Posts Tagged ‘Sunday’

It is Sunday (I hope it’s Saturday)

still I dread about the things

that need sorting, or mending

or keeping the weekly life in order.


At the routine and the job not started.

Of promises I keep on procrastinating.

When I complain that time is not enough

but I spent most of it thinking how


will I ever escape the inner tensions

that keep gnawing my brain, restless

and un-contained, filled with regrets

I ought to pace with speed to numb me.


For the plates and cups that need washing.

For the pieces of clothing that need ironing.

For the broken fixtures that need fixing.

For the furnitures that need dusting.


And Monday will come. When you wish away

it is weekend when you get the alibi to be lazy

on Friday. Pretending you work hard but counting

four more days and you slam down the paperwork


bolting out for freedom. Still it is Sunday.

I hope it is Saturday, better nights on Friday.

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A box of reverie

I open today,

when hearing

a familiar old song.

An empty gaze

through the empty hall

brought back-

sunny days

and the carousel.


And all

the happy couples,

filling spaces

with their dreams

It used to be-

some balloons

float there

among the clouds.

See, even doves fly

with freedom on its wings.


Like changing of seasons

drifting away-

a gentle river

changing course.

I became-

a  passersby

to the playground.

To the carousel.

On one bleak, cold

Sunday morning.


If I have been-

a little kinder,

saying hello

with a smile.

But mine is

a restless heart.

If I have been-

a little braver

sending a letter

saying goodbye.

Maybe I’ll get

one sad response.


People, they say-

comes around,

the second time.

But there are things

which can’t be undone.

But here, in my quiet-

fathoming loss,

filled with regrets.

There is a word

that just, simply

left unsaid.


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I am a bit choosy with the music I used to play in my playlist. Bluegrass and country  genre is a daily staple of my waking music life.  I have fallen in love with the soothing voice of Alison Krauss since day one, when I heard “Now That I Found You” and her own rendition of “When You Say Nothing At All”, all chart toppers in the late 90’s.  Like food, country music and bluegrass are organic and ear-friendly  tunes without  the toxicity of blaring and  shouting trend of modern-day rock gurus.

I like contemplative mood of country and bluegrass sound. Its melodic and heartwarming themes of simplicity of rural lifestyle of the typical Americana. I am being transported to the good olden days I used to have in our small town Gerona.  I remember the Sundays’ hustle and bustle at the coliseum in the middle of the sugar cane field, during the heydays of cockfighting.  I was a grade schooler then.

My grandmother used to help in the coliseum canteen, where she would allow me to roam around the tiered seats of wooden planks. Sun bleached as I was and waiting for the creaking sounds of the hurried footsteps of excited expectators eager to occupy their sacred spaces.

I will wait there fielding my gaze to the green sea of dancing sugarcane leaf breezing through the wind. It was such a pure sight. My unadulterated joy, a moment of bliss and happiness. My solitude amidst the maddening crowd. An honest time without thinking the polluting cares of this world.  I break away.

They say music is a therapy to the soul. A beautiful escape away from confusion and disillusionment.  And like Ally McBeal in a famous series on TV of the same title, every song has a journey of moments, significantly intertwined to the times of our lives.  And I must say, our souls never grow old with time like wine, these bodies are rotten away and growing old like those barrel containers but our souls just evolved into something profound and noble within.

Oh, how my mind travelled so far again to the time that was.  A time where the memory of how simple life it was back then, has left me longing to linger for a little while.  While listening to Alison Krauss, songs like “Simple Love”, “The Scarlet Tide”, “Restless”, “I’ll Fly Away”, “Whiskey Lullaby”, “You’ll Be My Ain True Love”, “I Will”, “But You Know I Love You”, “If I Didn’t Know Any Better”,  and many others, had me again facing back to where I was before.  Right there, at the colliseum with one of my treasured childhood dream of laying down to the green sea of pure joy touching its fragile earth.

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“The last leaf clings to bow, with one leaf and all there is now. Will my last hope will be that lonely leaf, lonely leaf.”  And the Cascades song will just go like a merry go round in my head.  I could only bear so much happiness as I remember the songs my Grandpa used to play on the turntable.  Yes.  We still have the turntable here and kept among old things Grandpa had left after he died a decade and a half ago.

The turntable has been a symbol. Our ringing bell to jumpstart the happy mood around the house.  Every one is synchronized to each of their Sunday chores as we enjoy the rhythm of the upbeat music. Where my Grandma and my aunts used to prepare grilled dishes and vegetable salad for a picnic lunch.  The men used to fix anything from the knick knacks of the dog pen, the busted tube lights, the misplaced wood planks, to the leaking roof gutter.  And I, among with my brother, sister and other  little neighbor friends used to run and tumble around in the garden and playing until we are exhausted just to chunk on slabs of food lined up in the long table.

Sunday is the best time for us in the late 70’s and early 80’s.  Like a typical American scene of picnics, with families dressing up in a retro fashion sense.  With my Grandpa encouraging us to dance to the boogie music and sing the eternally minted jukebox songs. With the memories of going to CCP complex and catching the glimpse of Luneta and the bayview with the whole family. Then, going to Nayong Pilipino and take photographs among the many miniature scenic spots of the regions.  And the long walks we have had in Lamesa Dam with the many scupltures standing tall in witnessing the grandeur and natural beauty of the watershed.

Now, these memories will ring a tune out of my head in the songs popularized by the Platters, Three Degrees, Boney M, Patsy Cline, Elvis Presley, the Bee Gees, the Beatles, the Stylistics, Air Supply, Everly Brothers, John Denver, Cat Stevens,  Roberta Flack and other great American singers that have a cyclical life in our turntable. Of course, who can forget Imelda Papin, Yoyoy Villame, the APO, VST, Ric Segreto, Basil Valdes, Celeste Legaspi, Coritha etc.

“Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain, telling me of what a fool I have been. I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain.  And let me be alone again.”  They are now.  The memories of the past is fading too faster now.  It seems that I would only had the chance to relive them every Sunday when the radio pays a tribute to these once great music. The memories that connects my mind like a Magic Sing to the many of our family’s great heritage, such that of my Grandpa’s old and forgotten turntable. Nothing beats the good old days of yore in my life, I guess.

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