My Words

Understanding the World through words

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Don’t Study Philosophy

Why you should reconsider becoming a philosophy major.

Look what happened to me:

* I hate academia and macadamia nuts.
* I think way too much—over analyze.
* I can’t buy into the status quo or any presidential nominees.
* I have an outrageous sense of humor, that frankly, no one understands.
* I am bitterly sarcastic about everything.
* I read philosophy to settle down while I drink beer—Thank you Prof. Robin Roth.
* Rather than listen to music on my way to work, I listen to erudite people explain the meaning of things. Everyone finds this boring except “moi.”
* I rather go to a book store and read Dante or Nietzsche than go to a party.
* I have a hard time understanding adults and their silly views.
* Religion and I are bitter polemical friends—
*I am a mental mess when left alone with my thoughts.

If you want to mess up your life forever be a philosophy major.

June Seventh-poem

Feeling unpoetic today—
June seventh twenty sixteen.
I’ve been contemplating
I don’t know.
I suppose
I can describe my room:

Wide arch into the bath
nicely shadowed white.
Fan above swirling at a
moderate speed.
The TV’s on but I’m not watching.
Purely background noise.
I’m lying on my bed with legs lazily spread.

My door is open while the light gently slips in.
I can feel the warmth of summer seep in through my window shutters like a thin veil; pushed aside by the
cool breeze of the air conditioner kissing my face.

Off By Two—poem

Cracker Jack
the surprises inside
as a child,
meant everything to me.
I always looked
forward to it.
Like reading
Saturday morning
cereal boxes
in my underwear—
Corn Flakes,
sliced strawberries,
and cold
homogenized milk.
Then watching
Bugs Bunny
Tom and Jerry and
Road Runner
Wile E. Coyote.
Those were the
days that brought
burden free happiness.
No bills to pay.
No Monday morning
workday Blues.
After all, school
had recess, girls,
and plenty of books;
And we’d be off by

Prayer After Rain-Poem

I’m the hawk gliding low,

I’m the dove cooing

in a field of yellow daisies.

I’m the fresh air after the rain.

The desert rose watered by love.

The smell of a freshly cut lawn.

I’m the tributary carrying

melted mountain snow.

I’m the thunder’s mighty roar.

I’m the pregnant sky about

to release my wine and

make the fertile soil give

birth to wondrous things.


Heavenly water is falling,
inside my car melodic,
The soft pitter-patter of
rain drops lolling
my eyes to sleep.
I’m transported
to a world of ease.
I wake up caught in the
world of struggle and pain.
Back inside, I see a girl looking
into the void of endless rain.
“Isn’t it beautiful,” I say
“Yes,” she responds
and walks away.

“Children need art and stories and poems and music as much as they need love and food and fresh air and play. “

Agreed, cultural education is imperative and necessary for a well rounded upbringing.

Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award

Pullman Philip 2

Wise words from Philip Pullman, who received the Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award in 2005:

Children need art and stories and poems and music as much as they need love and food and fresh air and play. If you don’t give a child food, the damage quickly becomes visible. If you don’t let a child have fresh air and play, the damage is also visible, but not so quickly. If you don’t give a child love, the damage might not be seen for some years, but it’s permanent.

But if you don’t give a child art and stories and poems and music, the damage is not so easy to see. It’s there, though. Their bodies are healthy enough; they can run and jump and swim and eat hungrily and make lots of noise, as children have always done, but something is missing.

It’s true that some people grow up never encountering…

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Its Friday-Poem

It’s Friday April 8th
eyes are burning,
slight back pain
nothing else to report.
Getting ready for the weekend.
Getting ready to get off work.

Angeles City-Poem


I saw her sitting by the pool
I was in the Philippines
temporary hiatus in
Angeles City—
There was my brown-skinned angel all alone.

I smiled at her and she winked back,
at that moment I knew she’d be mine.
I took her on base and bought her
some lotions and soaps,
we took a jeepney back to my hotel.

We took a shower
then messed up the bed,
her long black hair fell onto my lap.
The smell of youth and hard love
like candles radiated in my heart.

Touch The Heart-Poem

in his musings
picasso stated that
he wished to paint as a poet writes.

pablo picasso’s most prized possession—
an autographed first-edition
manuscript from poet
and confidant,

What is poetry?

elusive, mysterious
and dark;

poetry the queen of all literature and art
by which romantics channel their unfailing love
poetry has the power to touch the heart.

Without Hardships-Poem

Nothing comes without hardships:
Without pain there is no art.
Without suffering there is no literature.
Without angst poetry has no heart.
-Samuel De Lemos