higit isang beses sasapit ang Pasko.

senryu

2005-12-27T16:51:00.000+08:00

**i didn't realize i have an assortment of senryu stored in my mobile phone...

i.

honey comb
on jet black hair---
tonight's moon

ii.

raising the drawbridge
i leave you stranded
under the rain

iii.

whiffs of saki--
a hungry mouth
tasting another

iv.

sweet saki
coming down my throat
more than once tonight

v.

fire eater
kissing flaming batons
at intervals

--stephie

Return

2005-12-21T09:18:00.000+08:00

by: Constantine P. Cavafy

Return often and take me,
beloved sensation, return and take me
when the memory of the body awakens,
and an old desire runs again through the blood;
when the lips and the skin remember,
and the hands feel as if they touch again.

Return often and take me at night,
when the lips and the skin remember....

From Pinoypoets

2005-11-29T10:00:00.000+08:00

Sagot sa Kanina, Inihagis Ko ang Puso Ko sa Dagat

Rosalynn S. Georpe
November 26, 2005

Bumalik ako sa dalampasigan
Kung saan ka huling nagpaalam
Iniyapak ko ang aking mga paa
sa buhangin -
Nabasa ng mga naghahabulang
tubig...
Ngunit `di tulad ng dati

Kulimlim ang langit
Inunahan ako nito sa paghikbi...
Minasdan ko ang pagpatak
ng ulan sa mukha ng dagat -
At ninais na minsan ay maging
isang bula...

Upang kahit isang saglit
ay mayakap ko
ang mga bububog ng basyong
pinaglagyan ng `yong puso...

Kanina, Inihagis Ko Ang Puso Ko Sa Dagat

2005-11-25T08:55:00.000+08:00

Kanina, inihagis ko ang puso ko sa dagat.

Sa isang basyong sisidlan,
isinilid ang tulang sadyang hindi tinuldukan.
Inilakip pati ang mumunting mga bula ng pag-asang
daglian din namang naglaho,
maging ang mga panalanging hindi kailanman mabibiyayaan ng tugon.

Walang itinira.

Kanina, inihagis ko ang puso ko sa dagat.

Niyakap ito ng mga alon at paulit-ulit inihampas
sa mga nag-usling bato.
Nagkabasag-basag ngunit hindi nagdugo,
taglay pa rin ang tamis at pait ng hindi maaming pag ibig--
naghahangad ng paglaya
sa pagtatagpo ng mga basyong bubog at ng iyong anino
milyong umaga man buhat ngayon.

Anne Stephanie Cruz
November 24, 2005

Mahal kita sa pinakamailap kong pagmamahal

2005-11-21T10:02:00.000+08:00

Tula ni Mark Angeles

Mahal kita sa pinakamailap kong pagmamahal

Kasing-ilap ng makahiyang tumubo sa batuhan.
Tumitiklop kung madampian ng palad
o masayaran ng talampakan.
Humihilig kung biglang mahipan.

Matama itong nakikinig sa iyong tinig
na tulad ng lagok ng tubig sa payapang batis.
Naririnig na tila kuliling ng anghel
maging ang tahimik mong paghagikhik.

Mahal kita sa pinakamailap kong pagmamahal.
Naghahawan ako ng talahib sa iyong dinaraanan.
Maingat na lumilisan. Walang iniiwang bakas.
Hindi naghahangad na iyong matuklasan
ang ibinigay sa aking palayaw.
Walang tinitipang harana o isinosobreng liham
na maaaring mapasakamay ng iyong mga kaibigan.

Kung sakaling ibulong sa iyo ng mga talahib
itong pagkamailap ng aking pagmamahal,
akin silang tatagpasin hanggang walang maiwan.
Tutupukin ang mga natirang haplit ng alingawngaw
na naghihingalo sa nangayupapang mga luntian.
Ililigpit ang lahat ng maaaring makapagpabatid
na may ganitong pagmamahal akong inaalagaan.
Dahil itong mailap na pagmamahal ay nagbiling
magpagapas sa oras na mabunyag ang pamumukadkad.

Mahal kita sa pinakamailap kong pagmamahal.
Hindi naghihintay ng anumang paglingap.
Hindi nangangailangan ng anumang kasiguruhan.
Basyong kristal na mag-isa kong pinakikintab.
Malinaw sa akin ang bawat katangian:
maningning sa tag-araw, mapusyaw sa taglagas.
At kung sakaling ito ma'y mabasag,
wala kang dapat ipaghingi ng tawad.
Kusa itong maglalaho sa likod ng matatandang puno,
pag-alulong ng mga asong gubat sa amarilyong buwan.

The Courtesan's Garden

2005-11-17T17:02:00.000+08:00

sleeping

on a blanket of snowflakes--

missing you

ii.

yellow rosebuds

feeding

on courtesan tears

iii.

secrets

tainting white pebbles

black

iv.

twigs crackling

under fleeing boots--

the sun rising

stephie

11.17.05

3.00 a.m.

Mercury in Retrograde

2005-11-17T09:06:00.000+08:00

by: Stephie

You're terrified of carousels, yet ride it again and again, believing centripetal force would change how your world has been revolving: opposite your fixed path around the sun.

You liken yourself to mercury in retrograde--transiting the heavens in several reverse cycles each year. Except you say, you have yet to find your way back into orbit.

Gravity threw you off kelter. Attraction to the sun upset your pre-set motion in the cosmos.
From a celestial being once capable of commanding the skies, you're now a mere mass of burning gas in the solar system.

Day after day you board that carousel, relishing the feeling of being spun around, all the while hoping for some unseen force to jolt you back on track.

But you dread coming to a halt.

For when the ride ends you realize why you were moving in retrograde: you've been circling the wrong sun.

Curdling

2005-11-14T14:43:00.000+08:00

I asked my guts if we making dairy today.

It was churning at about a hundred turns per minute, carefully curdling stomach acids and morning coffee. For a few seconds, the formed lumps hung suspended in my wind pipe then slowly rose to my throat, preparing to choke me.

My insides continued to heave.

Unsettled and frustrated--- it vented anger on a tablespoon of coffee, sugar and cream---the unsuspecting contents of a venti tumbler I was downing with neither mercy nor remorse.

Gulp after scalding gulp, my stomach grumbled its protests; churning until the curd turned thick and heavy. While I, sitting rod-straight in the intimidating conference room, nodded and feigned a smile.

The lumps became hands that balled into fists.

Pelted with punches, pain rendered me deaf to sugar-coated speeches. I could no longer listen.

Convulsing in spasm, I bolted out of the room to spew----my violent reactions; my swallowed protests; my muffled questions---all washed down by this morning's coffee.

My stomach exacted vengeance on me for being so damn chicken.

Out Next Month

2005-10-27T12:48:00.000+08:00

Contributors:

Anthony Edward L. Abalos, Socrates Aguila, Mark Angeles, Marc Ayende, Edgar T. Balista, Archie Barcelona, Don Belardo, Kristoffer Berse, Wilfredo R. Bongcaron, Don Bustamante, Karen Cabatuando, Mic Camba, Manny Caoile, Eduardo M. Carpena, Kristian S. Cordero, Camilo Corpuz, Anne Stephanie Cruz*, Syria Dee, Melanie Dela Cruz, Jonathan Duay, Trina Fernando, Raul Funilas, Ezzard R. Gilbang, Lolito R. Go Jr., Marlon Hacla, Carlos Correos Huelma, E.V. Infante, John Jimenez, Elvira Klaus, Marilyn S. Ku, Leo V. Limcangco, Jen Macapagal, Noel Malicdem, Nino Saavedra Manaog, Francisco Arias Monteseña, Adalbert S. Naval, Sherwin Nones, Anthony Pabon, Pilar Pajayon-Berse, Pol Vincent Perocho, Alexander Martin Remollino, V.A. Rice, April Joy A. Rivers, Erwin Robledo, Fermin S. Salvador, Joseph Santos, Jheric A. Saracho, Gretchen Joane Singson-Que, W. J. Sonita, Nicanor P. Tiosen, Anjelah Ty, Jan L. Velasco, Rowan Canlas Velonta, Vic P. Yambao, and Kyo Zapanta.

* Poems---Gisadong Pansit and 'Tis the Praying Man

lipsicle

2005-10-24T14:44:00.000+08:00

Third Wheel

2005-10-20T18:37:00.000+08:00

squirrel couple
cracking walnuts in cadence
I stare unblinking
and touch the emptiness
of discarded shells

Moon Poems

2005-10-17T15:59:00.000+08:00

for the controversial J.

1.

moon flower
catching dew
from a secret lover

2.

claiming the night
on borrowed light--
mistress moon

3.

don't hold back
it's only our shadows
under the moon

The White Dress

2005-10-13T10:14:00.000+08:00

My Dearest Taylor,

I need a new dress
White and more beautiful
than any of my Sunday’s bests.

I want it long and flowing
down to my ankles but never reaching
the floor—I don’t want to drag it
down the aisle as I walk.

It should be simple.
Unembellished by lace, pearls or embroidery—
after all, there would be no room for luxuries
after I take my vows.

I want a cord with three knots
Tied snug around the waist---
not to flatter my figure,
but to remind me to remain faithful and submissive
to my divine spouse.

I’ll wear a matching wimple
To catch the sweat from my brows
as I go on my knees dispensing my sacred duties
from everyday forth.

This is what I’ll wear on that joyous day,
not a corset and a heavily-beaded brocade.
You’ve always known I was destined for servitude,
and not a life playing wife to someone who makes suits.

Anne Stephanie Cruz
10.13.05

Short Poems: In Contrast

2005-10-06T18:43:00.000+08:00

1. Fire and Ice

candle woman
burning
without a wick

pilgrim palms
pressed
between ice walls

2. Sun and Rain

half-torpid lids
awaken
under a sun roof

red umbrella
unfolding
to kiss raindrops

3. Man and Woman

alley tomcat
counting
solitary lifetimes

matryoshka*
muffling
a giggle-fest

*Russian doll containing 7 or more smaller dolls nestled inside oneanother. Also means "mother".

stephie

Floater

2005-10-05T08:58:00.000+08:00

Like a banshee, you wailed as I fell.

Perhaps it was your shrill scream that pierced the ocean and
formed the angry, frothing mouth that swallowed me.

Inside this snowglobe of aquamarine,
saltwater churns like clockwork:
tossing top, heaving bottom, displacing even it's own heart
as everything yields to current and undertow.

This is the rule of the sea: nothing stays hidden.
Soon, she will set me free.
Rising with the moon, I shall ride the swell of the waves
and drift toward estuarine waters or some unbeached shore.

Eventually, I will be found,
what's left by spawning salmon tagged as "Jane Doe"
until positively identified (by you, most probably).

You will weep,
and make a fairy tale of my life to the authorities;
layering lies to conceal how I was always to you---
a mere floater with hardly any salt in me.

So mote it be.
I sought the bottom of the sea to fulfill your life-long prophecy.

Stephie

Rengga: Muffled

2005-10-04T10:37:00.000+08:00

Pinoypoets*with Idol Kris

Define: MUFFLED

What is being muffled?
Beer is the color of Listerine,
therefore, one is allowed to expect some form of cleansing.
Each swig is a ritual of sorts, anointing the teeth, tongue
and the roof of one's mouth
sanctified, all of them, washed away
like the splash of waves towed under waves.
Inebriation sanctified.

Look out, it's a fly!
A bird to eat the spine
and compel one's body to break,
break all the rules and start anew
like the phoenix rising from the ashes.

Muffled then, tell me, but are you, still?
You think you've bared it all as you tell your tales

But nobody takes you seriously.

October 3, 2005
Watering Hole, Ortigas

Bamboo

2005-09-30T14:27:00.000+08:00

shifting consciousness

at dawn, to become

the bamboo

stephie

The Last Temptation

2005-09-28T18:15:00.000+08:00

(for J. )

By: Anne Stephanie Cruz

How long must you keep me waiting?
I'm the only one here.

Light me.

I’m a stick of poison poised to strike
like a viper in a basket;
I enthrall and never cease to satisfy
until even your pores reek of my essence.

No one has to know.

You can have me in the bathroom,
flush away evidence and walk out whistling—
smelling of breath mints.

It's not a sin to give in.

Years from now you’ll still remember
how I felt like and tasted,
just be sure to make this last time count.

Savor the moment.

You can heed the Surgeon General’s appeal
some other time.

Today, you're mine.

Mirror on the Wall...

2005-09-28T12:47:00.000+08:00

new moon---

casting charms

on old mirrors

stephie

9.26.05

For Rain, a haiku

2005-09-27T10:04:00.000+08:00

A lotus sits

and blooms

on its own

stephie

9.26.05

Anger Management

2005-09-23T10:57:00.000+08:00

watching smoke

from flared nostrils---

counting to ten

stephie

9.23.05

Shopping for (N)one

2005-09-21T15:10:00.000+08:00

by: Anne Stephanie Cruz

"Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two."---Wilma Hankins Hlawiczka

Three cartons of non-fat milk, two liters of grapefruit juice, a loaf of wheat bread, a pack of spinach pasta, oatmeal and several cans of spicy tuna. That pretty much comprises my bi-weekly grocery list. If its a weeknight and the produce is good, I throw in a head of lettuce, tomatoes, onions and some carrots---you'll never know when you'll crave for fresh salad.

Once I get home, I'll take everything out of the plastic bags and arrange them in the shelves or put them away in the fridge---praying that I remember to eat the vegetables before they mutate (one time, a large potato looked as though it actually grew green eyes after sitting inside the vegetable bin for almost a month!) or turn into mush---whichever comes first.

There are days too when I am hardly able to find anything in the freezer because ice has practically engulfed everything. And its only after a thorough defrosting that I stupidly realize that what looked like a pack of beef tapa was actually slices of chicken breast, heavily discolored by freezer burns after being forgotten for more than two months.

Yes, it's that bad. But what can I do? I'm a single yuppie living alone.

It's been a year and a half since I started living independently again. After the house in the bukid was completed in February last year, my Dad and kid brother moved out of the two-bedroom apartment we temporarily rented in Muntinlupa. I, on the other hand, moved to a smaller, single-bedroom pad 15 minutes away from work.

Sure, I could have gotten a housemate. But I've been there, and I've done that far too many times. I no longer have the energy to grin and bear seeing another person's underwear hanging by the shower stall, or finding that we're fresh out of soda crackers or pancit canton after having shopped only two days ago.

I used to enjoy shopping, I mean I still do. It's just that shopping for no one other than myself makes me feel like the loneliest person on earth. I used to drag in two grocery carts at the counter, adding or taking away items at the last minute, and then clucking my tongue when I see the numbers flitting at the cash register. I almost always shop out of budget.

That was before---when I had a brother to spoil and a Dad who was on a restricted diet. Nowadays, I can pretty much buy anything, depending on whether I'm in pig out or diet mode.
But truth be told, I haven't set foot in a grocery store in almost two months.

Watching Diane Lane's character Sarah (Must Love Dogs) eat her chicken-breast dinner near the kitchen counter actually hurt. I know how pathetic it feels to consume what would otherwise have been a tasty dinner by your lonesome. For some reason, even the best cuts of chicken end up tasting like cardboard and you'd rather cry yourself to sleep on a hungry stomach than go through that routine every night.

Now you know why I skip dinner altogether.

The scenes where she would argue with the man-who-keeps-offering-chicken-by the bulk-specials at the grocery were meant to be funny, but it was also a stab at society's callousness to the plight of singletons----whether they chose to be single or were just victims of circumstance.
Really, why would someone like me want to buy a whole roasted chicken when I could barely finish the drumsticks? Even if it were on sale, that would leave me eating chicken for one whole week---by that time, I would probably be cringing from the mere smell of it.

Come on, there was a reason why individual and single-serve packagings were invented.

One time, as I was waiting for my turn at the counter, the woman ahead of me (obviously married with kids judging by her overflowing cart) curiously looked at the contents of my cart and non-chalantly asked: student?

I blanched, then felt the blood rush back to my cheeks as I stammered a reply. In less than five minutes I pretty much summed up my life and explained my civil status to a total stranger. I was holding back the tears as the cashier was ringing up my purchases---never in my life did buying milk, bread and soda crackers belittle me so. It made me feel like a social aberration, just because I was shopping for one.

I've since recovered from that experience, managing to hold my head high and match the nosy women looking at my cart stare for stare.

However, on days when I'm really feeling low, I spare myself the agony. I just head for the nearest 7-11 or the sari-sari store around the block---where the clerks and tinderas don't give you a condescending look for purchasing supplies in retail.

I realized it isn't always cheaper to buy things by the dozen.

Letting Go

2005-09-19T10:33:00.000+08:00

Haiku: Letting Go

end of summer---
blowing dandelion seeds
from my open palm

stephie
9.18.05

FAVORITES:

2005-09-14T13:38:00.000+08:00

RENGGA: RED SHIRT

By: Pinoypoets

I am going to wear a red shirt today

to hide the bloodstains impressed
like thumbed moths on my body
to forget the sins of memory.

And I'll go flying to the night
like the lone moon but red
in haze due to clouds -
I will cast my gaze
like stars in constant watch
of my tainted earth.

But what will this bring me?
A swim in the opulent nothingness of the dark
or hiding in a hollow skull
or nothing, like abstract images
attempting to conceive
these saline pools of mystery
formed in my skin,

hidden by the red shirt I'm wearing today.

Shelling Shrimps

2005-09-06T12:15:00.000+08:00

By: Anne Stephanie Cruz

Déjà vu.

I swear this has already happened before. And this feeling, although somewhat surreal, seems oddly familiar. This is just the third time that I’ve felt like this in my 26 years of existence---and it always hits me while I’m shelling shrimps.

I’ve stayed in at least 15 different houses in the last decade: a relative’s house, apartments, boarding houses and dormitories and have gotten used to the transient lifestyle---moving to a new place every six months or so.

With each transfer it becomes easier and easier to detach from the people, situations, and memories one normally associates to a place of abode. It’s as though I can uproot and replant myself in a new patch of soil with hardly any effort or discomfort.

In a way, I am the proverbial rolling stone that gathers no moss. I have become so adept at moving that I bolt at the slightest provocation. And oftentimes I leave nary a trace of having once lived there.

But I digress, let me go back to my shrimp story.

The first time this alien emotion washed over me was in my parent’s house in Valenzuela. Pre-separation days, I was about 11. Mom left a small basinful of shrimps for me to shell for the pansit palabok we were set to prepare.

It was midmorning and sunlight was freely streaming through the window—the bunched up red and yellow and curtains cast shadows over the dining table where I stood hunched over the basin of ice-cold shrimps.

A hundred eyes stared at me from the table but I distinctly remember smiling as I picked up the first firm shrimp.

Peeling and shelling methodically, separating the pointed tip from the rich shrimp heads awaiting the consummation of their grim fates over mortal and pestle, I felt happy and secured.

Even the hungry wails of my newborn brother Robert did not disturb the peace that I felt within.

I went about my task until the last of the shrimps had been decapitated and stripped off their exoskeletons. The mound of shelled crustaceans was at the center of glass-topped table, sitting like a raw offering to the woman who brought me into this world—my mother, the goddess I could never connect with at any level.

***

Metrica Street, Sampaloc---My best friend Victoria rapidly chattered away her latest classroom gossip. It was a blistering hot afternoon and beads of sweat clung to my upper lip. We were in the small kitchen of the two-bedroom apartment we shared with several of her cousins.

On her way out, she handed me a plateful of prawns fresh from Mindoro. It was my turn to cook dinner---a repast of sautéed prawns and vegetables for me and my five housemates.

A loud thud informed me that Victoria had already left. I felt isolated, all alone with a plateful of prawns in a crumbling apartment. Outside, Sampaloc was buzzing with life. I, on the other hand, felt that welcoming sense of peace arrive as I began shelling prawns.

I was 16, a freshman, newly abandoned by a father who left for America, and very recently thrown out of the house by a goddess keeling over the collapse of her 21-year marriage.

I pondered on my uncertain future as I deftly shucked shrimps, wondering what to do with the countless days and nights that lay ahead of me.

I figured life wasn’t so bad. After all, I was on the Dean’s List, held the distinction of being the youngest varsity debater on campus, and on top of everything, I knew I had friends and relatives who looked after me from time to time.

As I held up a king prawn by the tail, I mused at how, devoid of their plastic-like coverings, they were just as vulnerable and defenseless as I was once exposed to life’s harsh realities.

That day, I resolved to grow an exoskeleton.

***

Like a continuing daydream, I found myself shelling a pot full of shrimps on this rainy Saturday morning.

Humming a tune as I worked on the iceberg of shrimps floating in tap water, I would stick my tongue out playfully to catch a few raindrops bouncing from the rain guards. I’ve always loved the sound and feel of the rain.

I was standing over the kitchen sink in our new house in Guiginto, Bulacan, when the surreal feeling began spreading all over me. Like an invisible embrace, the sensation was warm, welcoming, and all-enveloping.

I sighed and smiled as I snuck a peek at Dad sitting at his favorite spot in the living room, under the frame of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. I haven’t felt this way in years.

I’m now pushing 27 and shifted to writing advertising copy after tiring from a life of newspaper deadlines. Apart from shedding my old skin, I’ve also done away with my exoskeleton.

I have no need for it now.

A decade after Dad left for America; 10 years after the goddess evicted me from what is now solely her house; after living in more or less 15 different addresses all over Metro Manila and meeting hundreds of borders and housemates, most of whom are now nameless faces--- I finally realized what the odd but welcome feeling meant.

Just as my expertly shelled shrimp curled perfectly from neck to tail, I too have come full circle.

Blissfully, I pause to drink in my surroundings:

To the left was Green Estate’s famed green rice fields, to my extreme right was Dad’s prized garden---the yellow English roses bowing with the weight of raindrops on its petals; red and green bell peppers, purple eggplants and other plants all competing for space.

It was a patch of earth bursting with color and teeming with life---a place where I myself could permanently take root and thrive.

From out of nowhere, bullfrogs burst into chorus, and, startled, I drop a few shelled shrimp from the plate. Bending over to pick up the strays, I feel that warm feeling trickle in once again.

I prayed. May I never have to shell shrimps anywhere else.

Praying Mantis

2005-08-25T10:24:00.000+08:00

Praying Mantis

By: Anne Stephanie Cruz

Sister mantis, pray tell,
must we really bother
to examine our conscience
when stirrings of lust
awaken us everyday,
and nature compels us

to give in just because,
we are made of flesh and blood.

I am no different from you,
who seek consummation
by grasping live prey between one's legs,

and with wide open eyes,

watch them convulse in momentary pleasure
before tasting the coup de grace
dealt by the same giving mouth.

Ah but sister mantis,

this is where our sameness ends.

For how,
at the end of each sinful day,
can you unfold your fan-like wings
and reverently hold your legs together to pray?

revised Sept.12, 2005

Rub Down

2005-08-17T12:56:00.000+08:00

it's a nightly ritual---
smoothing cocoa butter over newly-bathed skin.

Quivering with each stroke,
calculated sweeps from knowing palms
spread sticky warmth
like a hundred tiny fingers
dancing, briefly passing
but lingering on pleasure spots.

Lavishing attention,
mounds of flesh otherwise hidden
are carefully caressed,
gently teased;
with pinpricks of sensation
leaving it flushed and tickled pink.

Silky-soft,
warmed by the thorough rub down,
the sandman enters and finds me
...good enough to eat.

stephie

8.17.05

Para kay Jeff

2005-08-15T09:23:00.000+08:00

a puddle

collecting raindrops

...one by one

stephie

8.15.05

Bukid Haiku

2005-08-09T11:34:00.002+08:00

i.

barn scene:
field mice racing,
the cat wins

ii.

harvest moon---
crickets serenade
a shy maiden

iii.

carabao rolling
in mud-caked paddies--
a long dry spell

iv.

milking day:
a bleating goat pierces
morning silence

v.

bullfrogs croaking
symphony of three plus rain
Domingo, Carreras, Pavarotti

vi.

fields of grain
ripe-gold in the sun
...a king's ransom

stephie
8.16.05

Spanish Guitar

2005-08-08T15:09:00.000+08:00

By: Anne Stephanie Cruz

The sandman eludes a desolate you
at witching hour.
Seeking the comfort of strings,
catgut warm against cold fingers,
(familiar, welcoming)
you strum your heart's discontent---
bedouin song of a soul aching to come home
weary from having walked nameless deserts
and seeing one's pyramids turn into mere dunes.

She was a gypsy whose spirit you could not own.
With visions of palm trees and caravans
and finding her own oasis in the sands.

Get Here.
You played many times to the wind.
Calling on its mercies to carry your guitar's melody
to the land of its origins*
past man-made borders and self-imposed barriers
that compounded physical distance,
rendering her deaf to music.

Images still burn
like remnants of a windstorm.
Remembrance brings tears
and causes you to smile, bitterly---
having realized you were holding on to a mirage,
all this time tending to a love past its bloom.

You squeeze your fingers and yank at a string.
The song fades as abruptly as your reverie.

*Spanish guitars originated from the four-stringed Arabian lute

On Poetry:

2005-08-05T13:16:00.000+08:00

i.

to be a poet:
undress a butterfly,
borrow its wings

ii.

find me
between lines of colored silk;
hand-paint the sky

stephie
8.05.05

Andoy's Haiku

2005-08-04T12:45:00.000+08:00

Sunrise hiding

behind a fire tree in bloom---

blinding halo of red

stephie

7.23.05

*with permission from the author

Rengga sa Tapika

2005-08-01T14:53:00.000+08:00

A broken heart singing draws a crowd.
In the glow of lights,
release finds its way through rapture---
the aftermath of storms
sends out moments of clarity
through piercing music
where only a heart once whole finds remembrance.

It keeps on ringing until its last tones are heard
...fading

Steph, Jojo and Pol

July 30, 2005

Haiku in Filipino

2005-08-01T12:02:00.000+08:00

dalawang alon

sa magkabilang pampang--

halik ng paalam

stephie

7.30.05

*para kay Jowjow

Paper Cup

2005-07-28T16:05:00.000+08:00

Paper Cup

Do not pour passion into a paper cup,
you risk burning away
its flimsy core of pulp.

Do not cling or become attached,
my purpose is clear---
to deliver but a single serving of joy
to your lips.

For paper cups,

promises do not hold water
inasmuch as we weren't built strong enough
to make promises
much more carry them through.

So forgive me
if I’m the one leaving you crushed,
I should have warned you:
paper cups are only good for vending machine love.

Stephie

7.28.05

White Flag

2005-07-28T12:52:00.000+08:00

*Para sa angel kong si Francis, hanggang sa muling pag kampay. Salamat sa lahat ng payo, paalala at suporta. God Bless You.

Sa Dalampasigan

2005-07-28T11:18:00.000+08:00

ni enrico c. torralba

Lunggati ng aking isipan at puso
Sa dalampasigan ay muling yumapak,
Yumakap sa himig at mga pangarap
Na alay ng alon at hele ng simoy.

Sa tagpuang ito ng duya't pangarap
Malimit bumulong ng awit ang simoy,
Puno ng anyayang mag-iwan ng yapak
Sa sinapupunan ng laot at puso.

Dama ang balanggot kapag nakayapak,
Pati ang taklobong nais magsapuso
Ng mithi kong sundan ang laro ng simoy
Sa mga naglayag at mga nangarap.

At kung sakali man mag-iba ang simoy,
Hindi maliligaw ang mga pangarap,
Hindi mababasag sa bato ang puso,
Tuluyang mabura ang nilikhang yapak

Sapagkat ang tibok ng puso't pangarap,
Kandili ng simoy at naiwang yapak.

Pulang Tula

2005-07-27T17:18:00.000+08:00

Tanghaling tapat.

Nag uunahang pumatak ang luha ko sa nakabukas na pahina ng notebook. Nagsusulat ako ng tula at pula ang panulat na gamit ko. Eto ngayon, basang basa ng luha, kumalat ang tintang pula sa papel.

Isang lawa nang pula, nilamon ang mga linyang nais ko sanang isulat. Paano ko tatapusin ang tula ngayong iniwan na ako ng taong naghatid sa akin sa panulaan? Pasasalamat pa naman dahil napili akong PP poet of the month for August. Dahil sa'yo kaya ako nandito, dahil tinugon ko ang paanyaya mo na muli kong pakinggan ang tawag ng panulaan.

At ngayon ito?

Sana hindi dito matapos ang pagkakaibigan natin. Sana hindi dito matapos ang pagmamahal mo sa tula at sa buhay. At sana mahinto na rin ang pagpatak ng mga luha ko sa pahina ng di matatapos at nagdurugong tula.

Lavender Water

2005-07-22T16:47:00.000+08:00

Lavender Water

A spray on linen sheets,
pressed sweetness passed on to dreams
Light floral notes tucked under pillows,
scented letters remembered in sleep.

Stephie
7.22.05

Larawan

2005-07-21T14:30:00.000+08:00

LARAWAN

May mga litratong kailanma'y
hindi isisilang sa liwanag--
mga tagpong isa-isa kong pinilas
mula sa aklat ng nakaraan,
pinag-ingatang ipunin at pagtagni-tagniin
upang ika’y mailarawan:

Tatlong puting rosas sa mesita.
Mainit na sopas kung ako’y nilalagnat.
Halik na tumutuyo sa aking mga luha.
Pagsundo kahit kasagsagan ng baha.
Pakikipaghuntahan kina itay at kuya.
Siyam na gabing pagsisimba.

Ganito kita nais maalala mahal,
at hindi kung paano ka nila ipinipinta.
Sa sinasabi ng ibang nag aanyong halimaw ka na
sa kagaspangan ng iyong mga gawi at pananalita,
ayaw nitong puso kong maniwala.

Mariin kong ipipikit ang mga mata,
at sa lambong ng pagkukunwari'y
mamasdan ang larawan sa gunita---
ang ikaw na una kong nakilala

Masisisi mo ba ako kung piliin kong
wag nang dumilat pa?

stephie
7.17.05

Collaborative Haiga in English

2005-07-21T09:34:00.000+08:00

You two need to sign your names on this. i love it!
Robert Wilson, editor Simply Haiku

Haiku Princess

2005-07-19T17:34:00.000+08:00

*thanks Francis, I felt like a Princess for a day.

Hi!
Hi there,
My Haiku princess.
Your words are limited
to your world,
Of nature not gesture,
Of lines not bylines.

Hi!
My Haiku princess.
Just hoping
You wont limit
your words
to reach my world.

Kiko, 7/19/05 ( for Angel 24/7)

Swan Song

2005-07-18T16:36:00.000+08:00

"When I leave PP, will you also write a senryu for me?"-Mitz

white kimono--
a swan walks down the aisle
singing

stephie
7.18.05

HAIGA

2005-07-15T16:41:00.000+08:00

Collaborative haiga with my Kuya Jheric. Galing ning picture niya noh? Napatula tuloy ako. Hehe.

Alay kay Diego

2005-07-15T14:59:00.000+08:00

I though this would be a fitting tribute. Its a senryu.

thought sparks
leave this candle burning
at both ends

steph
7.15.05

hi steph,

please don't be sad that i left PP. i am just too busy with everything else going on in my life. i am glad that i have somehow inspired and encouraged you to write more.

keep on writing. please be rest assured that this is not goodbye.

be well,

diego

WALANG PAALAM

2005-07-14T16:23:00.000+08:00

Tula
ang iiwan mong alaala,
mga salitang naipunla sa aking pagkatao'y
kusang sinibulan ng anyo at hubog
kumislot, huminga.

Buhay
ang mga katagang nailimbag
punumpuno ng saya at luha
sari-saring kulay
mga yugto ng iyong buhay
naitala sa sukat at tugma.

Huhugutin
mula sa balon ng gunita
muling babasahin
nanamnamin ang himig sa bawat titik
at hahanapin ang init ng haplos
ng matalinhagang diwa
habang ika'y wala

Walang paalam sa isang makata.

Anne Stephanie Cruz
July 14, 2005

Pinoypoets Rengga: FROTH

2005-07-13T09:47:00.000+08:00

**Rengga nina Ani, Jojo, Steph, Claire, Rhodge, Mr. Batutz at ang napadaan na si Mitz at papa nyang si Vin na birthday pala kagabi.

Something arises
from a cup of coffee tonight,
not only the steam that climbed
with the smoke from your cigarette

Here,too, do your senses converge
on a spot above your cup
where mist mixes with metaphors
and the mind streams with ideas--
thought bubbles frothing rich brown

Let us all sip, puff, think and write;
witness caffeine and nicotine
rape your barren unconscious.

Starbucks Shangri-la
July 12, 2005

Mga Haikung Pasaway

2005-07-12T12:34:00.000+08:00

i.
nautilus:
a heart afloat at sea
with no vacancy.

ii.
a mighty bullfrog
belting out a pond song,
croaks his last

iii.
a catterpillar
overstuffed with spring greens
paints the town red

Simple Pleasures

2005-07-11T08:24:00.000+08:00

*para kay ani. Sana senryu ito, hehe!

life's simple pleasures:
a twenty-minute massage;
love, without pressure

steph
7.09.05
starbucks emerald ave

Short Flower Poems

2005-07-07T16:22:00.000+08:00

I dare not call them haiku, just short poems about blooms.

Daffodils

*para kay Mahal kong Xam

between blanks
your bound fingers
trace daffodils

Sakura

*for Jheric and Cherry

heart and soul
a cherry blossom falls
spellbound

Wisteria

* for Francis

on display today:
weeping buds, purplish blue--
your heart on her sleeves

stephie

7.7.05

*he's one of the reasons I keep writing...

wrote:

hi ms. anne stephanie, these haikus are really nice. ang paborito ko dito ay daffodils. very profound. sakura is ok lang. wysteria is also good (which reminds me there is a famous painting called wysteria. if i remember correctly, it looks like stained-glass).

diegoberrioscanto

Kowtow

2005-07-06T12:49:00.000+08:00

Head bowed,
gaze kept low
I humbly submit
consecrating myself
to worship and obey--
to please no one but you.

stephie

Wake Up Call

2005-07-05T09:59:00.000+08:00

Crash landed to bed Friday night, I was hoping for long, blissful hours of sleep. I had said goodnight to family and friends, dimmed the lights and lulled myself out of mental activity with Jewel's foolish games playing and replaying in my head.

I was a thread away from deep slumber, somewhere between being half awake and jumping off the cliff to neverland, when my cellphone started ringing. I would have ignored it but the fact that I live apart from my dad and kid brother prompted me to think that it might be an emergency.

Groggily, and without even bothering to open my eyes, I picked up the call. I felt the color drain off my face when I heard the voice on the other line. This must be how Ebeneezer Scrooge felt like when he was visited by the ghost of christmas past. My pulse raced and my heart thumped inside my ribcage. How did you find me? After five long months, why bother to look for me?

Flashback to the days when sun cellular's 24/7 still worked.

Regardless of how late I turned in the previous night, I would promptly give you your six a.m. wake up call. Deep sleeper that you are, it would normally take me 30 minutes to an hour to rouse you from sleep. This daily ritual equalled to bonding time and bedroom talk rolled into one.

Given your unpredictable schedule and field assignments, its impossible to tell when the next text message or phone call would be. These wake up calls are our only time to talk about everything-- plan the next date, bitch about work, laugh at crazy stories as the faint morning sunlight streamed through my window.

No, we never exchanged I love you's at the end of every conversation. You weren't the lovey-dovey type, you would always tell me, just like you weren't one who believed in exclusivity and commitment. What were we then? Very good friends who treated each other really well, you said. In other words, Friends with Benefits.

(This meant you were free to play the field and at the same time act like an ogre whenever a guy showed the slightest hint of interest in me. Remember that one you were sorely jealous about? I hate to break it to you mahal, but he's gay and was always laughing behind your back for being so obviously miffed at him.)

Wake up call after wake up call was made and concluded. Several months after I felt this freedom in the form of tears stinging my eyes. Mr.-No-Commitment, the elusive bachelor, was finally tied down, but not to me. That was the end of the conversation. I had just become a dropped call.

Flashforward to 11 pm Friday night.

For the life of me I could not understand why you went to great lengths to look for my new number. Why you were suddenly so concerned that you have disturbed my peaceful sleep and robbed me off precious rest.

"Sorry for the wake up call, I just wanted to see how you've been".

Oh, so you and girl are now an uncouple. Is there no one to wake you up at six tomorrow?

"Yes I'm doing well, thanks for the call. But it's late, I'm afraid I would have to let you go now. Oh, no it's okay, you didn't wake me up."

Click.

I didn't lie. You can't wake up someone who's no longer dreaming.

Haiku

2005-07-05T09:50:00.000+08:00

Subok uli...never say die. makukuha ko rin ito someday. :)

i.

dewdrops freezing
cracked glass windows
mourning spring's passing

ii.
a duck sits
on a lonely pond
waiting for ripples

iii.
morning fog creeps
kissing sunlight
fading in the embrace

Conspiracy

2005-07-04T14:13:00.000+08:00

by Andoy, Mitz, Steph and Bambina posted 4 July 2005

Rolling through landscapes lost,
smoky eyes in a dark red-lit room,
cacophony of white noise foiled against
distinct syllables of poems newly writ.

Listening to echoes of words ghosting by
entwining, undulating like twin snakes--
verses birthed in a flash of lightning
swallowed by silence,
slithering slowly out from its hollow
like notes from an indian's flute.

Tonight, we conspire to write.

Senryu

2005-06-30T16:54:00.000+08:00

On 6/28/05 I wrote:

Sa sobrang lungkot ko feeling ko nagkaron ako ng haiku moment. ewan nga lang kung haiku ang lumabas.

His words were fingers
reaching out, squeezing
clawing at nothing

On 6/30/05 I got a reply:

Hi, stephie!

First of all, very nice poem. Ang lakas ng dating ng image sa akin. This is more of senryu (kasi human emotion and experience lang.)Pag may reference to something in nature (plants, animals, mountains,water, etc.), haiku.

But in my opinion, senryu is a special form or a subset ofhaiku. Many haiku are products of the school of thought that humans arealso part of nature... to which I agree.

roh mih

Hang Over

2005-06-29T17:56:00.000+08:00

By: Anne Stephanie Cruz

There’s a certain comfort derived from each wave of nausea that passes; the lightheadedness, the after taste of regurgitated bile, insides churning and heaving as one doubles over and retches—only to barf air.

It’s reassuring to smell cigarette smoke in my hair, stray locks sticking to a forehead slick with sweat, traces of nicotine clinging to thumb and forefinger the morning after.

The dry mouth, a reeling head and senses struggling out of stupor are easier to account for than the how’s or why’s of inebriation. There’s no sober explanation for finding solace in a cloud of smoke and a shot of tequila--why laughter flows jigger after jigger, and inhibitions are released by hastily drawn puffs of strawberry-flavored cigarettes.

Cherry red polished fingernails bitten to the quick, tracing half circles on maple-varnished tables. Making love to Jose Cuervo, sucking in DJ Mix, we are an unholy trinity of vice passing time, purple eyes keeping watch as the black crow of the evening exits to dawn.

If only I’d wake up feeling sick, unable to remember the bitter taste old heartbreak left in my mouth. How I wish I could spew out minced words and cutlets of memories and just flush, flush, flush. But I’m one of the cursed few who never get hung over.

Tough luck.

Gerry's Cup of Melancholy

2005-06-24T16:48:00.000+08:00

*my "extra challenge" for the day. Lost in translation at some points. Hehe.

My cup is a far a cry from the concoctions enjoyed
by the likes of you with discriminating palates.

I do not even come close to par, I admit
for I thrive in this simplicity:
hot water boiled in an old soot-caked kettle
from which I melt brown sugar
then add Café Puro.
On lucky days there’s a hint of Abrasa milk ,
if none, I make do.

That’s it.

This cup is enough to keep me company
as my mind sleepwalks
in the wakefulness of evenings such as this
when I dwell on love,
watered down by the passing of time
and ponder why silenced heartbeats
can’t be drummed back to life,
even by the very last drop of this bitter brew.

A.S. Cruz

6.24.05

La Tasa Dolorosa

By: Gerry Rubio, PP to!

(para ki Steph, asin saiyang pag-iriba, for their rendezvous at coffee shops that sparked penchant for poetry)

Harayo sa pagnamit nindo an sakuyang timpla,
Kamo, na igwang mga dilang metikulosa.

Mayo sa kalingkingan, inaako ko,
Simple lang ini: tubig na mainit,

Pinakala-kaga sa luma na asin oringon na takuri,
Tutunawon an asukar na brown (o pula?),

Asin Cafe Puro, buda kun sinusuwerte, gatas na Abrasa.
Kumpleto na, iibahan na ako kan sakuyang tasa,

Sa paglakaw kan sakuyang isip,
Sa kamatanga-an nin banggi, na ako gimata.

Linalamayan ko ang pagkamoot, na sa kahaluyan
Nin panahon, padagos nang na remata.

Dai pa mabubuhay pa ang dating kala-kaga nin daghan,
Higupon ko man ang ultimong tagdo nin matap-haw kong timpla.

My first published poem in 12 years!

2005-06-23T15:58:00.000+08:00

Ahh my dear Emong, you said anywhere I go is mine. I think this is the cornerstone from which I will build the rest of my dreams. Thank you PP and to Francis, my angel, for believing in me.

http://you.inq7.net/express/06222005/exp3-1.htm

Caffe Latte

2005-06-23T15:51:00.000+08:00

We are all given the ingredients of happiness, but the mixing is left to ourselves. – Ethel M. Dell

Standing hand in hand
you turn to me as the barista asked
what will it be?
Venti Latte, as always,
was my warm reply.

Your eyes probed mine in question,
espresso brown fingers
swirling over my milky white ones
Why not plain café au lait?
you ask,
saying that's all latte is anyway.

To you,
who sees coffee as just beverage
that may be so.
But that's not how I taste it.

Unsparing lovers prefer latte over anything else.

You see I am milk,
and you the rich brew
I must constantly empty myself into-
the single shot of espresso
forever waiting for me
to fill the entire cup.

We are latte
café au lait is half and half.

A.S. CRUZ
6.23.06

Pagtawid

2005-06-21T08:11:00.000+08:00

Nakakainis!
Hanggang ngayon takot pa rin akong tumawid
parang lagi kasi akong masasagasaan
o mahahagip.

Simple lang naman diba
lilingon sa kanan,
titingin sa kaliwa bago hahakbang.
Tatantyahin muna
kung kailangang bilisan
o pwedeng dahan dahan lang
ang paglakad patungo sa kabila.

Pero ba’t saksakan pa rin ako ng duwag?
Minsan nakaabante na
tatakbo pa pabalik,
sa kabagalan at pagdadalawang isip
susunduin na lang at kakaladkarin.

Gusto ko laging may kasabay sa pagtawid.
Sigurista na kung sigurista
eh anong magagawa ko,
sa takot akong mabundol no!
ang paniwala ko,
mas mabuti ang ligtas kesa padalus-dalos.

Kampante akong nag aantay sa sidewalk nang dumating ka
buhat nuon nabawasan ang takot ko sa pagbaybay sa kalsada.

Pakiramdam ko handa na akong iwan
ang bangketa ng pagkakaibigan
sabi kasi nila nag aantay ka lang na umusad ako pakabila.

Walang lingun-lingong sumugod ako patawid,
Kahit nangangatog ang tuhod
tumakbong ubod bilis.
Pero huli na nang makita ko
ang ilaw na kulay pula.

Paksyet! Hit and run ka lang pala.