Month: October 2025

What Is This? Where Is This?

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

dreams

What is this? Where is this?

I have been documenting all my “bizarre” dreams, and this is one of them. Normally, I experience them during Saturday afternoon naps.

What is this? Where is this?
There’s a stove right
behind my head bed.
A plastic container sits
on top of it; full of boiling water.
“What is happening? What have you done, mother?”

“The plastic container must be stronger
than a cauldron,” my sister says.
I panic to shut the stove as the room is
now soaked in hot steam.
The problem is, the bed is way too high,
I can’t reach.
My brave sister switches it off like magic.

What is this? Where is this?
I’m checking on rooms to see if they’re up to par.
Not about cleanliness or sanitation assignment.
Just about their existence. Are they
well behaved without rails and bars?
There’s a supervisor following me around;
a cousin with an instinct and an eye.
I run up the stairs of an archaic apartment,
then disappear into a door leading into a
tidy, dim kitchen.
Where an old cousin washes dishes;
stoic and unapologetic.
I ask her, “You’ve been here all this time,
and yet you have never dared to visit –?”
My rage gets intercepted with a knock and
a voice, “You there?”
The old cousin looks out her small window
and warns, “Get down!”
We slump down on the floor, locked in an
embrace. Then she whispers, “Whatever
happens, do not move, do not even breathe.”
The voice gets closer, humming —
Humming on!

Come and get me;
what is this? where is this?
Another new piece is born.

Never explain. Simply shut it off.
Stop living. In a desperate world.
Stay in your own bubble
and keep your goings on and
whereabouts in check.
Hide and breathe in silence,
create pieces of magic.

I am weak, it’s all I can do.
My head bed does not even know
who I am and how I show
my heart, my spirit
lost to time in throes.
But here I am, oh, yes, here I am.
Still in flow.
In my own mystery that glows.
God, have mercy on my soul.
When pieces steam up hot enough,
it’s time to go.

What is this? Where is this?
Nobody knows.

Bust!

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

politics

Bust!

t’s not hate, it’s ultimate rage! Politics is a clown — a ghoulish-faced numbskull!

Tongues locked; keys destroyed
Sin handcuffed; history cursed
Pens imprisoned; weapons burned
Faith killed; world’s blood poured

Men’s rules; wild white
Anarchy or isolation?
The right; evil is born
The irony of it all
Humanity mourns

Is murdered by a playbook
ending in defeat.
Marked across all continents.
When will they ever learn?
Crushed power, retrieved riches
Exiled authorities, vanished by time
Vomited out by survivors
and compassion without a dime.

Politics is a clown
a ghoulish-faced numbskull
Gold and thrones; stolen
Fools! Hand the world over
It’s all they want.
Huh! Huh! Huh!
All yours, twats!
All yours! All yours!
I’m out of this swamp
long before dawn
Harp sounds sharp

Ordered to fear through guises
Believers; narrow minds
Never seen their own backyards
Never heard a lion’s growl
calling out their names.
Fighters; vulnerable souls
Felt hearts, understood the scrolls
Tired of losing the rose and controls
Down on grounds and all over floors!

I told you so!
Huh! Huh! Huh!

Keys destroyed.
History cursed.
Weapons burned.
World’s blood poured.

Never ending, a new time
arises again and again.
New faces, same devils
play the darkest game.
Outwitting the last,
amplifying the old blueprints,
dumbing down and threatening
citizens.

Of the world that must
care of their own territories.
Now facing harsh realities.
Obliterate names from statistics.

Or–

Sacrifice; create keys.
Write in war zones; create history.
Sing to drown out bombs; create weapons.
Shield each other; create a world of our
own.

What’s Your Worth?

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

Dreams

What’s Your Worth?

One Saturday afternoon nap flew me into this bizarre dream.

My father, a hero
picked me up
from the land
I was lost in.
He drove a
new tricycle
that could
almost fly.
We zoomed
by trenches,
zinged through
angry trees,
zigzagged down
rough roads
by a scintillating
lake that almost
lured us into
an untimely
end.

I wondered why
it was just the
two of us.
He said not to
worry as he would
pick up my sister
half way.
Confused; my
sister was
safe and happy
back home.
I missed her.
He missed her, too.
But the trip
must go on,
a trip towards
a destination
that was only
meant for me.

We arrived in
a provincial town,
foreign to me.
He said I must
wait patiently
for his
return as he
was on his way
to pick up
my sister.
I trusted him,
of course.
But I wondered
where the trip
would end though.

Where exactly?
And where was I?

He said he
struggled really
hard to get there.
There were
impossible obstacles
along the way.
Natural disasters,
creepy woods,
broken roads.
Until he found
his place and
made it his own.
For the first time,
he rose to
prominence
without doing
anything heroic
at all.
Just his
heart and soul.

So I lingered
around there
to wait.
I spotted shacks
of shops nearby,
ancient houses
made of bamboos;
in one of them a box
of 80s television was
on, with a hazy
reception.
Some local men
sauntered by,
unbothered,
dressed in 80s
fashion.

I got hungry.
I had three
food items
stuffed in a
weird basket.
In one translucent
box was a croissant;
painted on it was
a face of an
unknown woman.
In the other was
something that
was not edible.
I could not eat it
or I would die.
Then I had
fried meat;
it was a bird
inside a turtle shell,
and it was supposed
to be good, and I
wondered how it
got there since I
could never eat
meat at all.

So I waited
and waited
—

A local bus
turned up
in a blink of
an eye,
transporting
school kids.
They were
jolly and hyped up
to get home.
Though I noticed
the boys
swooped out
from inside
and the girls
were riding
on the
vehicle’s exterior,
yet they still
managed to
get home
unharmed
unscratched,
relieved and happy.
I was about to
scold the driver
but something
in me went numb.

Then I succumbed
to hunger.
A group of sweet delicacy
merchants
occupied the
Main Street.
I had not even
a cent on me
until my father
arrived.
So I wandered
around to
check it all out;
one busy lady
caught my eye.
She would simply
swing by to grab
anything she liked
and the merchants
would just shrug
it off and say,
“Okay.”

I thought to myself,
“How is that okay?”

I waited and waited
some more.
Until reality
brought me back.

From wherever I was.
From losing my father again.
From a treacherous trip.
From the strangest town
I had ever been to.

Somewhere, someday,
I will understand it.

But what if I won’t?

Well, as my guide says,
“All humans are going
to die not knowing their
worth.”

Now, how I wish
my father did.

I wish he did.

Wars!

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

politics

Wars!

I wrote this poem out of rage.

Wars!
endless wars
of all nonsense
concocted by
idiocy
acted upon by
the cowardly

Wars!
for history’s sake
a legacy of death
as power wanes
as power eludes
the answer
to make themselves
known

Wars!
politics of poor minds
religion of the hungry ego
philosophy of weak character
they fire
they kill
they laugh
only to meet
their tragic endings
in front of both
enemies and friends

Wars!
evil chaos to
reshape society,
they say
when humanity
is fed everyday
full, information
to be consumed
to reshape minds
and betray souls
trapped in
ignorant
illusion

Wars!
the pride of
the brave,
they say
the medals of
honor
so legendary
for what?
for what?
oh, what business
is most profitable
blood
human decay
orphans
suffering
a spiteful end

Wars!
life
pointless
heartless
terror of
greed
fame
power

Wars!
of world leaders
of societies
behind the curtains
dressed in suits
stinky breaths
ugly, PIGS!
spit, spit, spit
pits are ready

Enough of Sleep

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

dreams

Enough of Sleep

This poem snuck out from a dream during my afternoon nap. Weird.

Enough of sleep
for her
No more lounging
for tears

Living for nothing
empty the jars
Sin, no one is pure

Opening the mind
finding the right key
meeting an unknown

Standing behind me
stout, ugly
silhouetted identity

A bright diner
floating in the abyss
Joy, laugh until dawn

Crowd… lost…
swarming in from
nowhere

Entertainment
blasts on, stimulating
more grief, escape

From above
witnessing the grand
fear pushes me back

A white woman
stands behind,
bearing her class

Leading the way
floating down
a flight of stairs

Into the crowd
roaring, on high
suddenly dismissed

Up I go
A sneak, a bull
Only to find

Three broken doors
with one catching
my hand on hold
while the other two
creak and groan

Sin more
dream more
God is asleep
Nothing to hide
Nothing to keep

Enough of sleep
for her

No more lounging
for tears

Haunting Wisdom We Don’t Care About

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

ramblings

Haunting Wisdom We Don’t Care About

I wrote this when “automatic writing” cocooned me up: we get ill out of all the stupidest things.

The world lied to you at birth.
Authenticity is the best fashion.
Be stoic. Be ethereal.
Stay obsessed with one creative hobby. It will move your life in a million ways.
Everyone practices witchcraft everyday. They’re just not aware of it.
Do not hope. Move.
Want to make a dream come true? Invent a character.
Words are not what they seem. They are layers of lies and truths.

A man’s story begins at night.
Humans are all walking dead creatures.
Being a naturalist is never easy.
Never fear death. For the world has already ended at the turn of the century. No humanity is left anymore.
God holds your purpose captive. Persuade Him to reveal it to you.
Speak like you’re on a deathbed.
Two entities destroy the spirit of humanity everyday: politics and religions.
We are not designed to know endings. Even our own.

Sometimes hearts whisper lies.
Stoicism is an emotion; the most powerful there is.
Treat life as a baby. On the same token, treat life as both a friend and an enemy, certainly not a family.
Sense of wonder is lost.
Time is dying.
Do you ever talk? How do you talk? Do you talk with your thoughts? Apparently, it’s the hardest thing to do.
There is no ladder to climb on, only a mindset.
Your eyes are not supposed to see. Your ears are not supposed to hear. Skin is always supposed to be color blind.

Music is the truth.
You don’t create your own life. That’s society’s job. You’re being primed all the time. You’re just in denial.
You’ll find out soon enough that the smartest people you know are legitimately ignorant.
High isn’t up there. High is left on the ground, harmless and careful. It’s a way to trespass death.
Shut up and live.
The present does not exist anymore.
Memories are not nostalgic. They are feelings that have hurt you, joyful or sad. Memory is simply a euphemism for grief.
“Keep me” is what you must tell yourself all the time.

“I’m free” is always the most difficult to say.
Do your heart a favour; stop begging. 
The best trip of a lifetime is sitting alone in your room for as long as you can. 
There’s no dream without validation.
The best comfort is confidence with a little bit of arrogance.
Love pays.
As days go on, the mind gets cheaper.
Strength does not mean you’ve survived. It will always be there testing you out.

Caring can be dangerous.
Walk out there blindfolded.
You’re fine. You just make it complicated to make life interesting.
You don’t seek God. God seeks you. And this is the saddest truth.
Let go of who you believe you are. It’s not you. It’s borrowed.
Invent a mind that keeps you from walking out of doors. Because modesty is an ally. Never let them know.
Having wealth is a great opportunity to learn deeper about yourself.
Wealth does not change you. You change its value.

Everything is superficial. Only trust your intuition, though intuition is always betrayed.
Wealth gives us wisdom. It opens our eyes to the truth, the elusive truth. The only problem is we’ll never truly know which one it is above all.
People give each other trauma all the time. It’s what guides them through. Otherwise, there’s nothing to fight for.
God fights for us every second. Yet we fight back.
We get ill out of all the stupidest things.

We get ill out of all the stupidest things.
Everyday.

Filipino Pride

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Filipino Pride

I love being Filipino. Proud of my blood. However, confronting truth is also a pain.

A true Filipino, you say?
You’ve gotta talk to me
‘cause I’m ready to party!

I’ve got no house
but I’ve got a home
a close-knit bond
that my heart owns
I’ve learned to smile
and laugh that zones
them out into a life
milestone

Just imagine going
through natural
disasters
yet there I am
praying hard
hoping and coping
to recover
while all the while
humor is unbothered
my family and I
love makes me
feel like we can live
forever

Oops. I’ve gotta go
somewhere
to make life better
though nostalgia
loneliness and pain
would shatter
me to extremes
yet I’ve got dreams
for my loved ones
so they won’t
have to suffer
from scarcity
while bouncing
and prancing
through the
wild home city
of our forefathers

Though they’re okay
in every way
I’m just too
ambitious
and adventurous
greedy. Huh!
So what? 
Pain is gain
hard work
is a win
sweats and bloods
life spins
into a wheel
of fortune
under my name

The family name
ready to sacrifice
the smiles
the laughs
even God’s advice

Remember, once the
trees turn greener
rains keep on
pouring
they don’t 
wither
Ah. It’s fine.
I can be a 
loner
here I am
making a fool
out of myself
betraying my
education
darn sinner

I’ve learned
to stand up for
my DNA
If race is their
problem then
they’ve never
had a good day
such misery
I’m sorry
for how society
has taught them
to hate and cuss
still clinging
on to the past
all I know
for sure
all I know
for sure
it all starts 
somewhere

Somewhere
fast!

I suppose
they’ve never
had a home to
speak of
a family to
pray with
and love
they’ve been
shoved
off.

So let me see
what I can do
can I show you
what love
means
and your
best virtue?

I can let you
into my home
if you need
shelter
I can also feed you
an abundant
dinner
I can sing
a lovely song
to heal your
heart a little
I can tell you
inspiring
stories
to make you
feel a lot
better

A true Filipino, you say?
You’ve gotta talk to me
if you’re  ready to party!
Talk to me
talk to me
only
if you’re
ready.
To be in
a real
life party.

The Choice that Sounds like a Threat

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

Ramblings

The Choice that Sounds like a Threat

Nonsense rambling. Allow me. “Why have we imprisoned ourselves like this? It’s outrageously horrible!”

Work is a choice. A choice that we’re too naive to understand. A choice that sounds like a threat. A choice that stands alongside fear. We must work to survive. It makes us discover our strengths and weaknesses. We work to live and die. We work with one goal, and one major goal only. We work to fight ‘against’ our dignity and moral principles. It’s how we were programmed. Either it holds us back or moves us forward, depending on its nature. Is it really something that we love to do? Is it our dream job? Is it rewarding and fulfilling?

But what if you are left with no choice, then you end up working at a fast food place, a retail store, or in the hospitality industry? Or any customer service job that ‘requires’ you to forget your professional aspirations and even your educational background. In most cases, it may also drive you to dim your ‘joyful light’ due to the existing toxicity that is often not addressed. Would you still be able to recognize yourself after you got fired, handed in your resignation, or simply stomped out of there without looking back?

I bet not. You are never the same person anymore. Pieces of you have checked out on their own. While there are some new ones swirling around that you must welcome in now. Either positive or negative, it matters a great deal. Why? Because it will carry you along for the rest of your life. It will change you. It will test your character. It will test your faith in yourself. Then you get to ask yourself a pivotal question, “How much trust do I still have left in me?” Or, “How much do I trust myself now?” Would you still thrive? Would you still try again? Would you fight? My truth? Yes, I still thrived. Yes I still tried again. But no, I was always afraid to fight… back!

It’s all a game. A ‘how can I make it through this day’ game. A new set of challenges is thrown in your face each time. You better get your strengths ready. Know your cards. Know your allies and enemies. Know your bosses. They will tell you who they are in the first three days alone. You can see glimpses of truths in their eyes, actions and words. Pay attention. Not one soul in that small circle is genuine. I don’t want to sound bitter, judgmental and pessimistic. However, you must accept the harsh reality of it all. That it’s all just a game, and nothing else but.

A game.

Too abrupt, but… does it make sense, though?

Let Me Tell You a Story

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

Let Me Tell You a Story

I wrote this when I hit rock bottom while I was living in Edmonton. When God pushes you out of a place that is never meant for you after all.

Let me tell you a story about this one lady. Who’s already in her mid-forties. She doesn’t know where her life is going. She idles. She hops from one place to another. She believes her life is full of junk. She doesn’t have a purpose. Yet, she believes she’s on a mission. Though one thing I know for certain. It isn’t over yet. It isn’t over yet. As long as she keeps on moving. Moving forward. Trying. Doing. Dreaming. Hoping. It isn’t over yet.

Let me tell you a story about this one lady. Who’s already in her mid-forties. Who kept on returning to a place she once called home. And each return became a painful test of her faith. A painful test of her character. A painful test of courage. Until during her last return, she had finally reconciled with the truth. It was never a home after all. It was a home for more self-discovery. Her faith, her character, her courage only rose up high. Time to let go. Time to let go. She went home to her heart, mind, and spirit. As this place has now become a memory slide.

Let me tell you a story about this one lady. Who caught the evil eyes around in a place she once called home. The evil eyes who wished her harm. And the harm cost her everything. Everything. She lost her job. And no one dared to give her a chance. She fell ill. She was on the verge of losing it all. Even if she found a job, people would treat her badly. And so she would end up quitting. They found a way to make her disappear. Until one early morning, her father descended from heaven to appear in her dream. To send her a message. And as soon as she woke up, she made a bold decision. Clarity made her act fast. And things fell into place at once. Like magic. She was out of there. At last. 

The Race

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

The Race

This prose was inspired by the chaos I would experience at work from time to time.

Catching my breath to run away and move on. To accomplish a day. I spot a flock of pigeons greeting me with a swift candor, then they fly away.

A ghastly whistle directs at me, with a series of orders. I pinch my skin, yes, indeed, I am human, not a machine. I am told that I am the best candidate for a race to satisfy a master. I dust it off and get ready. I run on to find a comet aster to survive. I am going crazy.

Along the way, a turtle slams itself against my knee. I trip; blood spurting out of my forehead. “Relax,” it reminds me. “I’m just a little fella. How could you trip and bleed?” Its face distorts into a sardonic realization, then it laughs and swears — laughs and swears — laughs and swears — “Oh my goodness, you poor, poor thing. I thought you were the strongest contender? What’s the matter?”

“I have to go through the walls and the tunnel, then roll around the endless lot,” I reply.

“Why, that’s easy peasy! That’s not a problem at all!”

“Are you kidding? That’s impossible.”

“What did the pigeons say?”

“How did you know about the pigeons?”

“Who doesn’t know about the pigeons? Everybody knows about the pigeons. Come on. Pay attention. So what did they say?”

“Nothing. They just gave me a nod, then they flew away.”

“It wasn’t just a nod. It was “the” nod.”

“The nod for what?”

“Be outspoken. Be honest. Stand your truth.”

“Oh. Is that what it meant?”

“I told you to pay attention. You’ve got friends around here, you know?”

“Okay, good. Thanks for the assurance. So now, what do I do?”

“You go back there and shut the ghastly whistle up,” the turtle says. “Tell the ghastly whistle to show it to you first, to achieve the impossible, how to win this race. Because, my darling, no one can. It’s the one and only race in the entire universe that can never be won. No matter how fast and strong you are.”

“Pay attention,” I ponder, cackling. “I got duped! Goddammit!”

“That’s right, you poor, poor thing,” the turtle laughs. “Now, would you know how to survive next time?”

I’m not sure, really. But then —

I catch my breath. I run away. And I move on.

Hoping to accomplish yet another day.

And meet a comet aster. Or perhaps another turtle.

Along the way.

Mundane

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Mundane

This poem was inspired by my morning commute. What a painful awakening.

So overwhelming, here comes the mundane. Lifting myself from cushion, reeling into corpse. I secure a blessing first before I die, then off to meet other poor souls. No force.

The bus may be warm, yet it listens and warns. A long journey towards judgment day. The train awaits, bearing more of us. No one dares to utter a moan, we’re aware of our destiny. No fuss.

We arrive to be beaten, we are also silenced. Is this a punishment for entering? Not a home in sight, no cheerful delight. We’re told it’s a choice conceived out of a foolish yearning. No singing.

Desperate to escape, praying to stay alive. Yet, dignity holds on to survive. It’s fine, keep trampling it down. To fight back is a waste of time. It has already stuck into the skin. Society, this mundane, it stings.

What’s even more overwhelming is they’re afraid of the sun. All of us are going to die at once. But I refuse to leave with snakes and vultures eating off my heart. My corpse will not let me lay to rest until I am satisfied with my art.

Though I am ready to depart.

The overwhelming. The mundane.

The Almighty Secret

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

The Almighty Secret

Pain; a eureka moment! I wrote this poem as a tribute to my love for poetry.

It took me a long, long while to discover an almighty secret; the places where I lived, visited, and created. The folks who broke me to pieces and those who were kind enough to put me back together. The ventures I risked, making a fool out of myself.

Love betrayed me, one got away. Others cursed my destiny. As the drumbeat went on, a new era was born. While I longed to sulk in the dark to nurse a dream that had been torn.

The almighty secret had no meaning to the world. Yet, the world crept its way into it for whatever it was worth. For I knew deep down in my devilish soul that I was bigger than life, though I was obscure.

Thank goodness for hell, I would disappear at night. Into realms and spheres led by spirit guides. God spoke His truth and I refused to abide. I must get lost to learn about goodbyes.

The almighty secret released me from a human dream. It was way much better than what I had imagined. God let me loose to ignite my fire. The mind, oh, the mind, I had nowhere to hide.

Let me go, let me be happy. For I had already found a company. The mind, oh, the mind, the staggering mind. Thank you for killing my time while getting hurt helped me find —

The almighty secret to romance with; a little legacy begging me to forgive. It burns, it scorns, it dances, it never returns. Once discovered, everyday I shall mourn.

The almighty secret; this. An escape; a little peace, a little kiss. The mind, oh, the mind. I am yours, you are mine. No matter what you bring to me, whether grief or joy, will always be kind.

The mind, oh, the mind. Take me away, I am not fine.

Take me away… Take me away… for I will always be undefined.

Mad Woman from Mystical Woods

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

Mad Woman from Mystical Woods

I wrote this during a meditative state. Who am I?

I’m a mad woman from mystical woods where nature glazes through the heart of clouds. As a child, I would sit by the waterfalls with animals, waiting for angels to come by. A desired wish was whispered to me by the devil. I believed it and surrendered. The only way to hear heaven’s symphony was to fly so far away. An adventure of the brave and beauty.

As a mad woman from mystical woods, I climbed up mountains to meet the four seasons. Winter was a fairy tale where I was rescued by reindeers. Spring was truth unfolding before my longing eyes. Summer was home to keep me alive. And fall? Well, it was a surprise. For the wish needed to die.

The desired wish was a forbidden fruit that a mad woman like me must not devour. My friends were colourful and gallant spiders hidden in exotic leaves, with a strange power. The four seasons were not meant for us after all. Such realization was gifted by fall. Civilization, as they called it, was full of dangers and hate. The devil, indeed, wanted me dead.

To believe and surrender was not in the mad woman’s magical books. Though it was never a mistake leaving the mystical woods. It was fate, it became a muse. The beginning had ended. The end had just begun. It was when I knew how life must dwell under the sun.

I heard heaven’s symphony when I basked in rains. When I caught gold before rainbows could even appear. When I spoke to the angels and the devil at once. When my friends fought to catch my attention before I could run. When the mystical woods sang to keep me awake. “Here”, nature said, “you are loved until the very end.”

The adventure of the brave and beauty gave birth to a shack. Where piles and piles of stories hid away from the wild. For I, the mad woman from mystical woods, would rather commune with the waterfalls. Animals understood my soul without judgment and applause.

My madness, no one shall ever cure. For it is certain and pure. The mystical woods are where the sun still shines. I don’t need any more signs. The heart of clouds is where I will be buried. What would life be without madness and nature to be cherished?

What would life be without madness and nature to be cherished?