The Literary Bumpkin's Blog

Towards our long uncertain odyssey Against the unfathomable sea we set No matter what lies ahead No matter what lies beneath Unfurl your sail with courage Trust the wind if the ocean waves Are uneasy to manage Across the distant shore, nakama Will be the end of all the drama The wind will grow calmer Our hopes ‘gain will spark and shimmer The Grand Line awaits our advent For a new voyage that blows a Kiss to the present We’ll bid hello then To the birth of new billows To a stormy gale and a giant whale We may run out of ale And our visage grows pale Regardless if the ship we aboard Be anyhow destroyed and wrecked. . . Or if our hope is prevailed over by our crosses The precious bond and journey Counts better than our losses.

If ever you'd feel weak, alone, and hopeless When your future grows bleak and your soul is restless When you are deprived of cheer in all your struggle Someone will shed light at the end of the tunnel If the weight of your chaos is far hefty And the plates of your banquet is all empty Fret not about it it’ll be alright Someone’s gonna do his bit to ease your plight If the yoke proves heavier than our grit And our feet are wearied ere long will quit It’s okay. What is expected from life doesn’t matter But that which life expected from us when we’re together.

Every sundown, I usually pay a visit to the nearby shore. I just do nothing but rest atop the edge of the seawall. And have my friendly feet there inextricably crossed, with my firm hands held together aloft my curiously innocent cheeks. In all my solitude, I've begun to appreciate life in all simplicity when I gaze at nothing more save the loveliness of nature. I've found them as another perfect company to slip away from the irksome noise of the world. Apparently, I've begun to love numbering the happy sands of the shore; hearing the chatty waves as they surge their way against the block;  you see, fastening my gaze onto the lovely site of the place. It was really amazing. What's more, watching these disheveled naked kids bathing into the grubby saltwater, they made me laugh and fascinated. I've barely laughed from anybody else more than they do to me. Later on, I mulled over at them. Couldn't understand how they were able to paint such lovely smiles on...

Y ou are the purest thought of my everyday's language the matrix that gives sense to my embedded clauses the syntax of my meaningless phrases the commas, periods, that halt my ends and pauses You are more than the seamest juncture of my uneven syllables the rise and fall of my bland verses the modifiers that dangle in the thread of my sentences You are my every auxiliary that allows me to express my moods, aspects, and tenses the copula that annex those delicate adjectives into this unworthy subject. You are the adverb that intensifies and exaggerates the worth of my actions the preposition that brings me to my real place the conjunction that interweaves my fragmented units Who am I then but a bound morpheme, an insignificant affix in your lexical root, a broken unit of inflection a discrete shred of your noun's declension a tiny dot in your eye An unnecessary comma splice. In all...

My Wena, It’s been more than two years now that I have known you. We started as friends online. You were part of an fb group I had created. Whoever added you, I had no clue, but I’d forever be beholden to that person who brought you there. You see, time flew so fast, our friendship grew slower yet sweeter. Intermittently, you chatted me only a few and far between, especially when you’re in need of somethin. Until our future robbed us of ourselves that we eventually found a mutual need for each other’s fondness. It was a shared interest— book reading— that melded our two distinct isles from the get go. It opened a conversation. Who wouldn’t admire a woman who had immense love for theological books and bought plenty of them. That’s too attractive a quality of a woman I was helplessly drawn into. For the most part, I did wish that I would meet somewhere along my saddest route a woman of your sort. I dreamt of having someone like you. But I was anxious that such wish would ever be t...

I always struggle for words each time I mull over the precious moments we have been sharing together. Time indeed is too brief, much as our age no sooner will gray its slender threads . . . but the love we share together in the flying time of our individual sojourn compacts the eternity of bliss in its most condensed vessel. I’ve learned needless to say to prize the calmest breath of time; savorin its footsteps in the silent sleeps of my rhyme. I’ve learned to miss you seconds in between, Miss Rau. My mind celebrates you HOURsaries, Minutes, Weeksaries, Yes I mean it away from the loveliest gaze of your notice. I love you loudly in addition, in the open skywalk of Luzon. . . UNASHAMED CARING LITTLE how the craziest man I became! :P How I long to shout my “I love you” the way I did to the many passing vehicles beneath our unshaking feet.   HAPPY MONTHSARY, BABE!

Some people are content of just having this one thing-- Someone :) SOMEONE simple yet brave enough to hold Your hand before the watching eyes of judgmental people.  SOMEONE who can withstand with other people's taunts  and standards for love's sake. SOMEONE who doesn't care about the shits people might think. SOMEONE whose conscience is bound by Gods word  and not by other people's preference. SOMEONE who lives not for the approval of others, but for the approval of God. SOMEONE who does not pretend to people  the real score of her feelings SOMEONE who is not like those who leave you hanging in the storm and only return when the rain subsides SOMEONE who is really proud of you in a more real sense. It is so tiresome to place yourself in a boat where two people are paddling at opposing ends. 

To Miss Rowena Cedo: 1:54AM That solemn hours of the day where the hopeful sunset hadn't yet poured its rays beneath the nervous clouds. I was there in the heights of the sky numbering every celestial white that flies. Beheld the world below so tiny, so impoverished as my chance to have you. 3:00AM Til the plane condescended down so was my confidence badly waning down. I wandered along the exits of NAIA looking for a safer ride the same way my gloomy heart roamed for your loving sight. I had met charlatans on the road and vampires were there ere the daylight in its silence broke. I managed still to journey towards Lucena. Rode the bus standing. Uncomfortable. Depicted quite much my unpreparedness. 5:00AM There at the wake of the night where the anxious moon leveled the Sun as it dawned. The former was surpassed as my inner feeling went for soon i would glance her at last. 5:30AM I then took the jeepney to Lipa. I stopped at the school named FAITH—absolutely reminded me of what I...

If life's been a feast and Im one of its poorest guest. . . amidst all the sumptuous dainties of delight; of all the most pleasant  dishes of life i'd be in their eyes  lesser than wise picking my all time favorite my ever-simple plain rice. with you i savor best the simplest meal on the table i take pleasure with you in the morn evening or afternoon; never fed up never weary of you... years a thousand sooner be past the banquet of dishes its tastes no more will last. . . you would forever remain  the perfect mate of life's every day meal.

Our love-story  was a  paper  in grime before the burnin' flame of time their ashes flew they're gone— like all your  promises in the mornin dew; they are eternally undone the wind had failed us to keep thence gave us its temporal weep but only for a star to die, t'would  brighten brightest in the wake of its goodbye

Words are a tide leaving behind, parting away, goodbye, this bleakest shore—  all those wandering verses in mind I spoke words of  loudest glee in silent waters echoes verses  in the alphabet  of my reticence. my thoughts, dear penetrated deeper the whispers of my heart— bleeding poetry  as it drags  all our precious  summer days how poor indeed are the choicest words to kiss the traces of our  passing days where the suns, and ebony sky the silver stars and the rosy moons  held us up  divide us never. . . yet how rich are we to dwell in the bounty of  His grace— where our tears  and beams; our joy and pain perfectly hugs the number of our days. I heart you to the happy moons in six!  Jez

Good works involve two important concepts, namely "good" and "works". The former concept, implies at least two things--quality and standard; the latter concept denotes a phenomenon or a product. Hence, when these two terms are collocated or combined, its meaning becomes "a phenomenon whose quality is based on a standard". Therefore, the quality of good works is not relative, much less arbitrary; it is God-defined.  A question might be broached, "What then is good works, theologically?" Limme cut to the chase, any work that does not proceed from a regenerated heart or from faith, is no good work at all. To borrow the Apostle Paul's words, "What is not done in faith is SIN" (See Rom 14:23). An unbeliever, say for example, may commit charitable acts on the surface, such supposed deeds, anyhow, when considered in its entirety (including its quality, motives and purpose) drastically fall short from the "works" th...

Let me have my  abode in you— in the deepest  part of your skin,  in every grain of your being; let me cling to  your heart,  your belly,  chin, legs, hands,  and all your parts only in your death will I die keeping your blood always up high: in a word, i am eternally married with you— the day you chose to live the day you delighted to feed the hunger of your  flesh — Your Fats

If I will to take pains counting the remaining days with patient eyes, it will just run slower like a turtle moves away backward from the horse that runs forward

mourning clouds rain sunk deepest 'tis a valentine storm

Keep my heart poor As beggar that bends his knees and pleas for grace before Thy glorious door For if only in our distress We could prize Thee better then to hug the ashes of our ruins but love Thee more--- than to feast upon our wealth and forget Thee, Lord.

Sa pag-idlip ng araw Mula sa bigat ng dinaraan Pagkawala ko’y Balikat ko sa bawat minutong paghakbang Pinalampas ng taon mapanglaw na himig ng aking mga nota Pagkataon ko’y sampal sa pagtalaga ng aking tunay na musika Hanggang sa pagkaway at pamaalam ng Septyembre Batid ko ang liwayway ng sampong araw ng Octobre: Dama ko ang labis na pagsinta Galak at saya . . . Sa wakas di na ako mag-iisa! :’( Dinalaw ng pag-ibig mo kanlungan ng lungkot sa damdamin ko. Buhay . . . sa pintuan ay nagbukas tila nakalimutan ko ang pagdalaw ng undas Dumating ang Disyembre malungkot na karaawan; di mo ko binate sa harap ng karamihan Muling binalikan Pangamba ng nakaraan. Ako’y sobrang nasaktan. . . Gayunma’y mahal pa rin kita kahit sa paglimot mo sa Enero Sinulatan ng tula sa labis na pagkabalisa: “Di mo namalayang sa paggising mo’y  palubog na ako  kaya ‘tong hiram na liwanag ko’y babalik ko na sayo nang magkagayo’y  pagkabukas o ngayon ‘tong...

you were just a hue  of his solemn revery  a woman clothed  in the abstracts  too good to be true  ideal in every way  you were just  this little boy's wish,  his dreamt Utopia  the edge of his hope  the faith of his heart,  the opposite  of his doubt  you were not less  than everything for him  For you were his unreached ambition,  his worthy fascination;  his unplumbed deep  his somnolent orbs. .  a prisoner long  had he been  of love's a prison bars  his introvert's passion  the soul's crib of consolation...  Miss, you were the only person who made him  savor the tune of silence;  never despise thyself.  Btw, He never misses your absence

you're so far away. . . you're so costly for a poor lad to buy a glimpse of your shadow. If he could sell himself a slave a penny or two to barter his years with a blink of your daylight no doubt would he have long ere paid half of his breath to extend a second til beckoned by the summon of death. this disheveled, ambitious boy just want to gape at your countenance and it'd suffice him for all time even if your summer visits no more his winter gaze you would forever linger in the quiet times of his thoughts; you'll be deeply missed. :( 

If I get to ask her for whom her love is meant is it for me or for her grown-up kitten? her brisk retort i knew what it would be... "Well, it cats both ways."