Month: November 2025

What’s the parade all about?

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

dreams

What’s the parade all about?

God has been smacking me into bizarre dreams that I would never understand, and this is one of them. Life is great and absurd at the same time after all.

the absurdity of this parade,
I’ve caught myself marching with strangers,
clueless, confused, like our lives depend on it,
It’s a sweltering summer scorched
around the unforgiving, dancing sun

we’re supposed to chant something important,
but I don’t remember the words at all,
neither do the others,
while some murmur inaudible phrases
under their exhausted breaths,
there’s a metre distance from each other,
yet, it seems we have covered the entire city,
even all over the dreary streets that no one cares about,
all the way down sketchy and dangerous
neighbourhoods that all citizens must stay away from,
I don’t know what the occasion is,
I’m sure it isn’t a protest either,
not fighting for any social or global change at all;
too extravagant, too involved, a waste of time
because who’s going to listen anyway?
all I know is I’m a part of the parade,
I’m aware that the others also share
the same sentiment

amidst this peaceful going on interrupting
the hustles and bustles of the metropolitan city,
two men zoom by on their bicycles.
One of them I distinctly recognize from a
painful, traumatic, yet memorable past.
the peculiar thing about it is, he has been in
my thoughts; haunting, disintegrating, though
full of life.
I knew, somewhere down the road, we would
meet again.
there’s no fear anymore, just pure curiosity,
concern, and perhaps even care.
he still looks the same,
he wears his hair long,
a revolutionary artist whose brilliant mind
always bounces around in full force.
not renowned, but recognized here and there.
words may not be his forte, intelligent discussions
he can never engage in,
because he’s more human, more authentic
than me and his fake friends.
he just likes to laugh over silly things,
a compulsive liar just to fit in,
flawed, easily tempered, indulges in two or three
deadly sins,
which all combined feeds his appetite for
creating unique paintings.
anyways, I blurt out a “pssst!” towards his
direction as fast as I can for him to catch it,
he’s the only one who can understand it;
a coded native callout gesture.
he instantaneously pauses, turns his head,
looks around for a bit.
he doesn’t see me,
or maybe he doesn’t recognize me at all.
I refuse to be seen as I nonchalantly march on
with the others.
how can he even recognize me?
my beauty has already been corrupted away
by time and cutting hardships,
a lot of extremely ugly transformations;
a testimony of survival and strength.
must I be proud of it?
not right now.
not yet.

once I’m back to myself a little, even just a little,
then I’ll show up on his doorstep,
so he pedals on to catch up with his friend,
they make a quick swerve, then disappear
into…
his exiting life, I suppose.
as for me? sweating, rambling in my head,
praying, moving forward with strangers,
arguing with my ego as to what to write about
and what to reward myself with after.

I wake up around noon, then boil and fry
perogies for thanksgiving lunch. I pair it up
with coffee as “Annie Hall” stimulates my
mind.

It is then I realize what the march is all about.
Damn it, life is great and absurd all the time
after all.

It is great and absurd.
All the time.
After all.

Doubts

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

PERSONAL

Yeah, Alright. I’m Sick.

And I must stay sick.

I’m sick,
I have doubts all the time,
though I believe in what I do,
I truly love it,
but the doubts keep me at ease,
I may have ideas,
but who even has time to change minds?
adverts? AI? Quantum Physics?
they change minds all the time,
they launch curiosity and facts,
they brainwash, they create societies,
and yet here I am being so sick,
having doubts despite the strong belief.

Strong belief?
Or ego?

also, I’m watching new shows,
with exaggerated characters
and brilliant story lines that must
run as chaotic as how my brain
absorbs human connections
that are overwhelmingly
flawed and grotesque.

but I must stay sick,
and I must have all the doubts,
it’s an undesirable adrenaline
to keep going,
as I remind myself:
keep believing.

I think it’s a great opportunity
to stay sick and have all the doubts.
Because the hard truth is
no one out there will sit with me
in silence.
No matter how long I have devoted
my life to this. No matter.
All I have to do
is to stay sick
and caress all the doubts.
Not to change minds.
Not to plant any ideas.

But just to stay sick and find meaning
in the lasting doubts offered by
either ego or a strong belief.

One Mind

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

dreams

One Mind

Music, writing songs, playing the piano saved my life. However, I’ve been slipping away from it all for the past few years now. Then it appeared in one of my bizarre dreams recently.

God reminded me of a
little spark that once saved my sanity,
a grand piano without life,
stood alone in the centre
of a bright room,
white walls, furniture shied away,
it was home for music,
a family’s sanctuary

a sparrow flew inside
to investigate the doldrums,
its beak inspected the sheets,
old compositions of my heart,
it also demanded to browse
through old notebooks
where scribbled lyrics
breathed out tunes and lullabies,
it closed its eyes
as it listened to the childhood cries

my mother then appeared
sat down on the stool and muttered,
“Play this. I’ll sing it.”
she handed me a piece,
my vision was fading away,
“No, Sorry,” the title was,
the chord progression was off,
it rearranged itself
while I fought with air to last

“That’s the wrong piece,” I panicked
and scoured for its first and clear draft,
she sat there quietly, oh, so patiently
as I scrambled for truth hidden in my craft,
the sparrow rested on her lap
and fell asleep during the commotion,
I succumbed to tears and snapped,
“I no longer have devotion.”

“Oh, but you must! It’s in your blood!”
mother cried,
words, phrases, poetry, stories
are way more important;
they can change the world.
“You cannot change the world with those. Nobody can. They are just preposterous musings, causing you more harm.”

the grand piano started playing itself,
composing melodies we had never heard,
the room went dark, the sparrow left,
my mother forgave, then disappeared

“No, Sorry,” the title was.
I must get to know you again soon,
once freedom danced in my North Star.
God begged, “Be kind.”
Yes, God.
But please.
Let me have only one mind.
Just one mind.
Only.
One mind.

The Night Before Laughter Died

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

The Night Before Laughter Died

Call me cheap… but I plunged into deep sadness when Diane Keaton passed. So I wrote this poem about it, and it’s what happened the night before I found out.

the night before laughter died,
it was going giddy in my mind,
as I microwaved a plate of rice,
and a smoked fish floating in oil,
I saw it sipping some red wine

in all these years, the night before laughter died,
I worked on a dream to meet it alive,
well, I failed, yet, the arts I kept with utmost delight,
the lines, the jumps, the squeals, the screams; bliss,
oh, larger than life that, each time,
the stars, the sun, and the moon,
would blow the world kisses

the night before laughter died,
I struggled to enjoy dinner,
a raven sat outside my window,
taunting me to light a candle,
fear; nothing I could do

the night before laughter died,
I sought to escape from gloom,
a reel, a tune, a phrase, an image,
nothing could obliterate the doom,
I wheezed, I coughed, I wrote,
a piece of news would unravel soon

the night before laughter died,
I heard it one last time,
“Oh well… here I am… still… you know… handling it… carrying on… squealing…”
I replied, “Is this your way of saying goodbye?”
“Oh, yes, it is!” it said unapologetically, “Isn’t it fabulous? Isn’t life so fabulous? Haha! Good God! Haaa…”

the night before laughter died,
I shrugged it off and went to bed,
hoping for it to mess with me in a dream,
yet, it stole my sleep away,
the freedom in me screamed

I woke up the next day, feeling refreshed,
“Oh, pancakes! Pancakes!”
what a relief.
I turned reality back on, and there it was,
silence and grief; fear bit me at last,
but then again, I said to myself,
“Oh, silly me… What are you even doing? Who are you? Shoo! Shoo! Enough of all this nonsense now… because… pancakes are in the house…. Holy cow!”

Pancakes.
Oh, wow.
Laughter.
Took its last bow.

Make It Make Sense

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

dreams

Make it Make Sense

Oh my goodness! This is yet another bizarre dream that must terrorize my Saturday afternoon nap… nobody is left with an essence anymore.

a huddle with strangers,
I lead a prayer,
chanting away in my head,
only the departed can hear,
God sighs, angels giggle,
the strangers get confused,
a prayer for a benevolent emperor,
who sits in a throne,
floating on clouds,
as the world mourns

dewy, exquisite flowers,
passing on as a gift,
for whom are they?
nobody knows, nobody dares,
but they must travel,
to grace dark and filthy places,
to look for the right recipient,
in the sea of the dead

two nobody’s women,
indulging in a serious meeting,
one holds a piece of paper,
the other listens,
one asks, “would it be alright?”
the other replies, “check its verity.”
I walk by in silence,
they give me a look of despair,
I’m ready to go,
no time for me to show,
I’m beaten and dead inside,
why must my mind still flow?

nothing makes sense,
nobody is left with an essence,
a prayer has been delivered,
the flowers must be surrendered,
the two nobody’s women are silenced,
this is the land of men

meanwhile,
the benevolent emperor is a hoax,
God commands His troops,
the angels laugh out loud,
they snag me off the ground

hear ye, hear ye!
let us all pray,
hear ye, hear ye!
let us all pray.

all I hear from confused strangers,
who look for me and the wonder
of verity

nothing makes sense at all,
nobody is left with an essence anymore.

Cliché Already

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

politics

Cliché Already

This political madness and all the ignorant yapping around to create more chaos… I would like to ask humanity, how’s your moral conscience doing?

Imagine holding vigils and worshipping assassinated men whose ideologies and politics are solely rooted from deep hate and ridiculous rage?
Yet, no one cares about innocent school children whose lives get taken away on random, sunny days.
No one cares about hard working citizens whose rights are stripped off under mischievous guises and aberrant commands.

politics has now become superior to laws,
justice becomes a word amounting to nothing,
selling out fear, testing out obedience,
killed humanity’s voice; silence rampages on to kill,
hope, they say, is all we have,
who is hope?
what is hope?
where is hope?
how powerful is hope?
when is hope found?
just uttering the word alone makes me sick to my stomach,
say it over and over again, and you start to doubt its meaning,
or worse, you forget about it at once.

hope is weak,
hope is an illusion,
hope keeps us away from the truth,
so then how do we get out of this?

never,
though, time may intervene,
time has its own quirks and tricks,
time forces it to cool down,
time designs butterfly effects to face the consequences at the end of the tunnel,
time tears down towers and empires,
time writes history,
time has its beginnings and endings,
time rebuilds,
time clocks on forward,
until…
… next time…
it’s back to terrorize again.

Bad ideologies, corrupt politics; religions of the sick and the power-hungry.

Hope no more.
Time hurries on.

So I’m Gone

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

So I’m Gone

I’m obsessed with death. It’s the first and last thing I can think of every single day. I wonder a lot about it, and my curiosity just keeps on firing up. So I wrote yet another “death” piece just to suffice this “morbid fantasy”.

What happens after I die?
This is the question
that confronts me
each time I wake up.
Also, this question;
slaps me out of worries and concerns,
pushes me to move on from hurt,
slips me into rabbit holes of my own identity,
shoves me away from the worldly,
cues me in to the magic of time.

So I’m gone.
Into an unknown realm.
Mind celebrities even make up stories
about how surreal yet enchanting it is
just to comfort the living.
Where grief is answered with full love.
Where a reunion with passed loved ones
is assured.
Where the past, the present, and the future
meet up.
Where mystery becomes truth.
Where truth becomes judgment.
Where judgment weighs hearts and souls.
Where hearts and souls finally understand
their purpose.
Where purpose rests.
All at last.

So I’m gone.
Into an unknown realm.
My poetry and stories hopefully will live on;
to guide my niece through this insane world,
for my loved ones to understand my absence more,
to stand up for my dignity and integrity to
those who have done me wrong,
for old friends who will suddenly appreciate
my helping hand and my parting words,
for those whose tears poured over
my cutting punch lines,
for old bosses and colleagues
who beat me up good,
for peers who had seen my value,
for evil eyes who still work in the dark
to harm my name,
for churches that would defy my beliefs,
for students who would study life
through my perspectives.

I was:
an oddball
a misfit
a lone wolf
a curious munchkin
a seeker of silence
a fighter
a survivor
a vagabond

I was homeless.
Yet, I lived a full and colourful life.
I worked hard down to the last muscle
of my strength.
I tirelessly wrote since I was a little girl
until I knew it was time to say goodbye.
I failed many times.
I won hearts many times.
I cried and laughed over my
inhibitions many times.
I held back.
I hid away.
I never had a real name.
I never knew who I was.

So what really happens after I die?
I’m gone.
Just gone.
Gone forever.
With only this to leave behind.

Though, I may let you know
how it goes in the
unknown realm
once in a while.

Through a stranger
born after my time.

Corpses at a Work Party

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Corpses at a Work Party

My big boss throws parties once in a while where awards and certificates are also given to the deserved few. During my first attendance, something inside of me had ignited. It was a brutal awakening that I could not shake off in any way… leading me to write this poem.

“Welcome to your funeral!”
the boss proclaims,
his board members
grin at us
like the grim reapers
as we enter.

A bountiful feast awaits.
scrumptious meals;
dishes and drinks
we have never
heard of before,
colourful desserts with
odd shapes and designs,
arresting mood,
enticing celebration.

Even tables and chairs
look inviting.
All of a sudden,
their meaning extends
towards our existence.

“Welcome to your funeral!”
the boss proclaims again.
We take our spots,
exchange murmurs,
crack up a little,
introduce ourselves to each other,
ponder on our time
as we wait for the
ceremony.

Some receive monetary awards,
others revel in appreciation certificates,
the newbies smile and nod,
the forgotten wince and tear up a bit.
Whereas, I, observing and feeling,
am detached from what I’m seeing.
Must I owe them my life
for surviving?
Haven’t they heard what
the boss has proclaimed?

“Welcome to your funeral!”
Or is it just my insanity
playing tricks on me
to stay in reality.

Our names are carved
in tombstones.
The drinks, the dishes, the desserts
are poisons.
There are no rewards without
a life sacrifice.
There are no certificates without
blood shedding.
There are no celebrations without
the devil’s fights.
There are no bosses and grim reapers without
the ignorant begging.

I look at us;
gobbling down
the main dishes, the drinks, the desserts.
the newbies, the forgotten, the awardees
go home everyday
as corpses
to their families,
to their lone shelters,
to life
that had already forewarned
about its cruelty
the moment we greeted
our first day.

Welcome to your funeral.
Welcome to your funeral.
It is what it is.
The sad things is,
no one grieves.

Sage

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

Sage

I wrote this for my nine-year-old niece, Sage. The only child in my life who I love so much. I’m scared, so scared, for her to see and know more about the world.

Love amplifies its meaning in full
like;
how God saves me time and time again,
how all beautiful creatures exist together
under the sun, under the moonlight, in the vast oceans,
how life riddles are answered with humour and heart,
how soul yearnings find joy and comfort in the arms of arts,
how symphonies delight my reveries,
how the sound of rain heals my pains,
how my once frail mortality now runs like a
mystical chariot to get to my desired destination,
how great Philosophies harmonize with the
most stunning cymatics,
how prayers sing to keep me moving to
accomplish something wonderful,
how lovely encounters make me excited
about humanity,
how kindred spirits in animals morph into
angels to wake me up,
how amazing stories written by the stars
find their way into the wounded,
how classic poetry resonates with a
timeless world,
how my weaknesses have shown me
their strengths,
how kind miracles surprise me while
struggling to escape nightmares,
how I define my worth, and how my worth defines me,
how my madness creeps into words to
shape a legacy,
how solitude keeps my creative sparks
warm in winter,
how family becomes the greatest story ever told,
how home sings the happiest tunes
ever composed.

like;
the Sage who captures
my heart, my mind, my spirit
in the name of the Lord.

White Countries

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

White Countries

Hey! Would you turn your societies and cultures into “white”? Now, here’s what a person of colour would say to that.

White countries!

go ahead
turn your societies and cultures
into white
the most glistening white
they can ever get
make sure all corners
down to agricultures,
garments, entertainment,
gadgets, livelihoods
must fall under
the white codes,
laws and regulations

things you enjoy,
from food to travels,
must be stamped
white codes only.
therefore, you are
forbidden to visit
communities and countries
that glow with colours,
where rainbows are
free to appear,
where different skin tones
are celebrated,
where vibrant life
happens and erupts
with joy and acceptance

you want white countries?
yes, sure, you can have them!
fight for them, fight,
on behalf of your
isolated, ignorant, arrogant
white souls
tarnished by
beautiful colours!
proclaimed by
your dim-witted
teachings

make sure you stay
in your white lands
labor on your own white soils
do not even dare
DO NOT EVEN DARE!
to steal colours’ ideas away
and make them your own
do not even attempt
to get on a plane
to unwind in Asia,
Africa, the Caribbeans
do not consume
products that originated
from colourful lands,
made by colourful hands
conceived by colourful minds
DO NOT EVEN DARE!

as it does not align
with white codes
as you shall break
white laws and regulations
as it is against your
white countries’
constitutions

so be content
stay in your white countries
stay isolated
stay ignorant
stay arrogant
no beautiful colours
praise you
no free rainbows
acknowledge you
no colourful societies and cultures
want to be like you

you’re depressing and bland
angry, sold souls
you are your own evil
you are your own enemy
you hail your superiority?
how about you
ostracizing yourself
from humanity?

White countries!
go ahead
turn your societies and cultures
into white
the most glistening white
they can ever get

but don’t you ever
DARE!
seek beautiful colours
to fill the voids
creeping into your
depressing lands!

don’t you ever
dare.

Humanity: Are We All Here?

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Humanity: Are We All Here?

I wrote this while I was feeling numb, yet somehow I managed to say the right things without any thought process whatsoever at all. Does that make sense?

Humanity, at last!
whose beauty is admired
heart moves in good faith
acts; empathy, the north star

Anything evil is shunned
violent uniformed men
whose weapons always
flaunt on air
powerless,
down on their
wounded knees

Corrupt leaders;
maggots, vultures,
criminals!
soulless fixtures
whose end
shall be as tragic
as the terrors and horrors
of days and nights
they have inflicted upon
the innocent
across the lands

Humanity sees,
hears, feels, lives through
betrayals, atrocities
now they hold on
to their power
they understand
the true meaning
of their existence

Oh, but they must
stop engaging,
stop saluting,
stop bowing,
stop listening,
stop applauding,
stop praising,
stop acknowledging,
stop participating
for

maggots
vultures
criminals

they
do not have
a place
in the heart
of humanity
do not deserve
their time
and energy
do not own
their names

Humanity fights
for each other’s
common good,
protecting each other’s
faiths,
raising each other’s
children,
employing each other’s
brothers and sisters,
learning each other’s
songs and dances,
opening their minds
to each other’s
just and humane
ideologies,
appreciating each other’s
unique languages,
participating in
each other’s cultures,
holding each other’s
hands,
reading each other’s
literature and poetry,
comforting each other
in times of need,
living, surviving,
growing, evolving,
progressing
together

Together.
Humanity is
as strong as the power
of the universe.
Once together,
nothing is broken,
no one is broken,
no land is broken.

Humanity at last.
Humanity at last.

Candle in Hand

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Candle in Hand

A random encounter with a “supposed” witch during a grocery run after work. Was it a “divine nudge… or simply an assumption?”

She barges in with a black candle in hand,
sits right behind me, pats my head lightly.
Like me, her skin color is like a solar flare,
ready to burn, ready to rage, ready to share.

She chants away in her own dialect.
Impassioned words, cruelty I cannot detect.
Every syllable sounds like a gun fire.
I reckon she’s on the phone, lambasting a
blood line.

Digital music blasting into my ears,
drifting away as she’s too loud to bear.
I get off the bus, she jumps off after me.
She stands in my space, eyes gazing away.

Her ears jolt up in the evening mist.
They’re free, they’re clear, I’ve caught the
twist.

She feels my curiosity, triggering her fancy.
Once again, the impassioned words
explode out of her black candle days.

As we wait to cross yet another street,
she blasts out profound words just for me
to notice her presence,
“They don’t know how to read and
understand!”
One more time, make it louder, madam,
“They don’t know how to read and
understand!”
I say, “Time to cross the street now.”
She paces down after me, still raving on,
with a trembling soul hidden in her
ingenius scorns.

She suddenly disappears, then God
whispers in my ear, “You’re shielded, don’t
worry about her voodoo trick.”
I freeze, my heart races, I pray,
“God, a new perspective would be okay.”

So I go on to get my grocery run done.
I talk to a friend who says, “All good minds
are gone.”
The strange lady’s hex turns into the most
beautiful eagle,
I release it into a world where wonders
grow.

She was not alone, there were thousands
trapped in her.
A prison of despair, causing her to fight
back out of fear.
The eagle delivers her the message,
“Quit it. It’s not going to work on her. She’s
not alone, too. Lest you forget.”
She can also barge in with a candle in hand,
only her goal is to save the innocent.

Yes, this is how I barge in with a
candle in hand.
To save the innocent.