Black Rose

Black Rose

by glenmore bacarro

091108

You have your own beauty.

That’s being envied by most.

For you outshined above the rest.

And you’re alone on your rarest.

Within your dark velvety petals;

A charm that no one can despise:

That’s why they chose you.

That’s why sin chooses you.

You concealed lust through lies.

And masked truth through fantasies

You cling to someone else’s heart.

And left your family behind!

You listen to no one.

Hid no advices:

Because you know when

You’re in full bloom,

You’ll capture them all

With your sweet demure!

When they touched you,

Or picked?

They will condemn.

Either they are to complain

Because you’re a rose with thorns,

Or will they rejoice

Because your thorns has a rose.

Cloud

Cloud

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glenmore bacarro

I feel too fancy to touch the clouds.

To step and dance upon it’s coolly fogs.

I wonder what's beyond its mallow.

Maybe up in there I can ask its shadow.

Who are you? And why I am here?

Why I am alone and have too much to bear?

Why you’re living freely into this crowded world?

Why you're always in bliss and have the sky to mould?

Maybe I have too much to ask.

Things that seem to be unanswered before.

That even you had a hard time finding out.

How do people fell out of great love?

Maybe you’re deaf or maybe mute?

Why all things turn to nothing and in fused.

Don’t just stare, answer my call!

Tell me White Thing, am I really lost?

Here I am looking up on your beauty.

My body asks if you can take me.

Maybe it’s too lovely to live with you up there.

In your soft mallow there I’ll lie all fair.

Here I am asking, maybe too loud.

Wondering what's beyond your beauty?

Since love died the heaven claimed my soul.

And now I’m waiting for it to claim my body.

faithless

"Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens."

-J.R.R. Tolkien
Lord of The Rings

A Vampire's Dream

A Vampire’s Dream

by glenmore bacarro

1215-20’09

Man was created by God.

On his own image He molds.

In wonder you asked.

By fate, who created you?

Poison runs through your veins.

The life and the blood you thirsts.

You were cursed or maybe blessed.

Living for eternity; in darkness without rests

The night hid you within.

Your charm masked the fangs that kill.

An eye that can pierce darkness

Can grasps human’s wickedness.

Why? You asked ironically.

Why human dream of eternity.

If with the short lives they have.

They can’t value love but hate.

Why they dream of pleasure and happiness?

And find it through the alleys of darkness.

Why they can’t see the real beauty?

Below the heaven’s sun, the warmth you envy.

Why they dream to be you?

Cursed with beauty, power and immortality?

But they fear you, that’s why you hide.

Never have they known how much you claim.

Freedom from the darkness

Freedom from your curse

When half of the world were calm.

Sleepless nights where you dream

Believing someday will come.

That together with the one you love.

You’ll watch the sun rises above.

Feel it warms your breaths.

And in your skin it’ll pierce not.


-*-

A Love Story

A Love Story

as remembered by glenmore bacarro
061404

In a place I visited,

I met a guy I loved so well.

He came and showed his love for me.

But now he’s gone and set me free.

A girl sat on his knee,

He told her things he never told me.

I ran home and cried on my bed.

Not even a word to my mother uttered.

My father came home late that night.

He searched for me left to right.

He went upstairs to break my door,

And found me hanging on a rope.

He took a knife and brought me down.

And on my pocket a note he found.

Dig a grave dig it deep,

Marble stones from head to feet,

And on top place a dove,

To show the world

I died for love.

 -*-

note: This poem is not my original. i have read it sometime way back when i was still in HighSchool. The poem above as I have written it as what as I have remembered. 

Once I Lied

Once I Lied

by glenmore bacarro

080406 Friday 2:45am

Sacred Heart Hospital, Malolos Bulacan

I started it all with a joke.

Laughing while saying ‘I Love You’

Kidding while showing I care.

Winking with every stare.

I asked him to marry me.

Or when will he propose.

But still he laughed in symphony.

Believing it’s all but a joke of irony.

Once I lied, once I cried.

Coz every hope in me buffed.

Whenever he laughed at me,

He thought I’m tough and funny.

Whenever I told him ‘I Love You’

He’ll answer me ‘Yeah…I know.’

But damn the hell he knew.

That I’m deadly serious too.

“I Love You” I said.

He laughed.

I said I’m serious.

He coughed.

When will he know?

That I’m truly,

Madly,

In love.

-*-

All The Lasengga Ladies

“All The Lasengga Ladies”
by glenmore bacarro

I was shocked when I opened my Facebook account and saw an edited picture of me tagged from the group page I am active to. I didn’t know how would I suppose to feel. I was slightly annoyed and somewhat felt disrespected. I wondered if I am the only one having this kind of picture. I immediately removed it from my wall and continued my browsing. I looked for my notifications and opened links. I almost fell from my seat when I saw another picture with same edited design but this time it’s with the picture of one of my mates. I laughed out loud. I had had the urge to roll on the floor and laugh till death, but still have the decency not to do so. J! I purposely clicked the picture to satisfy my curiosity and in my delight other same pictures with different faces showed (including mine). This time I’m really hooked up into the humor of these pictures.

One picture was really like a brandy endorser with her lascivious and revealing picture in it. It makes men really want to buy her products (wink!). Another one picture where you can’t help but to smile when you see that the lady in it, the picture in it (thanks to the prank!) with her phenomenal ID like picture centered the designed background. The idea of taking this particular picture (not her profile picture which is supposed to be) tickled my ever jolly mind. I burst into laughter when I imagined one’s reaction when they saw the picture. The next in line is the picture of the woman who’s usually the subject of our vodka session’s jokes. Her picture proved that she is indeed a subject for humor (peace!hehehe). She looks like a proud vendor with her products on display (literally!). Moreover, who doesn’t miss her coyly smile? When she did, she’s the most beautiful and sexiest of them all! Just don’t offer her “kanin” because surely you’re gonna eat with her (nah! forget about dieting!). Next to the last, lets “move on” (ehem!), the lady on her proud nursing uniform had her ‘mona lisa’ smile which gives you the feeling of being annoyed. You can’t tell if she’s really happy with her picture or she really want to bite the ‘pasimuno’ who did all these ridiculous pictures. Finally it’s my turn, my picture that pissed me off a while ago; but this time I smiled and I uttered softly “Gago talaga ‘tong si Alex”.

The tag phrase on each hit me amused as what the pictures did. The tag proudly says “The Lasengga Lady” just below the name of the group “Palit Status Gang”, centered by each picture. Recent memories of us having our ‘sessions’ are enough fool proof for this tag. I laughed and asked myself “So what if we’re branded as ‘lasenggas/lasenggos’?” I closed my eyes and heard the laughters and the sobs we’ve been through every late day ‘inumans’. People may say that we’re irresponsible and waste much money for nothing, but I just want to ask them “Will they can ever make us memories to share for a lifetime? Did they ever know that from every shots of vodka bind us together to share same memories? That with every bottle pilled friendship creates new foundation that can hold us in one home, one family”.

I can’t help but remembering a text message once sent to me by a friend.

“Drinking, they say is the heaven of the weak. We forge a persona that we only have the courage to show when we’re drunk enough. We escape reality even if it would risk our health. But I tell you this, the most honest individuals are those who drink to drown, coz they LOSE their social masks. No pretensions, no limits, NO LIES. That’s NOT weakness, that’s being FEARLESS; and I guess what they can never fathom is that, because of intoxication we become PURE!”

To all Lasenggas and Lasenggos! Bottoms up!

Guess What? (lol :))

“Guess What?”

(The Legend of the Boiled Egg and Peanut)

by glenmore bacarro

Part I / 041610 / loc: R.Papa

I was on my class when a friend sent me a text message asking for my presence on an unplanned after work session (again!). Of course who am I to say no?:) I said I’ll be there as soon as my classes are through. It took me two trains and a tricycle to get there. The one who sent me the text message direction to the exact location of the house played a prank to me that nearly pissed me off. Nevertheless a “new friend” (ehem!) fetched me from the place where I waited.

The session had been halfway when I arrived. “Few attendance.” I thought. There were only four of them and the host (new friend). The ambience already heated up, maybe in relation to the very hot day. Their session actually started two hours after noon!

One thing I was sure of, when the vodka consumed us, we are hard to manage!:) I pity those houses and hosts who extent their hospitality way far beyond one’s limit. I hope all our sorry and laughter somehow eases the disturbance we caused.

After those throat scourging shots we requested for hot soup. One of us went to the kitchen and went back with something in his hands. He is obviously hiding something in his hands. After a moment of curiosity he took a bite from it and gave a guess-what-I’m-holding smile to us. He smiled exaggeratedly that we saw a yellowish stains in his teeth from the “food” he bit. The craving for the hot soup was lost from our curious minds. All of us wanted to get a bite from that mysterious food he’s holding. He let us peek somehow and I accidentally saw the white smooth color of the “food”. I wonder then, how come the yellow stains? Out of the blue he offers a bite to the one on his left. She actually gave a snorting laugh when she saw what was it, and gladly took a bite. My curiosity peaked, I beg for a bite but he didn’t let me, instead he gave the bite to our other friend. She too can’t help laughing when she saw what it is. I was frustrated and somehow annoyed I really can’t help but to asked and this time begging. They all laughed and randomly took a bite to the “food” he’s holding. After seconds of sneaking I figured it out. “Itlog!” It was an Egg!!! Ridiculous! I don’t know what am I supposed to be feeling by that time. I just smiled and again accepting the fact that drunk person usually do unusual things. Boiled duck eggs as pulutan? He offers me a bite but I refused, not that because I don’t want to, it’s just that because I don’t like eggs very much.

After a while the egg thing was lost again on the course of our session. We end up eating instant noodles with boiled egg (this time I ate eggs) and “pumangas ng mangga” after. The host cooked and prepared “lumpiang sariwa” for us. He is a very good cook indeed. After then we decided to have some beers for “banlaw”. We even planned for the next day nature tripping.

We part ways just early for us to get back home not late and safe. Again I took the trains and this time an “fx” going home. While on the cab and having a hard time controlling my stomach not to vomit (nilunok ko pa ata ng palabas na:)) the egg thing suddenly crosses my mind. A smile lined my lips I can’t help but remembering the once one topic we had had. The “Shoelace” thing. Again, to divert my attention from my rumbling stomach, I’d tried to make sense from what had happened.

Let’s talk about the Egg. At first I’m curious on the thing he was holding. When I have had a peak on it my curiosity rises. I really wanted to know what it was. And I even beg for a bite. Frustrations consumed me when he refused giving me a bite. I asked, I begged, I expected something, I hoped for a bite. But when he finally reveals it I was disappointed, I didn’t take the bite.

Let’s talk about Love. At first we’re curious about it. What and how it feels like. When we have had a taste of it our curiosity rises, we wanted more; we even sometimes deny all reasons. We really wanted to know its every essence and how great it was. We beg for it to taste even the slightest sweetness of its promises. Sometimes we’re frustrated when at the long ran of waiting and finding one true love chances deny it to us. We asked, we begged, we prayed for it. We expect and we hope that the love destined for us is ideal. We set our own wants and limits believing that love should be magical. We let reasons aside and set standards for the love we believe is for us. But when love finally reveals itself, when it came knocking on our doors and when we found out that it wasn’t the love we are looking for we were disappointed. We tend to don’t accept it and deny a bite or a taste from it because it wasn’t the love we wanted to have. When it doesn’t reach even half of our standard the ideal we created we tend to close our doors and again wait for the love, the love we had created from our dreams. Have we ever asked ourselves that there is no perfect love?

I was then infront of our house when I’m back to reality. I forgot about my stomach but when I opened the cab door and got off after a while, the urge of nausea overpowered my control. It took me more than a minute to relax myself and stomach while helping myself bending on the sink. When I opened my eyes the mess of my vomit on the sink made me smile…guess what I saw?

Itlog (it-lOg)– n eng.egg, the oval or round body produced by hens/ducks and used as food; also similar body produced by the females of many anumals.

Part II / 041310 / loc: Langaray, Dagat-dagatan

It’s one of my mates birthday. I was on the Hospital for my scheduled completion of IVT cases (I was absent in the school where I am teaching and 2wks “absent without leave” from the institution where I do volunteer works). Before noon, text messages kept on pestering my phone asking where I am and asking what time should I be on the meeting place. About 3pm I was on my way.

I arrived just early enough for the party but some of my mates are already tipsy. Some actually left after a moment, they had appointments and some are simply drunk already. But some visitors are still on their way - visitors of the birthday boy – ‘male’ visitors. ehem!

Laughter and undying pointless talks ruled the moment, well not to mention the river of beers and vodkas plus the choices of pulutans completed the day. Then after a while a peanut vendor pushed his cart towards us. The hot steamed peanuts on his cart called our pulutan-hungry mouth. Then the topic about the ‘peanut’ began.

I ask for forgiveness for the sexual connotation of this topic especialy for the girls, more to the obscenity of some words.

Out of the blue, when the birthday boy asked us who likes peanut, one of my mate answered in a question saying “Dry or wet peanut?” and he smiled naughtily. The question cracked laughters around the table. “It’s a dry peanut, it’s hard to find some wet peanuts here.” One answered. “No!” I exclaimed riding on to the joke. “There are actually too many wet peanuts here.” I continued and ran my glance towards my female mates. It created much more laughter. Then I asked. “Wait, what is the tagalog term for peanut?” this I’m really into this obscene joke. Suddenly nobody answered, then after a moment pause one of us clearly and crisply shouted. “Tinggil.” Some of us burst with laughter. The word really creates uncomfortable yet laughable tone. Because no matter how soft or hard, slow or rapid pace, high or low pitch or tone way of saying the word, still the sense of humor is in there (well for us Filipinos only I think). The humor actually is for close friends only when malice and “bastusan” is not an issue more when all are drank! We were all busy contributing some things about the topic when one of us suddenly fell something… “Ay! Puke!” she exclaimed out of surprised. (expression usually exclaimed by Filipinos when surprised). Another one exclaimed almost in unison with her “Ay! Tinggil!” A stomach aching laughter proceeded.

The expression became the words of the day. No matter how indecent, how obscene and how naughty one thing may get the laughter and the moment created with it will be as beautiful as any cherished memory may be. Talks about these things will soon be forgotten but the friendship created will never last. Laughters may become mute and pictures may fade, when all things change, when distance and chances separates us, when one forget about the other, when old age blurred one’s familiarity with one’s face, when memory denied us the things we’ve been through, when life exhaust there will be this one special moment when we remember things. Even for just a second or a minute maybe, behind every laughters all things will clear, and for this particular moment I am sure of, with this single word, this moment will flash back. Guess what word this should be?

mane/mani (muh-ne’/muh-nee’) – n eng.peanut, highland legumes(?);nutlike edible seed of a plant of the 
                                                   pea family.

                                                -- n inf.clitoris(fil.trans.) a very sensitive part of the female sex organ.

AppleS and OrangeS

Apples and Oranges

050310

by glenmore bacarro

Yesterday was one of my mates birthday. We came to their house late for lunch but too early for the party. I, in particular spent much time in the dinning table, I ate more “ulam” than “kanin” and “pumapak ng sugpo” till I bloat.

The videoke and the beer party started later after I’m done eating. The table outside was set (just along the street; the hell with city ordinance #0397!J!) The ladies made their cocktail drink as we had started our RH session. Generous slices of apples and oranges float on their bowl of sweet mixed juices splashed with vodka.

The party gave our fill for the day and we ended up empty headed and had unbalanced gait. I woke up today with a searing headache, not to mention waking up late in a very hot summer day elevated my symptoms. I took two tablets of pain killer and had my shower. Later, I’m more than fine.

I looked back to what had happened last night, again a moment worth remembering. Familiar faces, friends old and new, forgotten and remembered, new hands clasped for a new beginning. Friends, who are missed, remembering when was the last time been together, warm hugs and kisses showered the moment. It’s as if the long time of longing was just a minute before, for friendship never counts.

They are the apples and oranges on my cocktail bowl. They balance the bitterness of the vodka and keep me going through painful obstacles on my unsure path. They enhance the sweetness within me, never minding if they drown into the depth of my stupidity. They are the slices and pieces afloat that can make me whole whenever the aftertaste of every hasty gulp shattered my reasons and pride. They are my friends and forever they will.

The apples, it is in different shapes and color, some almost round, some are elongated; some are green others are deep red. But no matter what, its distinct characteristic is when you cut it half its shape resembles a heart and the meat is pure, white and clean. Friends have different personality, genuine in their own special way but no matter how different they may be there is this one thing that binds you together, together in pain, in sorrow, in tears, in laughter and in love. They can see the sweetness in you and they can tell when you will be ripe enough to go on your way towards your dream. When you’re sour they are there to accompany you on the cocktail bowl to balance and for the people to know that you’re different from the rest of slices floating on the bowl. People tend to look and seek for your sourness to wash out the bittersweet sting of the splashed vodka. When you’re sweet they tend to give you your special bowl for everyone to pick. That’s how they are, apples that can be pick young and unripe and yet they can mature and ripen within your heart as long as friendship stays, as long as love remains.

Never pick an orange when it’s not ripe because it’ll never ripen, it never will. Oranges, each of its pulp encapsulated its sourness, bitterness or sweetness. You’ll never know what you’ll get because its rinds can deceive you for what sweetness you can see outside does not always housed the sweetness you’re craving for. Sometimes its pulps are dry and hardened by its sourness and bitterness. And sometimes when you’re lucky when its sweetness touch your lips you crave for more but not knowing with this sweetness it hides its sourness, the acid that can destroy one’s appetite. However oranges will always be oranges, many crave for it, seek for it. They are just like friends whom ingenuity outstood every reasons and pride. Its juices cure every wound that can’t be healed by time. It comforts every thirsty heart from the drought of sadness and sorrows. Its bitter rinds can be sweetened just as one’s past can be rebuild a new. It deceives one’s perception of what is true and what is right. It shows the reality of what life should be, that not at all times, sweetness can give us comfort, that in the long run of this life sometimes we had to taste the sourness of every obstacles and the bitterness of pain and failures. Afterall we can’t be the one we are now without the failures of yesterday and we can’t be the one in the future without the pain of today. Remember, what makes the orange sweet is its bitter taste.

In the bowl, floating with the rest, apples and oranges bathed with the sweet mix of juices and vodka. Not for forever we’ll be together because when the bowl got drained and every slice had its fill, all will be gone. Laughters will mute and pictures will fade. Friends come and go but the memories made from this bowl of sweet moments will last if not for forever then at least for a lifetime!

7143 "Goodbye...I Love You"

7143

040809

by glenmore bacarro

Be sorry not…

For not loving me,

Let no guilt touch you.

For you had been forgiven.

Worry not…

I’ll be okay.

Don’t think I’m hurt.

For you know I won’t cry.

Let me just die inside.

Don’t think…

You gave nothing.

For I know

You’ve done everything.

Remember?

I was the one who asked.

For more than what is enough.

Now…

You’re free.

I let go.

Hands up.

But remember

My love

will never desert you.

Goodbye…

I Love You.










-*-

When to be Proud? (A Dedication)

se

When to be Proud?

 by glenmorebacarro

While we’re having lunch one very hot summer noon, we were having our talk or plan for this coming election. A chance for us to have a grand vacation to the province because we were all registered there. We’re still having our lunch when my father took 2 pieces of bananas (lakatan) as ‘panghimagas’. There were four of us so I have to fight for it.J! After a while my father and I had one each. I am still eating what was left on my plate when my father peeled his share. After the first strip he put it back and put it down the table and took my share, peeled it and eats it. I took his share instinctively and open the peeled part, looked at it and I can’t help but to smile when I saw that some part of the banana was rotten. I looked at my father and we both laugh. J!

Then in an instant I had a thought. When I was a child my parents usually give the best part of whatsoever for us, their kids. When we hah had our pizza we always had the biggest part or double slice. When we ate our meal and had fish, they usually give us the body part and the head theirs. We usually had the best clothes than those they wear. And when things get tough they tried to make us feel that there’s nothing to worry. All the best belongs to us, second rates to them. But this time, I have had a sense of responsibility, I am old now, I’m not that kid anymore who demands for what is only the best.

A smile curved my lips when I peeled the fruit completely, removed the rotten part and eat it. This is the sweetest banana I ever taste I thought. Then my mind went over seas. The thought of my mom away from us created a lump on my throat. Then suddenly I remembered. Three days from now it’s her birthday!

When were having our siesta, I can’t get rid the thought out of my mind. Then I took a piece of paper out and a pen and started writing. “Things I made that makes my Mommy Proud” I started. And on the other column I wrote… “Things I made which Mommy can’t be proud of.” It took me a while before deciding to get another piece of paper and wrote the following. “Things my Mommy made that makes me proud.” And “Things my Mommy did that I can’t be proud of.”

At first I decided to fill up the second paper. I was surprised when I almost filled up all the space provided on the second column. I read it again and in an instant I felt the pain and the urge of hatred within me. The “Things my mommy did that I can’t be proud of.” column outnumbered the other. And I still have this urge to write more, tears fell. The frustrations and the pains inside me seared and for once I pitied myself.

It took me overnight to continue my writings. I had had a thought of not finishing it anymore, but finally decided against it. When I was writing “Things I made that makes my Mommy Proud” I felt a sense of increasing ego when I have countless of thoughts and moments to include in the list. Every detailed from the past, every cherished moments I have. There are also those moments that I know she’s proud of me but she’s not with me. I reviewed my list and I was surprised when almost half of my entries are moments I considered great moments but she’s not with me. Moments I know I’ve made her proud but she doesn’t know. Then it struck me…have I ever realized that she too had done things I should be proud of but it’s just that I didn’t know? I stopped, guilt overridden my flaccid mind. My hand became numb and I felt the touched of shame enveloped me.

To punish myself, I started writing for the “Things I made which Mommy can’t be proud of.” I was stupefied. I never thought that I had filled all the space provided yet I’m not yet half through of all the things I’ve done. I never had written those things that I’m too shameful to write. I intended to lessen the evil things I’ve done but with all those little things accumulated, it mounted in a landslide of shame and guilt. I don’t even have the courage to reread my entries; I simply put down my pen and had a heavy breath.

On the night before going to bed I took my completed lists and compared it by column. I smiled when I saw the first entry on my first list. “I made my mommy proud when I dance on the school presentation.”

Opposite it I wrote, “Mommy can’t be proud of me when I came sneaking coins from her purse.” The list extended I can’t even remember why I wrote some of those things. Entry number 8. “I made her proud when I had had my medals and ribbons during recognition days.” – “I can’t make her proud by when I lied.” Below this entry are the times when I lied. I smiled in awe when I saw that the list took much space and again I have more in mind. “I made her proud when I marched on my graduation and took my diploma.” “I made her proud when I passed the board exam.” –  “I can’t make her proud when up to this date I’m jobless.”

I took the second paper and began reading it. “She made me proud when she came on my high school grad.” – “I’m not proud of her, when we came home after my high school grad and had nothing to eat.” This entry made me smile. Too shallow, I wondered why I had written it. Another entry… “She made me proud when she’s one of the prettiest moms on the hall on my College grad.” – “I’m not proud when after the ceremony I can’t find her for a “picture taking” moments with friends.” “She made me proud when she promised me a rubber shoes and a gold ring/necklace as a presents.” – “I’m not proud of her when she forgot about that promise.” I had many on my list. But this time I had an urge to tear the paper because it made me feel how shallow I am, how I value materials than of her presence and love. I’m not even sure if I had written that she made me proud that when I was a child she always gives me her share of food. Have I ever written that she made me proud from those times she went back home from work with a “pasalubong” for me? Have I ever realized how much she made me proud when she kissed me in public when I was a kid? Have she known how proud I am when she cured my bruises and wounds? For the times she scolded my siblings for hurting me? Everytime I went back home crying after every childhood brawls?  I even asked myself, is there ever a time I have told her how much I love her, and how proud I am for having her?

I made her proud when she carries me on her womb for nine months. And I know how proud she is for having me as her son. My first cry was my first thank you. I’m proud to be her son!

My mother, for much time I hated her. She raised me with fears to them but she never let me live in fears.  There are things that are beyond what I thought was ideal. When reasons and lies collided with my confused mind, I tend to believe what my young mind knew was right. Until then when reason presented itself and showed that not every ideal was supposed to be right. There are things beyond one man’s understanding and the only relief is acceptance.

My mother, she’s not perfect. She’s not the mother all child want to have, but still the best mom for me; and I gladly take every chance just to be his son if I were to be born again. People may say anything they want, they may remove her right to be a woman but they can never take her right to be a mother. They may all believe on the curses of sins, but I still believe on the power of forgiveness. She’s not a superwoman, no saint but a sinner likes us. She’s just she, human with flaws. What makes her special is that she is a woman and she is a mother.

Today is her birthday!

“Mom, have I told you yet today how much I Love You?”