Great Mangroves

Since it was International Mangrove Day last Tuesday, July 26, I wrote a poem in honor of this guardian of the ecosystem.  They  need to be propagated and preserved as it is a vanishing species.

The Bakhawan


The Bakhawan,

Protecting, shading, enveloping

You always fascinated me,

A guardian of sanctuary to behold.


You add beauty and warmth to

This otherwise boring place.

You shed mankind from flood and disaster

You are their fortress against the storm


Keep us all safe and unharmed

By the wings of your branches

And your roots that holds the earth.


Note:  Bakhawan is mangrove in Akeanon dialect.






The Napkin Poem

The Napkin Poem


You enter the ring of my being

Without any hint or so.


You were there when I am so uncomfortable of

my longing.


You set the mood to an otherwise boring

Ordinary setting,

An encounter of two people.



You wipe my tears to death

You were always a taken for granted reality

Now no more.


Come on, enter the ring of my being

And stay there as long as you wish.


Crossing A River

I wrote this poem as part of my grief therapy.  I share this to all who has lost their loved ones or those who are experiencing loss.


Crossing a River

I want to imagine you

crossing a river

that is smooth and calm.


That alone could make me

at peace

At this bitter reality.


And someday, my time of crossing

that river will come.


It was a bumpy ride at acceptance

of loss, and of parting

at the most unexpected time


When we are about just starting our

new life together.


The memories is all that I gather



and see vividly with my imagination.

Hold these memories in the palm of my hand

And throw it at the river

where you will flow smoothly


And you were there

Slowly, slowly

Crossing in peace


For my sanity to keep.





Collage Poetry


I have been fascinated with Collage Poetry lately.  Here is one example of what I have come up.



Mother Nature Approved

Green Thumb

Set your sights beyond apples and sweet potatoes

Mustard greens, persimmons, beets

Fresh Picks

Summer of smooth runnings.



Farmer’s Lamentations

The moon is partially hidden

By spots of dark clouds

The heaven wept washing

the grime of the earth

At the end of summer.


While the ground is thirsting for the rain,

The air braces for cold air

And warmth pitting against each other.


The farmer’s prayer was heard

Or that deep ritual uttered once a year.