Skip to main content


Showing posts from 2016

Eileen Lives with Art

Eileen Tabios, my long time poet/writer friend, wrote about my art I had given to her a while back in her blog:  

Eileen Lives with Art

Reconciling Lost Receipts

Could never use those coupons up
before they expire.
Forget where I put them.

How am I able to keep track
of all the things I could have saved?
Must have emptied more than 
a million trash cans in my lifetime.

Hauling off heaps of my heart
in rusty shipping containers overseas,
giving it away in suburbs.

In megapixels of my youth--no one
has given me proof of its gold,
its creditworthiness.

Old Sunday circulars' clippings
crammed in crusty corners of my purse.
Maybe there's a purpose for buying
overpriced souvenirs.

To come full-circle at your frugality.
Free yet fraught with old film reels.

Mountains Like Water Buffaloes

This flash fiction by Cristina Querrer was originally published in The Milo Review.

Mount Pinatubo jutted its colossal body above the jungle, vacantly looking down and snorting at the mortals in hedonistic Angeles City, Philippines. Passengers in a jeepney witnessed a bar girl running topless down the street, chasing after some overweight foreigner.
“Hoy, pogi, halika dito!” she shouted.
The Australian looked back at her smiling as he trotted along flattered by her pursuit.
Still, even in the ‘80s, strings of them lined up and down prostitute alley, these exotic gems of South China Sea, as the men liked to call them. Some leaned in the door frames of their establishments in their stacked heels and hot pants, some smoking a cigarette, some not. A Filipina teenager—a bar girl—sat on a GI‘s lap at a table outside one of the cabarets. Silhouettes of naked women danced in front of windows; discos’ bright neon lights flashed above street vendors selling beer and barbecue be…

First Review of My Chapbook

My chapbook, "The Art of Exporting", published by dancing girl press in 2011 has finally gotten a chance to be beautifully reviewed by Eileen R. Tabios, who curates and edits "The Halo-Halo Review". What I also love is that she mentioned my daughter's photography that is featured on the front cover and inside my poetry collection.  Click on the link below:

Waiting for Amnesia

It's no wonder I am hollowed out.
Apple's bitten clean through its core. Even seeds' gone, swallowed whole,
but they are sprouting in cavernous abdomens to fruitless, ulcerous crab trees.
This is what the void plants: the so much need & yearning for so much in poor soil.
For something more majestic than this even when I close my eyes & dream it all in color, repeating, remembering.
All the thankless routines of praising false harvests has me wishing for blank, soundless waves, hill-less horizons.
That's what it means to be wise I've been told: forgive vulgar volcanoes for acting out their discontent.

Wear My Art!

Here is your chance to wear my art! I was approached by Vida's artist representative to feature my art. As you know, my work is not digital art. These are my paintings and drawings. They'll be more to come. Enjoy!

Language of Suicides

I know it so well
The connotations of crisp
Linen shirt before it wrinkles

The vowels of vibrant
Oaks against a bleak sky
It moans melancholy mists
Among the moss

I can sign in the language
To the deaf -blind-mute
Darkened dank pit
Cold, endless 

My love has lost his life
In the quicksand
He chose to step 
Into the hole as I grasped
So desperately on to the 
Last palm tree standing

With my arm outstretched
Not being able
To reach him
I hurt myself
To watch him die

I cannot understand
His words anymore
It's become muddled
It echoes eternal
Deception of depth

How can you love
Something so frightful
So terminal, so quickly 
Yet it drags on for 
Many lifetimes
Many, many days
Of such grief

My Short Fiction, "Ex-Pats", in Print!

Find my short fiction, "Ex-pats" in this issue of The Transnational: A Literary Magazine



Amazon Deutchland:

It is available at Amazon UK, too.
The Transnational is a bilingual literary magazine which publishes authors from all around the world who offer a new approach to the political and social landscape of the 21st century. Worldwide. In English & German. Texts which are published in the Transnational can dissolve existing boundaries or suggest new ones. They can make us question our beliefs, champion social justice and human rights, war and psychological violence, giving rise to provocative or soothing thoughts. We believe that all great literature is revolutionary and necessary. Great writers are honest. They call upon us as readers to experience the intangible. The T…

Worlds Apart

Is the wasted time
pining over you  while you chased Pohnpeian skirts under palm trees
Is the Wisconsin & Chicago winter wishing you'd finally bring me warmth
Is the Connecticut apartment as I worked that part-time job long enough for you to convalesce from arm surgery
Is the Florida sunshine that turned to shouts & screams among your sickening souvenirs  from your romps in paradise
Is the moment I fled again in disarray & confusion & the many months coming back when you can only half love me
Is when you stopped receiving my calls & texts altogether even while you lived only less  than a mile from me

Is now you are in my house
laying on the same intermittent bed
& all I can smell is
the smallness of you

The Collectors

I am going to do something a little unusual in this blog post and take a short break from my poetry to focus on a topic that has been on my mind and that is collecting fine art. Why do some of us do it and how does one start off collecting?

Well, collecting anything starts off with a passion whether it is to collect the rarest of finds or of a particular thing.  I know I have a penchant for anything dragonflies, owls and now my latest and greatest, elephants!  I collect these things with many representations and varieties because it makes me happy.  

The same thing can apply to collecting fine art.  You have to choose what speaks to you, I suppose, and depends at what level you want to take this passion to.

One of Pablo Picasso's famous quote goes "The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls."  So, let that marinate in your mind for a little bit and see where does that concept fit in your life?  Can you see yourself investing on some "daily life …

Man from the Mountains

He comes from huddled huts,
from mountainsides,
center of the world.
Smokes, drinks, abstains.
Freeform yet closes
onto himself 
like nightshade.

Rolls into my path.
My hardened armadillo.
His armament
protects me from 
cutting winds
when I climb with him,
fly to him.

I have a feeling
of free falling-- 
no edging, skirting.
No margins.
No borders.
Assured, always.
Beautiful & blind.