a gift to give away in time for Christmas

We are gifted. There are things about us that we are strong in, undoubtedly our best attributes which regenerate itself once we let go and share to this world. There was this quote shared over the radio the other morning on the way to work. I almost ignored it, but only in time did I turn back to that station and catch that bit of wisdom. I can’t remember the quote verbatim, but only to the effect that it is our purpose to find what our individual gift is and it is then our purpose in life to give that gift away. Something about this quote just hit me somehow. The gifts we are so doubtful about; the gifts we participate in and then hide because we are so afraid of criticism… well, these gifts are exactly what we should be gifting this world with, whether it is our writings, our paintings or our songs. Whether it is the bread we make with our hands or the joy we express through our words, these are the gifts that we ought to be sharing with one another. In the spirit of Christmas, locate these gifts within ourselves and find the strength to unleash them because there might just be that one person left inspired to do the same thing. In doing so, we might just nurture positivity and joy throughout the years to come.

when i can no longer hold onto, i
simply open my hands and let go
what isn’t mine in the first place,
but to this world i owe a present
to have, one blessed utterance of
joy and love are still gifts inside
these words no matter how they are
unwrapped with hearts heavy, no
doubt, feeling so depleted,
un-embraced for so long… with this
gift, never shall you be alone again
so long as i can write to relieve you
from the melancholy and the sadness
endured from time to time


rise above

How lost we have become sometimes looking for answers when the answers are already inside of us. It is just a matter of taking the first step and making that choice to commit to it wholeheartedly. Only through this do we begin to chisel out the shape of who we really are, what we are meant to be. For we are more than what we are now, distracted and numbed individuals, afraid to feel and reach for the world. We are what our bodies have been telling us along… strong and capable individuals meant to achieve, meant to bring peace, meant to rise from the physical or spiritual poverty we live in.

rise above the horror
which conquers; release
from the mind what glues
you to the ground, when
light elevates and still
you refuse to rise…

rise to the level of
your love, that which
lives and propels you
from the bog, the
quicksand that pulls
you down

for no gravity
can attempt to shake
you from the clouds
where you belong;
when you believe so
shall you rise, rise
above the ground

Be Brave About Us

There’s a path for all of us to follow and it’s been calling us all along. It’s right at the center of us. We must have felt it all our lives, but we continue to ignore it because we’ve been afraid. We’re afraid because it isn’t safe or we feel that there’s nothing to gain from it. The thing is, the more we ignore it, the more we have to loose from doing so. Who we are is that being we ignore, whether writer, artist, doll-maker, creator and when we don’t give it a chance to express her/himself, we die. Whatever this calling is… have the courage to give it a chance. Because nothing feels like anything can ever proceed right if we don’t take the chance. So give expression to that divine gift inside us. This is who we are after all and we all deserve a second chance. It’s never too late, if this is not far from your mind. If you recognize this about yourself today, seize your chance and begin immediately! For those who have answered their calling, then I applaud you because most of us haven’t been brave enough to do so. But it’s there, it is waiting for us to pick up, to speak and nurture. All we got to do is push through the fear and be brave about us.

brave me out
into this world
missing still one
other point of view,
my perspective—
me. who fears
herself unworthy,
hides behind the
fallacy, without
courage to seek
the truth. brave
me out for the
winds, the sun
and the rain;
wash me, baptize
me, christen me
once more with
the light of
Your rays and
ignite me with
passion and
wonder… to
discern the path
between my lack of
courage and brave

Everyday is a Journey

What is a journey? Taking a trip somewhere and then coming back? Right? There’s always an association with leaving for an unfamiliar territory, possibly a faraway location and returning home with souvenirs, possibly emotionally charged or learned ones derived from the trip itself. A journey renews and transforms one somehow. Because of new perspectives, new heights sometimes reached, the mind is altered and we then look at the world in a different way. Perhaps, we come back a little more patient, a bit more forgiving. Despite leaving, I’m learning a journey doesn’t necessarily happen in a distant place. Sometimes, it just happens when we least expect it, like becoming suddenly ill and when we heal from it. Our spirit is thrown into a journey we may not have had time to take for ourselves. At that point, the stillness, quiet and rest from our temporary afflictions drive us towards a self- reflective journey where we are cornered to look nowhere else but deep inside ourselves, explore every nook and cranny so that we might expel not only the mucus and phlegm collecting in our core, but to cough out and fess up to all the habits that trap us and prevent us from living. Our temperature rises as we resist the truth, but only until we surrender and make that promise for change, in order to live the lives we are intended to live, do we break the fever and our bodies allay itself and align towards recovery. A journey towards change… what a blessing it is when we recognize it, especially when we are made to see that we are stronger than who we are, better than what we think we are. A journey transforms one and if this is the case, then everyday is a journey no doubt… it’s just a matter of whether we participate in what is being offered us.

pack my flesh, pack my soul…
into this light, plunge i and
swim towards You where i may
see my true colors beside this
gray i wear. my spirit yearns
for all the white it can behold,
the straightest line i can walk,
but i’ve been crooked and densely
worn in blue that even dances are
left untwirled, sugar unspun and
life unspectacular… free me from
this fever, this temperature rising
prison wall, push what phlegm still
plagues my vision and revive me from
this death haggling, and reset this
button in my head labeled truth

Petty Has its Moments

Don’t shame yourself for the pettiness we sometimes participate in. It happens! We are humans after all. Because at times I think we need to participate in this part of life to bring us back to humility. To kick us in the rear of our sometimes fixed and bound lives; to get us off the high horse we sometimes ride and, for no apparent reason, just let ourselves act in the moment even if it does have petty connotations… so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone… (let me emphasize, so long as you don’t hurt anyone!!!) because in a moment such as that, when we realize how we have acted, there in that moment we earn ourselves a good, hearty laugh. If we haven’t laughed at ourselves in a long time, being petty will make you chuckle surely. However, if you’re petty most of the time, you might need to do the opposite and grow up.

let slip this pettiness afflicted,
in turn, i inflict on you without
reason and my head, hardly in ration,
but caught in a moment of disregard
acted i and now there’s no way to
recover such a moment except to pick
myself up from the embarrassment and
laugh as you would at your own truth,
as i discover my own truth oozes as
though nectar from my flesh piercing
yours with words slipped from my tongue

the lighthouse

words of strength surely merits another place where it can be read…

poetical sounds

where the lighthouse beams tirelessly
all night and the water undulates,
seamlessly, as though a storm hasn’t
passed through and knocked off the
ships from the yards; there shall you
find me afloat against the grain of
the ocean wandering as i may the will
and taunt of gods in that great abyss
where the years may drown me, submerge
me under the weight of its reign as
gravity shall persist and push me
down, surrender… until finally i
am one with the beam and this breath
is no longer, in my lungs, necessary

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what is gold within

We’ve been looking elsewhere too many times that we forget there is gold in each one of us, a secret treasure waiting to unfold. What gifts we may hold inside won’t stay hidden too long. This gold isn’t our wealth to keep, for it longs to breathe and flourish. Eventually, we must let it flow from us, share it with the world.

quietly i stay beside your
impoverished heart, my heart
like yours, compatibly, we are
each a rare anomaly whose beauty
converges like dawn to daylight.
we are the image of likeness,
gods in our own right, fragmented
still but divine. we pick up where
we last left a lifetime awhile,
only i can’t seem to remember. so
i journ once again, plunge myself
deeper into the impurities and sift
through what is gold within

words can kill or heal?

I’ve heard that words can kill… how the intent of our delivery can literally obliterate someone to the point of no return. Have you wondered why someone disappears from our lives after we delivered an offensive comment without thought, or perhaps with some thought? “Was it something I said?” Perhaps or perhaps not. Either way, they have walked away from our lives and, perhaps, theirs is the presence we miss most in our lives. All I know is that words carry in them a vibration I never thought so powerful. Words, with the brightest intentions, can uplift and inspire someone, but words rooted with darkest intentions can literally sink and diminish the human spirit. So which side do we want to stand on? There are words that kill; on the other spectrum, thankfully, there are words that heal.

love infinitely lives and so
shall old habits die, eventually,
along with my unworthy gestures:
i’ve sliced through you without
clue, how deep my words have
buried themselves in you; mentally
impaled you (how could i?)
apologies have no weight in a
case like this and i beg for no
mercy you can’t impart though i
await leniency arrive, when pardon
can unclench your kind hands from
holding tight to anger and,
fervently, wipe instead the guilt
off my slow and darkened soul


If for one minute we believed ourselves to be powerless, we are wrong. Each one of us has been bequeathed with sufficient power to speak the truth, to stand for ourselves, to do the right thing, but for some apparent reason we hide behind a shield, thinking it safer to do so than to take action. Or perhaps, we’ve become lazy, becoming faithless in the process and forgetting that this power could easily be retrieved at our will. If we beckon it to come forward, it shall. It just depends on whether we believe. This is how powerful we truly are!

inherent wings, tucked underneath a puzzle,
refuse to soar over mountain peaks. a maze
i’ve wandered in and out of misdirection, i
became lost in my own labyrinth sealed in
frustration; a magnificent prison everlast…
i charge at the bars and bend them open, knock
its walls down, bring the ceilings from the
rafters and loose these chains wrapped ’round
my wrist: because for once i dwell in the
possibility… more powerful than i believe

wave of a hand

I cannot forget this simple gesture, the wave of a hand. It was at the gas station, I had filled my tank and about to drive off when a car pulled to my right side. We both stopped at our sudden motion and I waited til the blue-green passed. But the car didn’t move. Instead, the driver slightly rolls his window down and lets his sturdy hand slip out of the crack. He waves me pass and allows me to proceed with security and peace of mind.

Many times. I think about what it is I can contribute to this world. In what other ways can I help those around me? More than a smile, I think, sometimes it might just be as simple a gesture as a wave of a hand.

these gestures need no policy,
kindness is best left without
attachments from fame-starved
authors who write of giving
but know nothing of generosity,
oblivious to true poverty and
starvation; a suffering concealed
inside the folds of an anxious
belly whose hunger for one wave
of a hand spills over from the
shadow self moved by darkness