Tag Archive | "Poetry"

Heart, Art, and the Occasional Fart

As an alternative to the usual meetup format, FF spent its latest gathering getting our art on at The Collective, albeit early enough to have the warehouse-turned-hipster haven to ourselves.

As it was a pre-Valentine’s meetup, the group first discussed the notion of romantic love and the irrational behavior that it entails. Questions such as Would you die to save your loved one’s life?; Is monogamy the way to go?; and Is masturbating to another person’s image considered cheating? were asked, and generated quite heated discussions.

Afterwards, members showcased their creative skillz to the group:

There were quite a few guitarists in our midst, including Chris…


…and Mark.

The most endearing string-man of them all, however, was Philip, who played a little Spanish ditty for us on his old-skool octavina.

Not to be outdone, the more literary types also had their turn, starting with a scintillating string of culinary haikus from none other than the esteemed Theodocius Chang.

Reighben shared some impromptu verses from his cel’s Sent folder.

I read an excerpt from my short story “Yaya.”

And Ibyang performed a freshly written love poem dedicated to all the Freethinkers.

Despite the different format, last Saturday’s meetup was every bit an FF shindig, featuring a lot of smart, sexy people unafraid to share their passions.

(Photos courtesy of Jeiel Aranal, Patrick Charles Rigonan, and Hombrey Escalante)

Posted in Meetup, Others, PersonalComments (3)

Humanae Vitae Limerick

It was one of those cool rainy nights
When they’d just kissed and made up from a fight
They started to hug
When their loins felt that sensual tug
And his hand reached out to kill the lights.
As he gently laid and caressed her in bed
She opened up to him with arms and legs spread
But then she had to remember
It was the fifth of September
And her excitement was soon replaced with dread.
“We can’t do it now,” said she
“’Cause I’m at the peak of fertility
No wonder I’m so hot
And yearning a lot
But we can’t afford to have another baby.”
“I’ll wear something,” he replied
Why should this union be denied?
They were lawfully married
And his wife he lovingly fancied
Even long before she became his bride.
“No,” he couldn’t believe he heard her say
“It is forbidden in Humanae Vitae
Sex must be kept open to procreation
Pope Paul said it’s divine revelation
And contraception will lead us astray.”

Posted in ReligionComments (0)


Opened my eyes.
I am floating in a seemingly endless lake.
(tricked myself to believe that this surrounding of water is surrounded by land)
I long to stand on my feet…and touch solid ground.
There is no wind.
The water is as still as the air.
Need to wade my arms, trash my feet
in order to see waves in this otherwise clear still flat waterscape.
Must I swim?
To where?
Blankly I stare, flat horizon everywhere.
Or should I wait?
For what?
Something, anything that’d rescue me from this tranquil waters for a hell.
Should I drown in order to end this peaceful monotony for a life?
Sink or swim?
I will float.
I feel no hunger for food nor thirst for water.
I am still alive.
Here I am,
dying to satisfy the hunger, quench the thirst-
the question:
Why am I still alive?
Opened my eyes.
Surprised to see a wooden box floating nearby.
I smiled.
Finally, my coffin.
I swam towards the box… it is locked.
Where is the key?
Is there a key?
Perhaps there is…lying somewhere at the bottom which I couldn’t see.
I dived, dived really deep
to find the hopefully existing key.
I dived, dived really deep
the pressure kept on pounding at my chest,
still determined to find the key that’d open that mysterious wooden chest.
I am running out of air.
Need to surface…
to breathe.
Opened my eyes.
Frowning, I brood at the thought of me drowning
without finding out what’s inside that wooden box.
The closed wooden box still laughs, mocks me with its lock.
I punched the lock over and over with my right hand
-in a desperate attempt to break it-
instead it broke my right hand, my fingers.
Most specially, my middle finger.
Now I am deprived of my only source of twisted satisfaction-
the art of clenching my right hand into a fist,
extending my middle finger
confidently straight-
pointing it at the sky that has no clouds, sun, moon nor stars.
All stolen.
All I have is an insane blue ceiling for a heaven.

Then I laughed.
I laughed at my stupidity.
Why am I lamenting over my right hand?
I still have my left left.
Opened my eyes.
Delighted to see a scarlet bird
-a cardinal-
defy the azure sky.
The bird circled
then perched on my disfigured, outstretched right hand.
Talons tightened their grip
my expressionless face is ripped by a painful smile.
Once again
hot-living blood flowed out of my hand,
trickled down on my arms to desecrate the sea.
I lowered my right hand to better see the cardinal’s beauty.
I noticed- something is in its beak.
I placed my left palm under the cardinal’s proud head.
I begged.

The cardinal dropped what it was holding in its beak
and I was not surprised to see
that it is a key…
it must be that key.
The cardinal flew away.
I shed tears as I witness the most depressing scene-
a moving scarlet dot vanishing in the still blue horizon line.
Opened my chest.
Found only blank sheets of white paper.
Broke my right hand just for paper!!!
I grabbed, crumpled and threw the nearest sheet.
So surreal ( as if my problem of existence is not surreal enough)
the sheet which I grabbed, crumpled and threw
flew back to its pack.
So, I am to write.
-But I have no pen.
A scarlet feather floats nearby.
-But I have no ink.
Water is all that I could see.

But I have blood.
Counted the blank sheets of white paper,
the treasure I found in my chest.
Forty-four sheets where I could squeeze my thoughts.

About what?

I looked around
my tranquil water hell
mocking blue heaven
broken right hand
broken fingers
broken middle finger.

I smiled.
I know what to write.


First, I must learn how to use my left hand
so that I may begin writing my silent crusade of screaming thoughts
of defiance…

All that is left of me.
Thoughts that are, I strongly believe, right.



-Jonathan Maines Ramirez, circa 2003

left the playeronbacktobackrepeat,songsOrestesAndRosebyAPerfectCircle.

woke up with the idea for a poem in mind…finished in an hour.

Posted in PoetryComments (1)

A Quick Scientific Limerick :)

Come on guys, let’s show our love for science and poetry. Let’s keep the creative juices flowing. Here’s my start on this mess. 🙂 I’m sure you can think of other creative limericks, whether they be about science, math, or anything under the freethinking sun, no? 🙂

There was a guy named Schroedinger
who was quite an exceptional thinker
He posited that
there’d either be a dead or live cat
Even before you laid down a finger
(to appreciate my limerick even more, here’s a good reference on Schroedinger’s cat)
And I don’t want to leave another favorite subject of mine (among others) without its own limerick. 😉
Newton discovered calculus
So did Leibniz, plus its use
There was some dispute
on who’d bring the discoverer’s loot
But Isaac won over a ruse.
(to appreciate my math limerick, please see the Wikipedia article on the Calculus discovery controversy)

Posted in Entertainment, Humor, Media, Personal, Pictures, Poetry, ScienceComments (7)


I’d rather see this picture hung upside down.
Makes it more interesting to see
the familiarity
`top -> sky; bottom -> ground’
shattered –
now, it’s the other way around.

Still, horses don’t fly into the sky.
Their feet are hanging by the ceiling of verdant grass.
Chandelier trees are not uprooted to join the company
of the what used to be company of clouds.
Water of the lake, dewdrops on grass mountains
don’t rain to put the light out of the morning sun.

How I wish to see –
rose petals sprinkle on the opalesque sky.

One thing is quite surprising –
the rainbow,
which used to look like a giant frown,
is now a radiant prismatic smile.

Posted in PoetryComments (1)

What Would Jesus Do?

What would Jesus do


this troublesome


In Iraq, USA, Israel

and Palestine?

What would Jesus do


calamity comes?

to people who are unfortunate,

it seems to them the sun

won’t shine.

What would Jesus do


physically and mentally challenged men?

to amputees, mongoloids, the deaf, mute and

the blind?

What would Jesus do?

If people will realize,

that it’s foolishness to believe

in a

Jesus divine…

Posted in Humor, Personal, ReligionComments (22)

Morning Light

As I sit here on the
Warm soft sand
The sky is still black.
The cold air carries
The sound of the waves.
Slowly the sky turns gray
Outlining embossed clouds.
Then, a streak of purple…and another; others more.
Dashing in the spaces between
They widen and brighten
As they turn lavender, red, white and green
Sifting their way through the clouds
Lighting the heavens with a parade of hues.
Orange spills and floods the entire sky
Overflowing to the sea.
Sea birds fly just above the horizon
Which has now drawn a clear line.
Finally, the magnificent glow of deep yellow breaks through
Dispersing the orange and giving birth to blue.

Every minute
Of every sunrise
Is a painting.


Posted in PoetryComments (4)

Will to be Whole

Oh you being of the heavens, I am praying
In the middle of the battlefield of my soul
I am crying, can you hear me?
Can you see me in pain?
Holding on to the will to be whole

I’m not asking for mercy or forgiveness
Or to help me out of the darkness I’m in
I’m not asking for strength
Or for some kind of courage
Not even to deliver me from sin

Here I’m standing proud like the sun
Hidden behind the gray clouds of rain
I am standing to show you
That despite all my tears
I am willing to endure all these pain

I don’t blame you for the fire that I’m treading
For the evil companions serving guide
Save me if you wish to
Yet I shall not praise you
But I’m grateful that you’re always by my side

Watch me, I shall show you I am worthy
Of the friendship you endlessly give
It might take a while
But someday I shall smile
Not afraid to continue to live

Oh my friend in the heavens, I am saying
I’m standing on the battlefield of my soul
While I’m crying and bleeding
While I’m drowning in my pain
I shall hold on to the will to be whole

Posted in Entertainment, Personal, Poetry, ReligionComments (0)

I Just Want Him Safe

I call to you to keep him safe
Are you listening to me?
I want you watching him
Because I can’t
I’m just a helpless girl
Who doesn’t know a thing
About prayer
Well, I’m praying now

I call to you to keep him safe
Are you listening to me?

Do I have the right to pray
So doubtfully like this?
There’s no one else to turn to
And I’m afraid
Please make him strong enough
To be alright
Please get him through the night
While I pray in half-belief
To the one he trusts completely

Do I have the right to pray
So doubtfully like this?

Allow me to pretend
To believe and trust you
That’s the best I could attempt
To fight the haunting thoughts
Of his body on the pavement
Lifeless, breathless, cold
Imagination unfolds
And I’m trembling
I’m afraid to lose him

Please allow me to pretend
To believe and trust you

Allow me to embrace
This flicker of faith
There’s this hollow feeling
Of not knowing
And I can’t find someone else to run to
So pardon me if I call you
I mean no disrespect
I’m just a helpless girl
Who’s so afraid

So allow me to embrace
This flicker of faith

I just want him safe.

(This poem was written in September 2003, when I was struggling with being an Agnostic. Photo was taken by me on one of my trips to Japan.)

Posted in Entertainment, Personal, Poetry, ReligionComments (5)


I don’t even know you’re there
But somehow you show me that you care
Forsaken – what I ought to be
Yet without you there, you seem to comfort me

I’ve committed terrible disgrace
Can’t excuse myself with “It’s only a phase”
Forsaken – what I ought to be
Yet for countless times you seem to shelter me

I find myself in the dark
And I won’t even call your name
But for some unknown reason
You give me something to breathe on
And I realize you’re there just the same

People treat you like a king
People see you as some sort of savior
I don’t see you that way
Would you be mad
Or would that be okay?

I criticize those who praise you
Don’t even know if I believe you’re true
Forsaken – what I ought to be
I don’t call, yet you’re there for me

Don’t know if I consider you a friend
I even laugh at you every now and then
Forsaken – what I ought to be
And what exactly did you see in me?

I find myself in the dark
And I won’t even call your name
But for some unknown reason
You give me something to live on
And I realize you’re there just the same

People treat you like a king
People see you as some sort of savior
I don’t see you that way
Would you be mad
Or would that be okay?

I don’t know what I am to you
Don’t know if I even give you what is due
Why aren’t you forsaking me?
Perhaps you’re really who I believed you to be

People treat you like a king
People see you as some sort of savior
I don’t see you that way
Would you be mad
Or would that be okay?

But I know for sure that it would be okay.

(This poem – meant to be a song – was written in April 2003, when I was struggling with being an Agnostic.)

Posted in Entertainment, Poetry, ReligionComments (2)

Freethought Poetry: Mothers

This is a first of its kind in the site, and it’s still experimental. Red mentioned that perhaps more of us could share prose or poetry about freethought, so here goes my first dive into this mess 🙂


Mother, you bid to bathe me with boon, and still you do

Try, for you feel it’s your responsibility to.

You’ve sacrificed, and supplied me with sustenance

There was a time, I remember, when our parlance

Were very much attuned to each other’s ideas and thoughts

But then I studied and grew, and I think you see it was not for nought.
Read the full story

Posted in Poetry, SocietyComments (6)