ABC STARS Inspires

-I- Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary Over all the tempting offers that prospective buyers bore While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping As of someone gently rapping, softly rapping at my door. "Perhaps," I thought, "it's buyer Oihara, knocking at my door--- Only this and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember, it was after bleak December While digging in the Lo-o Valley for the hidden cache of yore At last I found the long-lost Buddha of "The Tiger of Malaya" A twenty-eight-inch Buddha I now keep behind my aparador Because this thousand-kilo statuette that's behind my aparador Is solid gold and nothing more. So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I kept repeating, "It can't be Chayong or Canding; its Oihara at my door The Japanese buyer who's entreating entrance for an urgent meeting. It is his familiar greeting, he who knows all ...

      It was an ordinary, typical Sunday night and my brother and I were lounging before dinner and knowing his talent as a classical pianist I showed him internet videos of a young woman competing in an Asia-wide talent competition. It was touted as Asia’s Got Talent and the young lady is none other than classical chanteuse, Gerphil Geraldine Flores, from The Philippines. The first video was the audition piece which got her the golden buzzer from one of the judges, David Foster, which meant that she automatically advanced to the next round. Her audition piece, Andy Williams’ Speak softly, Love, which is from the classic film “The Godfather.” In the next phase, the semis, she sung the theme song (Where do I begin?) from the movie “Love Story” and for the most recent episode, the grand final, she gave a seamless rendition of the powerful music “The Impossible Dream” from “Man of La Mancha.” All videos ended with a standing ovation from the audience but more i...

Fire! Fire!! Fire!! That dreaded cry! rings Through the quiet of the night and brings Dry-throated horror At the furor of this rampaging terror. Hear the echoing crash and crackle And the hissing, maniacal sparkle Of its merciless laughter as it swallows Man-made structures, trees or willows That haplessly lie in its path Prey to the frenzied fury of its wrath! Higher! Higher!! Higher!!! Grows the crimsoned shadow Of this dancing, prancing desperado. Will its smoldering anger not subside? Can't its greedy appetite be satisfied? Hear the wailing of the sirens and the clanging bells The sights of relief; and the clamoring yells Of the rain-coated men in their red-painted wagon Who strive to quench the thirst of this flaming dragon. But, . . . its passion. . .uncontrolled grows hotter! For, alas! again!! no more water!!! 25-3-60 photo credit: hydrant via photopin (license)   License: (license)

Photo by Yvonne Carpio “Be careful, you might step on the homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk.” This echoed in my head as I walked at the city center. I have not written about them before but maybe this is the perfect time. I see families sleeping on the concrete pavement by the buildings, I even saw a toddler awake looking straight back at me. To those who are luckier, they have a cardboard and a blanket. Some have absolutely nothing just their backs on the cold pavement. I feel empathy every time I see them during my early morning exercise. This took me to the age old lesson in my Religion class about the dilemma of the unequal distribution of wealth in the world. There are plenty of resources enough to sustain the whole human population. The problem is that the pyramidal blueprint of society puts the rich patricians at the pinnacle while the suffering plebeians form the large base. People know about this already. The most important th...

I Atop a bamboo bordered hill Where sun-browned sparrows sung all day Where wind and rain came cool and clean Beyond Baras, beside the Bay, The cogon grass once covered all. And there was naught but nature's peace Until one dusty day in May When men, all clad in combat green, Came up the virgin hill to stay Where once the cogon covered all. They raised their flag and built their camp Of nipa huts in neat array They cleared and burned the cogon grass That hampered both their work and play; The grass that once covered all. The sound of men and war machines The cry of life, the sighs of still- Unspoken hopes, the grief of death Then sounded, echoed on the hill Where once the cogon covered all. But that was long, so long ago Upon that hill now naught is seen But one decaying broken pole (The flagpole once, of the men in green) And cogon creeping over all Atop that bamboo hill Where sun-brown...