Showing posts from March, 2012

The Mats by Francisco Arcellana

The Mats

By Francisco Arcellana

For the Angeles family, Mr. Angeles'; homecoming from his periodic inspection trips was always an occasion for celebration. But his homecoming--from a trip to the South--was fated to be more memorable than, say, of the others.

He had written from Mariveles: "I have just met a marvelous matweaver--a real artist--and I shall have a surprise for you. I asked him to weave a sleeping-mat for every one of the family. He is using many different colors and for each mat the dominant color is that of our respective birthstones. I am sure that the children will be very pleased. I know you will be. I can hardly wait to show them to you."

Nana Emilia read the letter that morning, and again and again every time she had a chance to leave the kitchen. In the evening when all the children were home from school she asked her oldest son, José, to read the letter at dinner table. The children became very much excited about the mats, and talked about them unti…

Angels For You



Summer Workshop
Studio 116 Dance School

G/F LRIBuilding, 210 N. Garcia St., Bel-Air 2, Makati City

c/o Jeks del Rosario - Balquin



RoseVoc2: March Moon in 2012


Waldemar Alarkon: More Paintings


In 2012: Paintings of Waldemar Alarkon




You were once a leech on my lover’s neck-

Torture and anguish to lights of my days

With Medusa and Judas, can you

Be drowned in the underworld of phantoms?

You robbed full long days of felicity

My diamond, my only longed affection,

My precious posterity of time, you

Dumped selfishly inside a rotting jar

Of cursed stones, puke of Sodom and Gomorrah

You devastated my life, drought my breasts

Those nights,

Those haunting gray nights, haunted


Hopeful, dutiful tomorrows

Cracked walls of sacred covenant,

Buried home of family

Those nights



Love’s promises

Corrupted hymns of twin hearts. Those nights gripped

Nights that shrieked my flesh into shreds of dust

Shot soul of Eros, lulled December breeze

Hardened soft tongue, but cold lips in winter

Nightmares of forbidden cities, cutting

Like blade, broken bones beyond healing

How your tongues kissed terrified me. How you

Rolled, tenderly held each other

Nailed me, nailed me several times to a Cross


A Tight Grip Of Your Hands

A Tight Grip Of Your Hands

A parent, to the pains of his/her child

'Why wasn't it I Lord, to bear my child's pain? '

But it has to be so.

'Olah' in Hebrew on Mount Moriah

Then a voice was heard, 'Now I know you fear God.'

Why do we feel pain for the struggling sick?

Why do we feel mercy for the helpless poor?

Empathizing with the oppressed, when no one would listen?

The unfathomable 'why's' scrape off skin down brawn,

When nothing but nothing could be done,

But gaze at bullets and sniff killing gas

It has to be so.

Each one faces a destiny, his own

As unique as an endowed crown of life.

Is there something more agonizing

Than a crown of thorns, undeserved?

We take of the cup, sweet wine of grapes,

A nourishment for hearts to carry burden.

It has to be so.

How could we lessen a beloved's pain?

Or get your pain on me?


But - act bravely, as big as the heroes

Move on, when others stop

Stand the highest, when…