tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60275932415350663512024-03-14T13:54:09.359+08:00Prose. Verse. Virtual.Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.comBlogger103125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-53836186298749850822010-11-24T06:38:00.000+08:002010-11-24T11:38:36.439+08:00Come Hither<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/732"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://multiply.com/mu/yaminoshuuen/image/hcHeNAK4p6u5FnziruF04w/photos/1M/300x300/732/boy3.jpg?et=%2B6whJCoMl1kvwNklxpZgAw&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork</span>: <span style="font-style: italic;">boy3</span> - Audrey Kawasaki, 2009</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">come to me</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my sweet thing</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and stand</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">at my</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">side:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my consort,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">beloved,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">thou whose</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">name</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">art etched</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">in my</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">heart,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my soul.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">let my</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">hands</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">glide over</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">smooth</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">flesh,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">let me</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">stain</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your pale</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">cheeks</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">with the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">blush,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the wonted</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">crimson</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">desire.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i will</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">murmur</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">promises,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">vows</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i intend</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to keep,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to keep</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you by</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">side</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">forever,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">for always.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and you,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my sweet,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my darling,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">shall never</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">yearn for</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">another</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">for i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">can</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i will</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">give you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">everything</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your heart</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">yearns</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">for...</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">...only</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">give your</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">sweet,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">precious</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">innocence</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">me.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-23054392773676047112010-11-17T09:50:00.000+08:002010-11-17T14:50:34.382+08:00Weep Not for All is Not Lost<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/731"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://multiply.com/mu/yaminoshuuen/image/Xk-1AcXcsCx2wPeUsw8I2Q/photos/1M/300x300/731/hibiscus.jpg?et=1TM8yxRfQIpVZ0tIOyP0Qw&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork</span>: <span style="font-style: italic;">Hibiscus</span> - Marco Mazzoni, 2010</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i live</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i breathe</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i know</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">with every</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fiber</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of my</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">being:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i am</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">blessed;</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">love abounds</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and then</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">some,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i am</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">proud</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">work</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my two</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">hands</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">can do,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">have done,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">will do</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i am</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">happy</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">that i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">am not</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">at the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">losing</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">end</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of life's</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">overflowing,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">bursting</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">at the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">seams</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">cornucopia</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of delights,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of dreams.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i know</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">deep</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">within me</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">that - yes</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">that - soon</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">that - indeed</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">regardless</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">braying of</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fanatics,<br>groupies,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">hypocrites</span>,<br><span class="insertedphoto">of women</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">turned crone</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">before their</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">time:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i am</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">right.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br><br></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-10621570459609922292010-11-03T14:38:00.000+08:002010-11-03T18:38:09.365+08:00Firelight<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/730"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://multiply.com/mu/yaminoshuuen/image/TZCemzpRYpimy2LKuaZEXQ/photos/1M/300x300/730/73561-464467759176-608619176-5478433-6920268-n.jpg?et=qxq%2BqcJCEW3zHe03JcvD5w&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-style: italic;">Photo taken on 31st October 2010</span></span><br><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto">the nights grow longer,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the cold grows stronger,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and i seem</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to have lost</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my way.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">but my</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">heart,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">mind,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">soul -</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">they burn</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">with</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fervor,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">with</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">passion,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">with that</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fever of</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">yearning so</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">strong.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">just when</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i think</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i need</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to grope,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">stumble blind,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">feel my way</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">through</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the endless</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">darkness</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i see</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a pinpoint,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a flash,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a faint</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">but present</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">flicker</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of flame</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and i walk</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">without</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fear</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">for i know</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">deep</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">within</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">what i </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">feel,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">what i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">know</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">is true,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">all true,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">is you.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br></span></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-9518702579599690392010-10-05T09:58:00.000+08:002010-10-05T13:58:38.990+08:00Conquest Most Sweet<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/724"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/yV5PaHhn7oNNMGDWudMB2A/photos/1M/300x300/724/doves-inset.jpg?et=VK54KLu%2CHEjU86pYYqvNLA&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork</span>: <span style="font-style: italic;">Dominion</span> - Natalie Shau, 2009</span><br></div><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto">come hither</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">beloved</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and let</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">me</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">kiss</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">lose yourself</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">in the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">sweetness,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the warmth,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">overwhelming</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">softness</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of flesh,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of love,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of lust</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">unbridled</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">unleash</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">yourself</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">from the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fetters,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the rusting</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">shackles</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of prudery,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of ignorance,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of innocence</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">unwarranted...</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">free</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">yourself</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">from your</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">inhibitions</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and bind</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">yourself</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">me.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br><br></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-39117515380650985992010-10-01T11:49:00.000+08:002010-10-01T15:49:45.195+08:00Vanity of Vanities, All is Vanity<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/716"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/F1xjv9LNEQuRzxOIbjwDLw/photos/1M/300x300/716/39.jpeg?et=qmRhyS8os2TI9H9Jf7j53Q&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Vanitas</span> - Natalie Shau, year unknown</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">remember:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you are dust</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to dust you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">will return.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you resort</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">paint-pot,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the surgeon,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the mask</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to hide</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">uglinesses</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">it does not</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">change</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">thing:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you're hideous:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">rotting flesh</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">stinking,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">reeking</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">beneath rich</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">perfumes,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">salves,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">unguents.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your heart</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">is rotten,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your soul</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">is black,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your mind</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">filled</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">with the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">maggots,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the vermin</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of slander,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of envy,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of greed,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of lust,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of hate.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">how i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">wish:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">someone</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">would strip</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of your</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">pretensions,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your follies,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your lies,</span><br>your false -<br>blatantly fake -<br>pieties,<br>your power-plays<br><span class="insertedphoto">your pitiful</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">mockable</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">mockeries...</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">...and</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">show</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">that you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">are little</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">more</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">than the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">devil's</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">precious</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">little</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">whore. </span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-15318040538544517982010-09-28T12:19:00.000+08:002010-09-28T16:19:45.123+08:00Siren-Song<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/706"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/KrVFAAkpfHjJK9nZ6KMjQw/photos/1M/300x300/706/top200911aoiningyo-yoko.jpg?et=uqz8IjSKunH2jgWusl15fw&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Blue Mermaid - </span>Yoshimasa Tsuchiya, 2009</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br>i love you<br>beyond doubt,<br>beyond pain,<br>beyond pleasure,<br>beyond joy,<br>beyond grief...<br><br>more than magic,<br>more than power,<br>more than substance,<br>more than even<br>life itself...<br><br>i lure you<br>to my<br>side,<br>i beckon you<br>to heed<br>this call,<br>this song,<br>this ode<br>to love<br>and longing<br>and passion<br>and life...<br><br>for<br>i love you<br>more than the sweet,<br>more than the bitter,<br>more than the sane,<br>more than the mad,<br>more than life,<br>more than death<br>and possibly<br>beyond.<br></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-60865668906124004622010-09-21T12:43:00.000+08:002010-09-21T16:43:47.158+08:00Anger<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/705"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/0iLK6MSeXehsRpCOAVP7tQ/photos/1M/300x300/705/4643357064-0623497c3e-o.jpg?et=d62j1iFqrVHzZOgVlBf5zA&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">As She Began to Fade Away</span> - Chad Merritt, 2010</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br>i feel the <br>pain:<br>the rage <br>threatening,<br>roaring,<br>trying<br>to break out<br>like wings<br>through my<br>shoulders.<br><br>i am bowed,<br>and cowed,<br>and rendered<br>mute<br>and scarlet-<br>faced<br>by the<br>things <br>i cannot,<br>could not,<br>would not,<br>should not<br>say<br>lest i<br>kill with<br>a word.<br><br>i want<br>to lash out<br>to bash up<br>to mash up<br>to crush,<br>crunch, <br>cripple,<br>maim;<br><br>to rip out<br>slanderous<br>tongues,<br>to pop out<br>lying<br>eyes<br><br>for every<br>wrong<br>inflicted<br>upon my<br>heart,<br>upon my<br>soul,<br>upon my<br>flesh:<br><br>thrice<br>is the<br>price,<br>the <br>ransom<br>i name,<br>i seek,<br>i demand.<br><br></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-74123789046704796432010-09-15T14:35:00.000+08:002010-09-15T18:35:34.878+08:00Nine Days<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/704"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/EU0K+v9Ra4JmMT9kFE-r7g/photos/1M/300x300/704/rokuro-lj2.jpg?et=RqBEZFBRjCYWiRA5UGn9zg&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">While You're Sleeping </span>- Audrey Kawasaki, 2009</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br>the clock<br>ticks:<br><br>minutes pass,<br>seconds<br>of life<br>fluttering,<br>flitting<br>by.<br><br>i sit in<br>the darkness<br>and wait<br>even<br>as the <br>pain<br>cripples me<br>more than<br>i care<br>to admit.<br><br>the fear<br>breaks me<br>but i<br>try<br>not to<br>let it<br>show.<br><br>i think<br>of you<br>and think<br>too hard<br>and worry<br>myself<br>sick<br>and worn<br>and ragged.<br><br>and i<br>wait<br>still;<br>nine days<br>ere<br>my year<br>turns<br><br>and i<br>weep<br>and i sigh<br>and i<br>worry<br>myself<br>to<br>shreds.<br></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-51871642621416053622010-09-14T10:23:00.000+08:002010-09-14T14:23:32.377+08:00Be Not Proud, My Foes<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/703"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/RYEKcLkhke98hYHKSXGW-g/photos/1M/300x300/703/ButterfliestryingtoescapetheirshadowRED.jpg?et=g%2CSqIgtoxQn2HQw63qYM2Q&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Butterflies Trying to Escape Their Shadow - </span>Peter Callessen, 2005</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto">be not </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">proud,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my foes:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">all is</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">not yet</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">lost!</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i can</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">still</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fly</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">free</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">from your</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">lies,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your dark</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">mumblings,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">every</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">single</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">curse</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you've</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">uttered</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">against </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">me.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">be not</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">proud</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">yourselves</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">for you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">are as</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">nothing,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">are as</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">rubbish,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">are as </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">dross:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you malign</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">that which</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">understand</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">not;</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you scoff</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">at that</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">which you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fear,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">which you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">dread,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">which you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-style: italic;">know</span></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">will mean</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">end.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">be not </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">proud,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my foes:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">death</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">will have</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">her last</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">laugh</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">yet...</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">will weep,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">will moan,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">will mourn,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and curse</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the day</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">were</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">born.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br>when that<br>day comes:<br><br>good riddance<br>and get<br>thee<br>gone.<br></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-40699230812819405182010-09-13T13:55:00.000+08:002010-09-13T17:55:35.854+08:00Grief and Circumstance<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/702"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/Lq4ixuthP62vho5dVqjW9A/photos/1M/300x300/702/6a00d83454ed4169e20133f32c1551970b.jpg?et=4iO0GgpXOnv5%2CykirGK10Q&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Annie Duels the Sun</span> - Angie Wang, 2010</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br>i weep:<br><br>my heart bleeds<br>sore<br>within<br>and i know<br>not<br>what to<br>do<br><br>for all<br>are against<br>me,<br>none stand<br>for me;<br><br>my world <br>is fallen,<br>is black,<br>is bleak,<br><br>and i<br>am too<br>spent<br>for any<br>struggle<br><br>my heart<br>is weary<br>and all<br>i want<br>to do<br>is die.<br><br></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-86831757569180728092010-09-06T05:54:00.000+08:002010-09-06T09:54:50.659+08:00730 Days and Then Some<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/701"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/e8WdCBHpSIU4PXLjKgqdww/photos/1M/300x300/701/6a00d83454ed4169e2013485fb6de0970c.jpg?et=AYgQTvV4EbKslC7xvRAcnw&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">The Second Look </span>- Carin Welz-Stein, date unknown</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto">i wrote</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you off</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">when we</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">first met:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you were</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a child</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fresh from</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">school;</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a pest</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">who plagued</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and pestered</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and drove</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">me mad</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">for a</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fortnight.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and yet</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">when once</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">again</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">our paths</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">crossed:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you seemed</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to come</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">alive</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">at the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">sound</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of my</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">name.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">when we</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">next met,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">things took</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a turn:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">it's been</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">two years</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and then</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">some -</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">still plague</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and pester</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and drive</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">me mad...</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">but</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">in a</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">good</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">way;</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a very</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">good</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">way.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-82096564554132061502010-08-27T12:14:00.000+08:002010-08-27T16:14:17.069+08:00W2<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/700"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/p6HuMW9OssMIJF-QUSPa4Q/photos/1M/300x300/700/boyrough-lj.jpeg?et=gXmpIsBxU0lLto%2BsuabXMA&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork:</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Boy in Static</span> - Audrey Kawasaki, 2010</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i look outside</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">into the bleak</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the cold</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the grey</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the wet</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">world</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">below</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">sigh</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and think</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and wonder</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and look</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">back</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">on a</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">sunny</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">warm</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">may </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">day:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">how i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">wanted</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to say</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">something</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">other than</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">technobabble</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">gobbledegook</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">we were</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">conversing</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">in,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">how i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">wanted</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to speak</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of hope,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of life,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of faith</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and then</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">some...</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">but i...</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">am a</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">coward</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">spoke</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">not.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">regret</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my silence</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">every second</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">minute</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">hour</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">day</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">that has</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">passed</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">look out</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">at the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">cold</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">world</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">below...</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and wish</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">it was</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">may</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and wish</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you were</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">here</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">could say</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">what i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">want</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">need</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">wish</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">say.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-17419972404408875602010-08-24T11:02:00.000+08:002010-08-24T15:02:24.320+08:00A Time of National Crisis<p style="text-align: justify;"><span class="insertedphoto"><img style="width: 399px;height: 224px;" class="alignmiddleb" src="http://i.cdn.turner.com/cnn/2010/WORLD/asiapcf/08/23/philippines.bus.hostages/t1larg.jpg" border="0"></span><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/MIDGEK%7E1.MAN/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.png" alt=""></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Photo by AFP/Getty Images via CNN.com</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cross-posted from </span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://sybdive.wordpress.com/">Sybaritic Diversions</a>.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>This post is going to look seriously out of character given the nature of this blog, but I feel the need to scream in serious frustration with <a href="http://newsinfo.inquirer.net/inquirerheadlines/nation/view/20100824-288458/Bloodbath-at-Rizal-Park">everything that has happened over the past twenty-four hours</a>.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">In one fell swoop, a single madman made history by destroying the Philippines' reputation across the globe. Through the deaths of several hostages yesterday, this lawkeeper turned lawbreaker has thrown a wrench into the new administration's plan of making positive changes.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">And who will end up - who are <em>currently</em> - suffering because of his stupidity, his misplaced yearning to return to the police force? <strong>Us - the Filipino people</strong>.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">My heart grieves for our domestic helpers, factory workers, and tutors working in Hong Kong. I fear for their lives, knowing well the potential for violent retaliation inherent in the situation. Because of one man's madness, their lives are now in danger.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">My blood seethes with anger at how this incident will have a seriously negative impact on tourism and commerce.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I want to know why our authorities did not move faster. In their desire to be cautious given that the culprit was an experienced policeman, they overdid it and this caused the needless loss of lives.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I want to know why the media swarmed the crime scene like so many maggots over a rotting carcass. Don't these newshounds have any sense of decorum or propriety whatsoever?</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I want to know why the police didn't cordon off the area ASAP. As a result, bystanders came flocking in out of curiosity. What if there was a bomb in that bus? What if the hostage-taker wasn't dead and decided to set it off, taking more lives in the process?</p><p style="text-align: justify;">This whole fiasco is a horrible black mark against the Philippine National Police, but the Hong Kong government has taken things to the extreme by declaring the Philippines as unsafe ground, calling home its nationals, and pretty much painting a gory portrait of our country as an ongoing bloodbath run by idiots and nutcases.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">This is no time for us to just sit still, twiddle our thumbs, and do nothing.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The gauntlet has been cast.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I pray and hope that this incident will not lead to just finger-pointing, a whole new blame game on top of the one that has been playing out for years.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I pray and hope that this bloody incident will galvanize the Filipino people, that it will unite us in the common cause of washing away this bloody stain, this slur upon our identity as a people, as a nation.</p><br> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-78992480748537710482010-07-19T09:51:00.000+08:002010-07-19T13:51:55.593+08:00Truffles and the Measure of Devotion<div style="text-align: justify;font-style: italic;">Cross-posted from my <a href="http://sybdive.wordpress.com/">food blog</a>:</div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sybdive.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/pict00921.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-1324" title="PICT0092" src="http://sybdive.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/pict00921.jpg?w=300" alt="" height="225" width="300"></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">A little over a week ago, I found myself in the kitchen melting down Ivory Coast and Indonesian single origin chocolates with some rum and cream while thinking about various events that have punctuated the last couple of years. While stirring the fragrant, creamy mass, I thought about the "friend" (whose status in my life has now been reduced to "acquaintance") who told me to forget all about a certain someone because she believed that he had no place in my life. She said I deserved better. She said he was just a kid and all I'd get from him in the long run was aggravation.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">But I'm a stubborn bit of baggage. I know what I want in life. I know what - and <strong>who</strong> - I <em>don't</em> want in life. And I know who I love, who I care about, who I get my inspiration from.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">And it sure wasn't that "friend" who told me off - then made matters worse by blabbing my feelings to her best friend. They both considered me weird for caring about a boy whom they thought silly and childish and not worth considering seriously.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Well - and I rarely every say this - to hell with them both! Both of them may be married, but I doubt if they know what <strong>devotion</strong> and <strong>inspiration</strong> look like.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">But going back to the pot of chocolate and cream that was slowly transforming into a gorgeously unctuous ganache, I thought about the boy who has inspired me to return to writing poetry, the one who has driven me to take stock of my life and make changes that - so far - have proven to be the right ones.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Mr. W - the adorable Mr. W of posts past - is one guy who I think is truly underrated, even underestimated by the people around him. All people seem to see is a tall, pale-skinned, somewhat gangly young man. I, on the other hand, see a diamond in the rough. Of course, people tell me that I'm being fanciful, but that's <strong>my</strong> opinion; everyone else can shut up and get lost, for all I care.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">As I poured the finished ganache into a container for chilling, I considered the ingredients I used for it. <strong>Ivory Coast</strong> is the most commonly used chocolate for commercial bars and the taste is classically chocolatey but not at all that remarkable. <strong>Indonesian</strong> chocolate, on the other hand, is considered inferior and bland. However, it's amazing what the application of heat and the mixing in of rich rum and pure cream can do to these chocolates. My ganache was rich, fragrant, full-bodied; the flavors nuttily bold yet gloriously smooth.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sybdive.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/pict00931.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-1325" title="PICT0093" src="http://sybdive.files.wordpress.com/2010/07/pict00931.jpg?w=300" alt="" height="225" width="300"></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Later on, once the ganache was chilled till solid, I took out my tub of <strong>ground almonds</strong>, rolling lumps of the frozen chocolate paste in it to make truffles that seem to have played in a snowdrift. Those of you who are connected to me via <a href="http://www.facebook.com/margakm"><strong>Facebook</strong></a> know that I named these little treats <strong>Truffle W</strong> - after the young man whose merest acquaintance actually brought back a spark in my life that I thought long extinguished by so many disappointments: the spark of creativity, of inspiration.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I sank my teeth into a truffle and marveled at its contradictions. Rich, but not too cloying; crisp almond balancing almost chewy chocolate. A smooth, dark bitterness balanced by a nutty sweetness.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I savored my truffles and thought about the man I named them after - and smiled, and wished I could actually share them with him.</p><br> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-52218936129726915332010-07-16T11:23:00.000+08:002010-07-16T15:23:11.256+08:00Heartstring<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/684"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/FsTv2Pdso81c3yyYD88MbA/photos/1M/300x300/684/plucked-lj.jpg?et=7nXE1yW3HHPqh22isE0%2CGw&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Plucked</span> - Audrey Kawasaki, 2010</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i want</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to play</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">with your</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">heartstrings:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">stretch,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">twist,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">test the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">limits,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">pluck like</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">those on</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a lyre,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">play them</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">like a</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">violin -</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">play myself</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a fugue -</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">no, dirge -</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">no, ballad -</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">no, torch</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">song - -</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">no:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">play myself</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a bride's-march</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">or, worse:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">stretch them</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">like the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">string on</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a bow -</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">suddenly</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">releasing,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">unleashing</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">every</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">single</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">emotion</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you fear,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you hide,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you dread;</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">stretch them</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">till they</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">break</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and let</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">feel</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the pain</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you put</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">me </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">through</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">every</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">single</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">waking</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">moment.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">but that</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">would be</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">too cruel...</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">better for us</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to play</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">these strings;</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">hearts</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">in</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">concert,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">in</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">harmony</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">at</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">last.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-42775892834812891832010-07-08T13:11:00.000+08:002010-07-08T17:11:59.681+08:00To Put Down Roots<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/683"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/lrJD1ikQ5vtSr0yOnzEprA/photos/1M/300x300/683/0176.jpg?et=w41zjtnwRzStgaxwkDy6DA&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Passage for Lost Clouds #0176</span> - Ken Wong, 13 January 2004</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to stop</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">running,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to pause</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">mid-stride,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to take</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">a break</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and smell</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">roses</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">blooming</span><br>before<br>they<br>wither:<br><br>to hold<br>one's tongue,<br>to cover<br>one's mouth,<br>to have<br>a finger<br>pressed<br>upon<br>your lips<br>to silence<br>the rampaging<br>thoughts,<br>the cutting<br>words:<br><br>to put<br>down roots,<br>to quiet<br>down,<br>to settle<br>down<br>in<br>domesticity<br>in the<br>midst<br>of<br>modernity,<br>progress<br>marching<br>on and on and on:<br><br>to put<br>away pen,<br>to shelve<br>away paper,<br>to don<br>one's apron,<br>to minister<br>to the<br>needs<br>of a<br>loving<br>spouse...<br><br>i seek,<br>i yearn,<br>i sigh...<br><br>i wish.<br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-58868747833419300442010-07-06T10:08:00.000+08:002010-07-06T14:08:26.614+08:00W<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/682"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/1HKM7AB6WnEjhp0PvZJw7A/photos/1M/300x300/682/blue-lj.jpg?et=Z6zVfEzo%2CPY3k1i8vHXI3g&nmid=0" border="0"></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Blue</span> - Audrey Kawasaki, 2009</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i want</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to be</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">there</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to wipe</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">away</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the tears</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you shed</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">in your</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">silent</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">hours,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your hours</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">spent</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">alone</span> -<br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">away</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">from them,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">from them</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">all:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">those who</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">smile</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">in public</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">but sneer</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">in private</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">behind your</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">back</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">against the</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">walls</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">scribblers</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">of</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">insults and</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">whatnot -</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">those</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">scamsters</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">who claim</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">your</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">friendship</span>.<br><br>i want<br>to hold<br>your hand<br>in the <br>best,<br>the worst,<br>the most<br>of times,<br>hours, days,<br>weeks, months,<br>years -<br>forever<br>and then<br>some.<br><br>the earth<br>has<br>journeyed<br>thrice<br>and more<br>since that<br>day -<br>that day<br>you<br>ingrained<br>yourself<br>into my<br>mind.<br><br>i<br>no <br>longer<br>care<br>what<br>frenemies<br>may say,<br>scream,<br>rant<br>and wail:<br><br>i don't care<br>if you<br>turn away<br>so long<br>as i<br>know<br>for a<br>fact<br>this<br>admiration,<br>infatuation,<br>inspiration...<br><br>is<br>purely,<br>simply,<br>sincerely<br>love.<br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-598685778287278372010-06-01T13:39:00.000+08:002010-06-01T17:39:53.534+08:00No Regrets, No Barriers, No Kidding<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/680"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/t6N9j60kICziA35u9CpQ-w/photos/1M/300x300/680/6a00d83454ed4169e20133ef21e436970b.jpg?et=Kj4PweqcjVqzYTjiQ22gDg&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Artwork: </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Hamlet and Ophelia</span> - Andrej Dugin, year unknown</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto">i despise:</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the naysayers,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the ones</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">who claim</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">that what</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i want</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">will come</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to naught...</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">the ones</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">who say</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i can </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">do better-</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">but how</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">do you</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">define</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-style: italic;">better</span> - ?</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">better for whom?</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">for me?</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">for them?</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">humanity</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">in general?</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">who</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">are they</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">to say</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">what i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">want,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">what i</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"><span style="font-style: italic;">need</span>?!</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">drop dead,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fall flat,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">leave me</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">be,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you wretches,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">you tiresome,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">worthless, </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">dark-mongering,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">night-spewing</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">hags!</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i tread</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my own</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">path,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i dance</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">my own</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">measure.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i chose, </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i decided,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i abide</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">by what</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i want,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i need,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">i desire.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">drop dead,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">fall flat,</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">and </span><br><span class="insertedphoto">leave</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">me</span><br><span class="insertedphoto">be.</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-26484258815260341152010-05-26T12:50:00.000+08:002010-05-26T16:50:24.251+08:00Pause<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/679"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/SPlAyAbXKwMj1KgtpzXEHQ/photos/1M/300x300/679/6a00d83454ed4169e20133ee512757970b.jpg?et=W6aJ63nhfdyyQiEiv9BV1Q&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto">Artwork: <span style="font-style: italic;">Medusa's Corner </span>- Eugene Berman, 1943<br><br>i stop<br>in my<br>tracks<br>and say<br>a<br>prayer<br>that<br>i<br>may be<br>saved<br>from all<br>the <br>trouble,<br>the grief,<br>this tragedy<br>this life.<br><br>i stop<br>and<br>wonder<br>to<br>myself:<br>who am i,<br>what am i<br>doing here,<br>where do<br>i go<br>from here,<br>how<br>do i<br>get there,<br>when<br>does it<br>all<br>end?<br></span><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-73917451529095776752010-05-04T07:28:00.000+08:002010-05-04T11:28:27.658+08:00Gilbert<br> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-38284508596102840192010-04-19T13:34:00.000+08:002010-04-19T17:34:07.705+08:00On the Deterioration of English in the Philippines...<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/676"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/hrW9nooMUjtU6kSuPRomDA/photos/1M/300x300/676/cofwords.jpg?et=Qw191vHarMfPYDHBQiMUgg&nmid=0" border="0"></a></span><br><span class="insertedphoto"><br></span><div style="text-align: justify;">I had the opportunity to interview some of the country's finest financial minds last week for a project and, while the photographer was setting up the lighting equipment, the conversation turned to the communication skills of today's young people. Both the gentlemen I was interviewing at the time were appalled by what they'd been hearing from the mouths of modern Filipino kids:<br><br></div><ul style="text-align: justify;"><li>If you speak English with an American twang, a British lilt, or even an Aussie drawl, people make fun of you. They think you're stuck up or putting on airs;</li><li>If you speak straight English to anyone under the age of twenty-five, they'll ask you to stop: <i>Ate, Tagalugin mo naman; ka-nosebleed naman kasi English mo, e.</i> And the aforementioned statement will be accompanied by a wry, even pained grimace;</li><li>If you speak straight English with a "foreign" accent, people will throw you a look of wonder and say "Wow, <i>ba't 'di ka mag-trabaho sa </i>call center?";</li><li>Kids these days swear a lot - and, whenever they swear (or <b>try</b> to swear) in English, it sounds so <i>wrong</i>.</li></ul><div style="text-align: justify;"><br>English was the very first language I was exposed to, having been born into a family of educators and civil servants. Television served as my babysitter and I picked up an ambiguously American accent because of <i>Sesame Street</i> and various cartoons on RPN's <i>Saturday Fun Machine</i> weekend block. My earliest memories are of books (all in English), of learning to read from <i>Reader's Digest</i>, of watching my younger aunts rehearsing their lines from numerous plays or classic pieces for elocution, of teaching my younger brother how to read because he wanted to read the Bible. I remember that English was the <i>lingua franca</i> for conversation in school; any words in Tagalog were reserved for recitation in Filipino or Araling Panlipunan or any number of idiomatic expressions used to spice up a conversation. If you have a chance to read Arnold Arre's soul-stirring graphic novel <i>Martial Law Babies</i>, keep a keen eye on the conversations: they're pretty much the way my peers and I spoke to each other in the late eighties' and early to mid 1990s.<br><br>Fast forward to 2010: I have this sinking feeling that I am one of a dying breed of English-speakers / writers. Most people younger than me are more comfortable with Taglish - that bastardized mix of English and the mother tongue - and their conversations are peppered with all sorts of vulgarities, expressions picked up from loud, crass transvestites who have come out of their closets to shock us through mainstream media. When I was a schoolgirl, it was considered <i>de rigeur</i> to listen to FM radio stations like RX 93.1 and Magic 89.9; today, I don't bother listening to FM radio because every station I tune into sounds like a cheap club filled with filthy-mouthed showgirls and their sleazy customers. I don't watch local television anymore except for the news because I know that scumbags like Willie Revillame will be screaming at me while selling pipe dreams to the hapless masses. It disgusts me to no end that even kids from the Big 3 Universities - schools whose alumni have long been known for their linguistic superiority - can't speak or write English properly <i>at all</i>.<br><br>Who do we blame for this? Can we blame the media for unleashing a tsunami of cheap, uncouth, sickening programs on the public? Do we blame the late Corazon Aquino and the much-reviled Joseph Estrada for their insistence on putting an emphasis on subjects <i>other</i> than English in the national education system? Do we blame the <i>yayas</i> hired by middle-class households for exposing their young charges to local pop culture? I honestly don't know.But what I <b>do</b> know is that young people today are getting an extremely watered-down linguistic education - and this, I believe, is a damning factor for our failure to rise to the same level as our Asian neighbors. In the 1980s, we were the third largest nation in terms of functional literacy in English; today, I don't even want to know where we stand.English is still my personal <i>lingua franca</i>: my language of choice for conversations both in business and among friends and family, my language of choice to express how I feel, my language of choice for the writing that serves as my bread and butter. Not to disparage the mother tongue, but English makes my life a whole lot easier - and much more colorful.<br><br>And if anyone is stupid enough to either laugh at my accent, think that my vocabulary and grammar give them nosebleeds, and believe that I ought to be working as a lackey for stupid Caucasians to rail at, that person is going to die a slow, painful, lingering, and very public death.</div><!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-59857351765916861302010-04-05T11:34:00.000+08:002010-04-05T15:34:28.223+08:00Enspelled<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/641"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/fNuykMn-3F14CVYC6UBTnQ/photos/1M/300x300/641/6a00d83454ed4169e20120a8b18f3b970b.jpg?et=vHXj8%2CyKtj3e9norTh6yGQ&nmid=0" border="0"></a><br></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto">Artwork: <span style="font-style: italic;">Ordinary Magic </span>- Wendy S. Rolfe, 2008</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div><span class="insertedphoto"><br>i'd like to think<br>that there's something<br>that binds me<br>to you<br>otherwise:<br>i'd have<br>forgotted<br>about you<br>a long,<br>long,<br><span style="font-style: italic;">long</span><br>time ago.<br><br>and yet:<br>the world has <br>turned<br>twice<br>and your<br>face<br>is still<br>the last<br>thing<br>i see<br>ere i<br>fall<br>asleep.<br><br>why?<br>why?<br>oh, the<br>never<br>ending<br>why...<br><br>i'd shoot<br>myself<br>now;<br>but i<br>wouldn't<br>see<br>how this<br>unfolds<br>now,<br>right?<br></span> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-42270961243868136712010-03-07T09:28:00.000+08:002010-03-07T14:28:28.722+08:00On Bullying - and Why the Parents of Bullies Should be Punished along with their Children<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="insertedphoto"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/GGPmdB-ue84dRv-hoqqpFA/photos/1M/300x300/642/bullying1.jpg?et=BeEyNSBzrWYcl08C6Rk%2CVg&nmid=0" border="0"></span><span class="insertedphoto">Those of you who grew up with me at Benedictine Abbey School know this: I was bullied horribly as a child. I have no idea what I did to merit such treatment, but I spent eight years getting stuff thrown at me and being called names. My unusual surname was made fun of, I was derided for being bookish and bespectacled. It was as if everything I did was wrong in the eyes of those around me.</span><br></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto">I had my hair permed when I was eleven - and ended up being called an Aeta because the resulting perm was so damned kinky. My grandfather died when I was twelve - and the boys in my class said it was because he had a heart attack at the sight of my ugly face. I was told I was ugly and stupid and naive - by girls whom I considered my friends. I was kicked down a staircase, but the school did nothing because the kid who gave the push was the spoiled-rotten youngest son of a prominent official.</span> In fact the school made me look like a villain, that I brought it upon myself because I would not behave like all the other kids.<br><br>Is it really so wrong to be different? Is it really wrong to dance to the beat of a different drummer? When I was growing up, that seemed to be the norm. If you were different, you were considered weird, ugly, stupid, crazy - all manner of labels would be plastered over you. The school guidance counsellor used to say I was severely maladjusted and needed professional help. I tried everything I could to fit in and I failed miserably.<br><br>It's been nearly twenty years since those horrific times. I have since grown up; we've all grown up - except for the kid who kicked me down the stairs; he died when we were nineteen - kidnapped and brutally murdered. It was all over the papers - but, strangely enough or perhaps not - I felt no sympathy. The big bully finally found bigger bullies who tragically knocked him into his place - most likely one of the lowest circles of hell.<br><br>I wrote this entry because I just saw something on TV this afternoon. It's just another of those cheap, hastily done local soap operas, but the tragic tale of the ugly, outcast kid bullied by prettier, wealthier, but spiritually uglier brats is still one that harrows up my soul after all these years. Children who bully others are the ones who need professional help. They are the maladjusted ones. They are the ones with the real issues. I mean, really: who cares how pretty you are, how smart you are if you have a mouth full of insults and a mouthful of hate. The parent who encourages his or her children to bully others should be sent to jail and kept there for rest of his or her life. <br><br>Because behind the little brats who make life miserable for their peers are parents who are little more than monsters themselves.<br><br>Think about that.<br></div><span class="insertedphoto"></span></div> <!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-8408885387134682752010-02-17T12:25:00.000+08:002010-02-17T17:26:01.042+08:00Ode W<span class="insertedphoto"><a href="http://yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/1M/640"><img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.yaminoshuuen.multiply.com/image/gkrSTE9gb+KjJ1mUcmCcjQ/photos/1M/300x300/640/6a00d83454ed4169e201287729449c970c.jpg?et=cfngtQ9pshicgQUlvTIctg&nmid=0" border="0"></a></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="insertedphoto">Artwork: <span style="font-style: italic;">Flayed Lamb - </span>Hayv Kahraman, 2008</span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span><br><span class="insertedphoto"></span>if all i can do<br>is look,<br>if all i can do<br>is see,<br>if all i can do<br>is observe<br>from<br>afar ~<br><br>then i<br>feel sorry<br>for myself.<br><br>the pathos,<br>the tragedy,<br>the million<br>myriad<br>unusual<br>fevered<br>maddening<br>things<br>about you;<br>those base<br>triggers<br>that send<br>mishmashed<br>signals<br>flickering,<br>blinking<br>into my<br>befuddled<br>mind.<br><br>the dark<br>hags,<br>the shadows,<br>the hissing<br>adders<br>tell me<br>to say<br>my<br>goodbyes.<br><br>but i:<br>i...<br>am more<br>stubborn<br>than an<br>ox,<br>donkey,<br>obstinate,<br>ornery<br>beast<br>that i<br>am.<br><br>i don't<br>know why<br>i haven't,<br>i can't,<br>i <i>won't</i><br>give up;<br>why i<br>won't,<br>can't,<br><i>shan't</i><br>give in.<br><br>i think,<br>i believe,<br>i <i>know</i><br>you're<br>worth<br>it.<br> </div><!-- multiply:no_crosspost --><p class='multiply:no_crosspost'></p>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6027593241535066351.post-29897771527410047422010-02-16T15:17:00.003+08:002010-02-16T15:45:30.904+08:00Clock<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sybdive.files.wordpress.com/2010/02/blommestijn-time.jpg"><img class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-994" title="blommestijn-time" src="http://sybdive.files.wordpress.com/2010/02/blommestijn-time.jpg?w=267" alt="" width="267" height="300" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Artwork: <span style="font-style: italic;">Why Time Goes Slower when We Get Older</span> - Rhonald Blommestijn, date unknown<br /><br />the things,<br />the people,<br />the events<br />that mark<br />my life<br /><br />like the<br />hours,<br />the rapid...<br />...fire<br />hours<br />speeding<br />away<br />on the<br />face<br />of<br />father<br />time<br />himself.<br /><br />i need<br />patience -<br />a patience<br />so intense<br />as to be<br />surreal,<br />inhuman,<br />potent.<br /><br />ticks,<br />heartbeats<br />throbbing,<br />flitting,<br />thumping,<br />counting<br />my life<br />away<br />one<br />second<br />at a<br />time.<br /><br />honestly:<br />i look<br />like a<br />fool<br />waiting<br />as i<br />do.<br /></div>Marga K. Manlapighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12259018563164580521noreply@blogger.com0