Blogging, Personal, Prose Poetry

Look At This Life (An Original Poem by RJ Marmol)

Look At This Life (An Original Poem by RJ Marmol)

old photos in the wooden box

Photo by Kaboompics .com on

The hours have come and gone 
And I can't remember how many times
I've cursed and checked this phone

It keeps buzzing and ringing
Blasting and humming

As I scramble and ramble
As I twist and I stumble

There's something I wait for
That I fully know is done for

I cast it aside
I took it in stride

I know something is off
That I strive to remember

There is something real good
But I cast it asunder

Is it under my bed
Was it all in my head

Did it just pass me by?
Did I bleed, did I cry?

I'm grasping for words
I've been pulling the cords

I'm dusting the cobwebs
I'm all out of sorts

Something was here
Close to me, I could swore

But it slipped through my hands
And away from my shore

I see specks of it floating
I could feel my fear mounting

My steps have become unsteady
My sight has begun to blur

What used to be here
I'm sure I've seen it before

Is no longer in my memory
But beyond that cold door

Of a past so clouded
And confused and shrouded

In mystery and debauchery
In glory and in theory

Piles of pictures
Cover this fresh scent of sutures

I lie and lie
I die and die

I send these cruel thoughts 
To the one that's on high

This floor may be cold
Like a story untold

I guess this is what it feels like
When you start to get old.

Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash
Personal, Prose Poetry

You Will Remember Me (Nostalgia) – An original poem by RJ Marmol

Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

Photo by Kinga Cichewicz on Unsplash

You Will Remember Me (Nostalgia) - An original poem by RJ Marmol

When your days are lonely
And your nights are slow
When you realize that on a Saturday
You have nowhere to go

You will remember me.

When you drive your car
And that sob song comes on
You will find yourself sighing
And humming along

When you pass by that cafe
That you always go to
It will stir a memory
Of a favorite haiku

When everyone you talk to
Is a "yes, man" you know
You will miss all the nights
That I argued with you.

When you go to a newsstand
And read a headline or two
You will think of the mornings
When I read them to you.

When you pass by someone with the same hair or perfume
You'd be wishing I was there waiting for you at home.

You will remember the times 
That I hit you too hard
Because you were too annoying
And or maddeningly glad.

You will remember the hours
You waited and cursed
Because it took me a day
To get dressed and find a matching purse.

You will remember that it takes me forever 
To finish up in the shower
That I dare not leave the house 
Without my lip balm and hair blower.

You will remember my silly dreams and my lofty ideals
You will remember my stupidity and the times that I bleed.

All those times I cried over a sappy old movie
Because the hero lost his true love and how I felt sorry

For a love found and lost at such a short time
For a love so forbidden that they call it a crime.

You will remember me in pizzas, ice creams and noodles
Through people and events and the mere sight of poodles.

Through walks and talks
Through smiles and tears
Through glory and defeat
Through pain and bliss.

You will remember me. Oh, you know you would.
Through the steps that you make and the times that you stood.

But right now I see you're happy right where you are
The crowds are distracting
And the music's always playing

You may not remember me now
But oh someday soon you will
And know that when that day comes
I'll remember you still

So wherever you are
And whoever you're with
When it gets a little quiet
Do me a favor, Steve.

Write me a letter
Put in a sentence or two
Send me something to read
And remind me of you.




Personal, Prose Poetry

A Subtle Smile (a poem for Ding) — RIP @dingg458

I wrote this for a dear friend, Ding Gagelonia whom I never had the chance to talk to in person but has always been a friend to me. Interest in politics and technology are what we share in common. Among other things, I do know he loved verses/prose poetry and so I thought it’ll please him to find one especially made for him. Ding, wherever you are, I hope you like this. RIP Kuya.

A Subtle Smile (a poem for Ding)
by: RJ Marmol

A hi, hello. A subtle smile.
Such are things that make your while.
A nudge, a laugh — though never heard
Move mountains usually unperturbed.

What words can say, thy spirit could.
It carries your wishes and sunny mood.

If there is gloom, no one can tell
For your voice sound strong, like a tolling bell.

Should I be sad, or reluctantly glad
That you will never again hurt so bad?
Should I cry and mourn or say out loud, Alas! You are now together with your one true God?

A gentle look, a lovely book
Neither one nor both can compensate for smiles you took.

No wasted years, no bitter tears
For someone whose life was full of cheers.

So I may pray each day for blissful May
‘Oh Lord skip March or a day away’
But I trust that God does great things His way
And need I mention, always with no delay?
So night came swift, it whisked away..
My dear friend Ding with Him to stay.


Personal, Prose Poetry

Who Needs a Birthday Wish?

Last year, it was “A Thank You Note on My Birthday”. This year, it’s a pledge.

Free Pretty Princess Pink Happy Birthday Cake Colors Creative Commons
Photo by Pink Sherbet Photography

Who Needs a Birthday Wish?
(a birthday poem by RJ, April 8, 2010)

When 230,000 people died in Haiti
And when hundreds more died in Chile?

When the world is slowly dying
And all of us with it?
When the truth’s become inconvenient
And the earth’s poles are shifted?

When NoKor trained its nukes
On all the world but itself?
Who, dear Lord would listen
To our desperate cries for help?

When a trainer gets killed
By her very own whale?
When secrets are peddled,
And lies are for sale?

When 57 people died
In a pre-elections convoy?
Because someone pulls the trigger
All too often like to a toy?

When a hundred mothers die
Everyday while giving birth?
When even more babies
Are thrown in the cold, damp dirt?

When 24% of the population
Consider themselves poor?
Yet the truth is more than that,
Yes more than that, I’m sure!

Is there a reason to ask
For a wish so unfeeling and cold,
When some people
Don’t even live to be a year old?

When people just “vanish”
Into thin air unexplained?
Just because they’re brave enough
To emancipate us, the enslaved!

When others spend their birthdays
Unconscious on a hospital bed?
When some are blind, some are dying
Or would never hear what I said?

Do I have one good reason
To ask for a birthday wish?
I want so much to ask for one,
Give me a reason, if you please?

Because today is my birthday,
My 31st.
And if there’s anything I want
The world to know, it is this:

The world doesn’t need
Another selfish birthday wish.
Too much has been requested,
Yet too few pledges have been made.

So today I make this pledge before you
And hope that you do the same
Long after my last birthday
May you remember why I came

To seek reconciliation and not enmity
To foster friendship and not animosity

To stop being selfish
And start being selfless

To count my blessings
And never the cost
To give what I can now
And forget what is lost.

To choose to see the good
But not to look away from the bad
To bring people together
And not separate them — that’s sad.

To heal past wounds
And not rub them again.
To be more forgiving, understanding
And not dwell on the pain.

To think less of me and more of you
To be more than a friend,
But a sister to you.

Because I have enough
And probably even more,
But like most people,
They wouldn’t admit to it, for sure.

We don’t need more diseases
What we need is a cure
We don’t need more pundits
With their thoughts so obscure

All we need is a little tolerance
Consideration and acceptance
A little more patience
A shot at deliverance.

This isn’t rocket science,
Not geekery-inspired.
Just a glimpse of the thoughts
I have here inside.

The flowers you give,
Soon enough may wilt.
And the words that you utter
Won’t wash away the guilt.

So make my day special
But don’t bother spending much
Diamonds and pearls,
I’m not a sucker for such.

If you’re thankful I’m alive,
If I bring you such pride,
It’s enough that you assure me
You’ll always be by my side.

Yes, remember this day
This day I was born.
But forget not, my brother
That this day isn’t mine alone.

So treat me no better today
Like you would tomorrow
Or like you did yesterday.


Though there’s nothing I stole
My life is but a borrowed role
And I am no more important
Than another human soul.

Happy birthday dear April 8 celebrants! May you find meaning in your life by living for others. And may you never have to celebrate your birthday alone.

Personal, Prose Poetry

Woe to the Writer

I was set to ‘kill time’ in school today. Made sure my journal was packed neatly in my bag. But lo and behold, as I was set to write, my lovely pen was nowhere in sight, thus the silly prose poetry. Tsk.

Woe to the Writer
by: RJ

Woe to the writer who is caught without a pen,
When the train of thought starts flowing
He’s but a helpless, crying baby in a hungry lion’s den.

How else will he appease upset dragons breathing fire?
How can his words satisfy this insatiable desire?

How else will he rationalize, hypothesize or theorize
Streams of musings that go swiftly in between blinks of his eyes?

In earnest ramblings of metaphors? Pitiful twists, ironies in disarray?
In incomprehensible assertions — all that cause the reader sure dismay.

The writer caught without a pen,
like a naked soldier amidst a fierce battle
Is left to either run, hide or foolishly surrender.

What to do then, pray tell, when all you have is the ‘here and now’
And when neither yesterday nor tomorrow will ever soothe you somehow?

When there is no time to waste searching for an elusive pen
Lest the ideas before you fly in haste like silly men.

How does a writer write when mere fingers can barely make a line?
When what’s in your head is sure to leave you in no time.

Woe indeed to the writer caught without his trusty pal,
When words come raining on a summer day’s lull.

If he misses this chance, this one perfect trine,
Tomorrow might pass him without passion or rhyme.

How will he pocket letters, mix and match, confound and clarify?
When nothing seems a blessing but these words from on high?

Such waste of time, such waste of thought,
Such moving tragedy for a struggling, stupid moth.

A loss indeed, a loss in need.
For what glory does a knight have
apart from his noble steed?