Ahas At Tao







Ahas at Tao


Ano? Kamandag?

Masamang ninanais,

nalaman ko na!—

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a self-directed study of Japanese "haiku" poems which I've been doing for some time now (as exampled in some of the poems listed here).  However, it was, in fact, written in another language.   This was still structured as a basic Japanese haiku of seventeen syllables, but by my current usage of Filipino/Tagalog language (yet another language group, one that is also widely used among the supposed "175" ones that are also spoken formally/informally in the Philippine archipelago), I thought that this could somehow aid in my informal studies.  I think this lets me examine the nuanced approaches to those elements in the free creation of "language" that are generally believed to be involved in the wide plethora of linguistic phenomena (as in the field of Linguistics itself).  This is only a practice poem to brush up on my Tagalog language skills & thereby learn from its subliminal, or nuanced, linguistic turn in the process (e.g., to denote its interrelation to semantics & intentionality: Kriegel, Searle, Quine, et al).  I only have tried to come up with these Filipino haikus for that sake, the stated initial purpose, but, secondarily, for my own personal applications as a firsthand experiencer.  During the last, while cross-referencing some of my notes, there are actually other Filipino haikus that were already existing (I recently have just discovered); and these were found online which also have their own particular haiku structures.  Thank you for reading on!



The Art of Writing...

The Art of Writing



Humanity's engraved history,
on the tips of our fingers,
on the tip of the mind

It's a beautiful art, isn't it?
How someone's soul,
Is expressed with a language
The art of writing

Of course, I do not
I do not limit
Limit to words...

Body language is the writing of the body
Music is the writing to decorate time
Facial Expression is the art of writing and interpreting...from the crust of a soul
Speech writes the base of language

Writing is not what you just think it is
It. Is. Pure. Art.


Now reading back on this poem, I have found my reason to write.


This thing called Writing. It's woven into our nature. As stated above, I consider things such as body language, facial expression, and music as "writing". 


 It's our own mind that limits us. Writing is not limited to words. After all, it is a way to express. Our ability to express is already woven in us from birth (for instance, when we cry, we express from the wails written, by our voice, in the air)...


And maybe I am mistaken...


When you kick when you were in your mother's womb, you may definitely express and inform something hehe...


 So really, it's my nature...our write.


Don't let yourself be the one who limits your potential! - SachikoMochiko :)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just another quick poem...

Based on Jonathan Chiu's post: "5 Reasons you should write"

See it here:

Changes; language

Changes; language

By jfarrell


“Where’s your rubbish bin?”

“My what?”

“Your rubbish bin; to throw out the rubbish…”

“Oh, you mean waste management”


What was wrong with rubbish bin?

Waste management?


I spent months looking through job adverts,

Looking for till operator, or checkout person;

Or cinema usher, team member…

Still haven’t learnt what those roles are now called.


Non-binary; snowflake; remoaner; brexiteer;

Cultural disapropriation; fake news;

Maybe it’s my age and my absence from the world;

But, woah! Language has changed.


When I went into childcare, I was trained,

‘keep your language simple’, so everyone can understand;

Doctors, psychiatrists, courts, parents, you and me;

Everyone can understand; multidisciplinary team.


Language today is like a minefield;

Tiptoeing on the eggshells of people,

Trying to avoid the cracks of what is now ‘politically incorrect’;

And huge money to be made at every misstep.


Please explain to me something…

How could George Orwell, who died so long ago,

Still foretell, with such accuracy,

How we would live today?




Author's Notes/Comments: 

i am NOT a nonbinumerical subsubtracting equatiion!!! i am a freee binary digit

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By jfarrell


Four words created the universe and everything in it;

“Let there be light”;

Three words ended my last friendship;

“You’re so negative”.


With words we can build great things;

But we can also use words to wrought the most terrible destruction

We can encourage each other

Or tear one another down


Our most tender, treasured kiss we describe with words

As we do our most agonising pain

Whether bringing people together in love and unity

Or turning everyone against each other


When you hit me, you hit one person

When I write, dozens read my empty ramblings

The pen is mightier than the sword

Someone once said


My words will and are building

Reshaping a better world;

To everyone who ever hurt me…

I’m still here; stronger; and changing your world

With my words.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

i wish i had the right words

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Breakfast Scramble


Crispy and flaky
Always screaming
Where does the time run to?
A peel here 
And a scrape there 
Spreading on thin
What seems to accomplish the morning
What can all be put into a little cup
Of happiness? 
But closure; [[end task]]  
We cringe and boil into a frenzy
If motion isn't in our favor
what if we paused for one second
To give the clocks hands a break
So our nucleus can replenish
To Allow cells to renovate the mitochondria  
If we cracked open the shell 
took out the cholesterol 
We could see a more vivid bake 
Flipping and pouring out what contents we wished to have results for 
Pressing down on a home slice
Then buttering em up for the crowd
Pressure makes combustion
Be careful what you steam and strain
You don't want raw
But overcooked is trashy 
Pressure could create a hard soul 
On the other hand
That can't be broken or scathed 
In which were in 50/50 odds 
With our gods 
More or less rips in the seams let in 
Sunlight but also darkness
Fruit ripen then rot when kept away from the world regardless of good or bad company
Rambles scramble lingo into jargon
And Mumbo jumbo into conspiracy 
What we have is
what we got 
But what we want is
what we can make happen 

Marque Dos

I heard a word

on TV:

one Latina called another a coconut,

un coco,

because she couldn't speak Spanish:

"brown on the outside,

white on the inside."


I couldn't help but laugh

at the imagery.

It made me realize

that I must be a marshmallow,

un malvavisco:

white all around,

but hoping to walk through the fire of language

just long enough to brown around the edges,

a tostarme un poco,

to distance myself from the hegemony, and

excuse myself from the party

that's headed for the same token American bar

as last week.


Snow White, naïve Blancanieve


Looking to blend in more than to stand out.

To disappear, a desaparecerme, somewhere.


In Lisbon someone asked if I was Spanish.

In Madrid, Portuguese.

Both times I said no, but thank you so much.


Still forgetting words left and right,

asking to repeat.

Years later I'm out of practice.

Always minding the difference between

mente & menta

entre menta y mente

una mente de menta mentirosa y sabrosa...


The masochistic pursuit of

sideways elevator glances,

supermarket suspicion,

and accusations of having a fondness for underdogs.


America says, “Speak English!”

Everyone else says, “America, try speaking anything but.”


We've got the net

so we can connect:

fiber optic

cables intersect.

Fast cars and highways,

we've got flash mobs and

we've got the bomb.


We view immigrants

---the newer ones, not us---

as software that's outdated

and needs to be upgraded.


This is not my land and this is not your land.

Imaginary lines tend to cost a lot of lives.


Keeping up appearances:

take French in high school.

The state says you should;

it makes your transcript look good...

nothing to do with any actual aspirations of

global citizenship.


Everyone's all up in arms over

Por favor, marque dos para español.

Don't like it? Then don't marque dos, asshole.


Meanwhile, we sell steaks and beer using Australians,

perfume and bras with Italians,

and your GPS comes out of the box speaking British English so you're more likely to trust it.


But anything we don't understand at home

is perceived as a threat:

una amenaza.

I had to look that word up,

cuz it's one I forget.


Much of what we call inclusion

is an illusion:

do we really want to reach out,

or continue in seclusion

con esta confusion que nos separa?

con esta realidad que nunca para?


I heard a word

on TV,

because that's where we hear things.



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Stress Patterns

I can pour a cup of tea in the dark, by sound.

Exact facts and stacks of stats reverberate within earshot
and I know when you’re around.
I know when you have something to say
because you take a few quick breaths in,
allowing your lungs just enough air to support the words you want to get out,
but not so much that there’s a risk of any getting stuck in there,
left behind.
Just syllables,
and consonant clusters
dissolving into the mucosal lining of your lungs,
little bits left to fester, ferment, and cause infection.
Unwritten words that don’t become airborne are left
to decay and fossilize as dead weight.

A phoneme is defined as the smallest indivisible unit of sound in a language,
like sh in sharing, t in time bomb, and r in la radio.
These are the single bump Lego bricks in our castles of conversation
and the stray bits of thread in our spoken tapestries.
These sounds are no more significant than fizzes or pops
until we allow them to assemble
starting in the lungs, then in the larynx, then in the mouth.
We synthesize words that sting, bite, seduce, create, and destroy.
Words are the cherry stems we tongue-tie or spit out.

You take a few quick breaths in and all your
and consonant clusters
come falling out at varying speeds.

This is the moment when you decide if you’re building a castle around us
or a wall between us.

Choose wisely.

Either way, be sure your words are bricks and not straw,
or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow them back into your ears, and into your eyes
with a deafening roar and a blinding fog.

Before your words become bullets, remember that I listen at close range.

I can pour a cup of tea in the dark, by sound.

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I want to speak one more Language
That everybody can easily speak
Same as our food or as beverage
If not, it means, we are weak

I wish I could deal with people
In everywhere, whatever they are
I hope I can once be able
To become a friend to those are aware

Serious or peaceful situations
Should not affect our hearts
The poverty or luxury nations
Are only our world' parts


The Dear Poem

Hey Post Poems, how are you today?
I have this idea, and I'd love to do it,
But at sixty hours a week,
My back told me, "Oh, screw it!"
Wanna hear what it is?
Ok, here goes,
I woke up today, and found this on the tip of my nose,
As you see, we love to use words here a lot,
But so many words, it seems that I need, I forgot,
So I was thinking to open up a section of this site,
To write "Dear Letters" to words so we can write them right,
It could help to enhance one's expression of beauty,
Or even help some with a new language,
At dictionary visits of hundreds a day,
I bet that website's portals could use a bandage.

I am starting it off with a letter to "Vague",
He's been stalking since I was "Blunt"
I keep telling his sorry ass to get away,
Oh, you'd never believe this little runt!



Dear Vague,
    I have had it with you! You never give me the whole story, you're like half of a shoe. What good are you? You walk around like you're astute, but you're lazy, you never explain anything, and why I'm giving you the boot!



3:17 PM 4/17/2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I woke up with it in my head. Had to clean it out of there before I begin my day.

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