Month: December 2025

The Daily

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

PERSONAL

The Daily

My typical day; outrageous, fun, strange… why not?

“I surrender all…”
I talk to myself through hymns
or songs about love and nothing
“I’m dying… yet I’m still fighting…”
my heartbeat tells me
all living things can hear my
soliloquies

people’s blood curdles
over the silliest things
who has hurt them?
who has harmed their innocence?

whereas, I, I summon myself
each time noise and human implosion
get in my way
as I pull my cart to serve
then get smashed by
the elevator doors in the head
as shameful act of humanity
presents itself before me

also, going through glass doors
dragging a vacuum for a routine
a man with a cheap brown coat,
generic yet proud,
squishes his presence to outwit me
with utmost revulsion, I say,
“Oh, you low-life king, you!”
Oh! you low-life king, you!

I’m stuffed with small talks everyday
meaningless, superficial, didactic
though I prefer it than Janes and Johns
whose morals have rotten away
due to personal miseries
whose cheap coats and debauched collars
shall burn with them to death
in time

so I talk to myself through hymns
or songs about love and nothing
“I surrender all…”
“I’m dying… yet I’m still fighting…”
I surrender all.

The Grumpy Man Who Deals with Dreamers and the Miserables Everyday

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

The Grumpy Man Who Deals with Dreamers and the Miserables Everyday

This was an encounter I had with a lottery ticket vendor. I hardly buy lottery tickets, so I don’t know what came over me that day. But then… whoa, have you ever seen a hostile merchant in your entire life? This man desperately needs to sit in nature for a bit to recharge.

does his colour matter?
he sits in his worn-out chair
wearing a plain shirt with a bold statement
“I don’t care!”
his semi-bald head hides under a hat
with an embroidered flag
of his home country

he runs a store for high dreamers
money claimed in millions by the lucky
ones who might have already
forgotten nature’s time

proof banners pinned all around
he’s not proud, he’s disgusted
as his scheming eyes skim
through metro train’s
miserable passers-by
as his lips tremble with
despicable words that
only he can hear

I walk up to him as a dreamer
I say, “Twenty one dollars for tonight, please.”
his scowl penetrates right into
my shattered, crippled body
which he cannot see
his stoic reply, “Tap here.”
his frantic finger punches a payment device
and I am no longer free

as he hands me my dream
a miserable passerby storms
towards him in an attempt to
ask something about her whereabout
“I don’t know!” he shouts
before she can even utter the
rest of the phrase

I hide my dream away
as he caresses his skin
he sighs, sits back,
and breathes in and out
to dream

and dream more
of getting out

The Uncanny Insect

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

The Uncanny Insect

This uncanny insect revealed itself in my room one night, so I wrote about our encounter out of fascination. But then… something else came about… a metaphorical nuisance about “me” and “the others”.

an uncanny insect crawls its way
towards my winter jacket,
its identity unknown
it’s as wide as a roach
it must have a hundred legs
hairy, beige, bold
it’s on a mission

my clever peripheral vision
catches it like the sharp eye of a wild owl
I bounce out of the bed,
grab my black bedroom slipper
then —
“God, forgive me, but I must kill it!
I’ve never seen such a creature before!
It’s alien to me!”
God replies, “It could be me in disguise.”
“But… no… it can’t be… it can’t be!” I cry.

and just as the unknown insect
is about to invade my winter jacket
I hammer it down with my
black bedroom slipper.
it sticks to the wall for a bit,
then falls to its death.

I stand there in stunned silence,
panting, thinking of how I must
punish myself for doing the
unprecedented deed.

I hear God’s laughter
gnarling into my ears.
“I have sinned, haven’t I?” I mutter.
“You all sin all the time,” God says.
“What’s to worry about?”

but I can justify it, truly, immensely.
out of extreme fear.
“That foreign creature could have bitten and
poisoned me once I put my winter jacket on!”

but then again —

oh, well. life goes on.
I plunge back in bed
and pretend like it
has never happened.

and as I’m about to shut my eyes to sleep,
another one crawls its way towards my
winter jacket.
same uncanny insect; identity unknown,
alien, foreign creature.

I lay still and smirk at it
“Where have you all been hiding?”
Damn.
And by the way, how can I ever get rid of
you all?

Disturbance

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Disturbance

The fear of losing my niece to screen is just something insurmountable. We lose people everyday because of it. We also lose ourselves. And I wrote this poem without a bit of empathy left anymore–just knowing that I have “art” to come home to.

suffering is a commodity
emotions are expensive
mentality is captured and caged up
humans are animals

forget about attention span
it goes along with life expectancy
of course, humans defy truths
even Science is ignored

youths, oh, what’s life all about?
screens and validation cannot live without
adults, where have you disappeared into?
wait, have you lost your minds, too?

I’m just as guilty as the rest of humanity
I pound my head out of it all everyday
ignorance is never a bliss anymore
we’ve learned it the hard way for sure

I tried to participate somehow
but it made me sound stupid and desperate
also, how was it myself?
what moronic stranger would even cooperate

I can’t. I can’t.
I’m okay just as I am.
My suffering is art.
My emotions are on guard.
My mentality has free will.
I am human.
I am an animal.
Yet no one owns me.

Still Sacred?

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

Still Sacred?

Let me tell you how much tears I poured when “truths” confronted me without mercy. But I had to release parts of it all somehow.

everyone’s childhood carries the deepest
wounds that can’t be healed by time
no matter what;

my paternal aunt whispered a vile truth
about me not being my father’s daughter,
my paternal grandmother’s wrath slammed
a bucket full of water around my mother,
my school bullies locked me up inside a
classroom and I was rescued by my sister,
my one and only friend who genuinely loved
me was beaten to death by her father,

I ran away from family hurt and met
humanity in the wild heart centre,
I was mocked and humiliated by popular girls
for my looks and I stood taller,
I won awards for a play I wrote in high school
and were not honoured by my mother,
I tortured my wrists more than twenty times
believing I was not loved by my father,

I sat beside a coffin in the Hearst at the
funeral of my little brother.

there is more yet I still felt the warmth
and love outweighing the unforgettable cut.

Blinded

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

Blinded

It was one of those “mindless” days again when I was compelled to write about bits of the world at face value.

they insist that we see the world as we are
like fragile mirrors that can break apart;

all spiritual gurus copy and paste ancient
knowledge and hype them up to gain wealth,
fake Philosophers present ideas to bend
societies and steal the world’s last breath,
energy games are true but who has the time
to play when we all work to keep our health,
there is always a loon out there who torments
humanity and calls himself Macbeth,

news and Social Media sell emotions
crushing our hearts and souls deep down to
the filth,
ugly people get contaminated by poisonous
ideologies like meth,
idiots catapult idiots to power to strip their
rights off and betray them in stealth,
religions and politics hurt humans the most
and blood continues to paint the earth,

humans love and hate AI as technology
madness loses connection and depth.

I’ve been broken since I was born and
what may kill me is living for authentic art.

Life Made Itself Known in My Childhood

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

Life Made Itself Known in My Childhood

I thought I had to confront some truths about my life; some tragedies and comedies.

I truly believe that my childhood was the
greatest mystical adventure ever;

I witnessed my mother collapsing with my
little brother’s dead body in her arms,
I sat by the waterfalls to wait for angels so
they could give me happiness charms,
I ventured into the wild woods without a
purpose but to listen to heaven’s alarms,
I hid away in the middle of the night from
raging hymns and explosions of harms,

I was kicked out of the house with my sister
to wait for a city bus on the farms,
I escaped into the wonder of imagination
to be killed by human swarms,
I felt my father’s heartbreaking burdens as
he raised us while surrendering to psalms,
I skipped school and pretended to be the
monster master of the most disturbing yarms,

I was assaulted by a classmate’s brother in
a rice warehouse with his bottled barms.

all the secret tragedies and unimaginable
comedies gave me power.

A Man Murders His Own Soul

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

humanity

A Man Murders His Own Soul

This poem is about my work colleague who just can’t stop doom scrolling on his phone.

what is left of a man who buries himself
into screens all for short-lived dopamine;

the squeaking sounds he calls music with
godawful images of human suffering,
the annoying laugh tracks playing on reels
featuring humiliation and dumb bearing,
strangers rampaging about life realities and
political powers rising,
influencers fame-mongering by exploiting
the poor or luxury brands flaunting,

staged dramatic content for regular minds
with a restless desire like cheating,
rage-baiting opinions on issues to fuel the
tension up for comment chasing,
celebrities’ random acts blundering for
news blazing or renowned names decaying,
a few seconds of him engaging and I see
insects crawling and demons fighting,

his soul abandons him days and nights
while he stretches his time to look down there
dying.

what a waste of time to be alive all to be
trapped into technology caffeine.

For as long as I am away from home

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

For as long as I am away from home

I was lounging in bed, then hurriedly typed this down. I was right over the edge. Such a hypocrite.

I do not feel real, I do not feel alive
I want to get out and meet more of life
this fatigue ravishing down my strength
keeps me stuck in bed while listening to
a storm

I have grand plans for every weekend
a church visit, musical theatre is on the list
recording a new song or purchasing my
dream piano keyboard
yet, I end up getting ready for another
week to burn

I am a phoney, I am a hypocrite
having all these grand plans worming
around my head
how can I ever get them to move
when my body aches, and my gifts have
nothing to prove

I attempt to close my eyes to visualize
a happy future and a pleasant sunrise
yet, I see and hear nothing, God only knows
what I have been longing
I have joined the restless crowd,
doom scrolling

I do not feel real, I do not feel alive
writing poetry holds my hand to survive
though, truth, at times, eludes .
for you may think I play a victim
in this timeline, and I fear to be
misunderstood

I do not feel real, I do not feel alive
humans, are you still inclined?
to make use of yourselves and die
over and over again
are we awakened? or hanging on the
dead end

I do not feel real, I do not feel alive
am I just in too much pain or scared to meet
more of life?
I wish God could just walk with me
and pull me out of this strife
for as long as I am away from home,
I will never feel real, I will never feel alive.

White Spider

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

personal

White Spider

A white spider visited me in my room one night, and I wrote an introspective poem about it.

a white spider visited me in my bedroom one night,
it rested on the wall, facing me, challenging
my character, judging, convincing me to kill it,
plopped in my bed, I grabbed one of my alarm
clocks to hammer it down with
my gut harrowed, I got a message from the
deepest realm inside of me

to let it live
I sighed, released the weapon, and apologized
though, it never budged one bit at all
so, I had a little chat with it:
“What do you want? Okay, I’m sorry. Impulse,
you know? Though, I do hope you’ve known of my
childhood. Part of it was to venture into the
bushes to catch the biggest and the most
beautiful of your kind, then keep them inside
a matchbox to get them ready for a fight. I know,
it was bad, but that was one of the kids’
games back then. Two colourful and strong
spiders hanging on a stick together for an
anticipated wrestling match. The first one to
fall was the loser. Well, no one would dare to
ask me if my spiders were up for it at all.
They said I looked like someone who was too
lame to participate as boys had invented it to begin with.
I even assured them, “But my spiders
are beautiful and strong and ready to fight!”
Nah, they still wouldn’t believe it anyhow,
and they would just shove me out
of the way. I was probably six or seven years
old, and all my spider escapades never came
to fruition for once. So, I had no choice but to
set them free instead.”

It stayed still. I ranted on:
“Are you here to protect me? Are you here to
warn me about something? Are you here to
amuse me, inspire me, comfort me because
I’m all alone? Would you still be here once I
wake up in the morning? If you’re still around,
then I must have done something terrible in
my life. But if you’re not, then I must say
goodbye to some parts of my childhood.
Deal? Cool.”

I fell asleep right away.
I woke up the next day.
It vanished.

Along with some parts of my childhood.
This time around, it set me free.
My innocence can now get excited and play.

Beautiful and strong.
Ready to fight.
Again and again.

The Two Raging Men

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

dreams

The Two Raging Men

This bizarre dream; I kind of get it somehow. What has God been trying to tell me anyway?

two raging men brawling
in the middle of my old street
one unknown man
another familiar with a damaged face
regardless of the intensity
and collapsing of characters
the neighbourhood retreats
into their quiet homes
until the scene is empty
in a broad daylight that feels
no empathy, no pain
the two raging men become
stars of their own destiny

a truck drives by in slow motion
so as not to disturb the brawl
and make an unnecessary commotion
the unknown man climbs up onto
the back of the truck
the familiar with a damaged face
drags himself along with every ounce
of strength he has

a distraction appears from out of nowhere
it is my fearful soul running away
from whatever it is cannot be determined
but all I know is I am being chased
while the madness still roars and bleeds
from behind me
as the two raging men muster their
muscles and veins
the truck screeches, roaring and howling
like wolves at night
if someone catches me I’m dead without
rights

I don’t know which one of the raging men is
after me
but I must scurry on and forget about how I
get there
I stumble into a bamboo gate along the way
all of a sudden, I am at the dead end, it’s over

So, I look back to face the two raging men;
one unknown, one familiar with a damaged face,
the truck laughs and cries at once, “Who are
you running away from?”
the two raging men are gone
the brawl and all the eccentric acts;
the broad daylight says it is all just made up.
what’s happening to me is all a blur
though, I have been hurt badly
that’s for sure.

the quiet neighbourhood’s heart whispers
they believe my truth, and it’s driving them
insane
but to keep the norms and the mundane
they must retreat and never see me again.

The Audience

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

dreams

The Audience

Boy, have I been dreaming a lot about these bizarre things lately, huh? This is horror.

the TV is loud,
loud enough for the entire world to hear
I say, turn it down! turn it down!
no one hears me
I find myself in a room full of
awed audiences
hyperventilating, paranoid,
struggling to breathe
in a whirl of utter confusion
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Turn it down!”
my voice is drowned out
by its hysteria

so why can’t I turn it down myself?
I’m afraid I would upset them
chaos would erupt
but what if I would warn them
that it’s something more sinister than that
that a monster or some kind of an evil entity
hides behind doors
throwing in whatever it has in mind
just for the fun of fear or pure entertainment
but they refuse to find out
though some of them stay awake
nah, who would even believe a fool like me?
who would believe a nobody like me?

and then one night, it starts to reveal itself
the door creaks open… ajar…
I hear it, I see it
“Turn it down! Turn it down right now!”
I warn in panic.
alas, my voice vibrates around the room
despite the amplified TV volume
they shot me with a look of disdain
others shout in my face, “You shut up!”
while some ask me to leave
I stand on my truth:
look! take a look! the door has opened.
something’s out there, and it’s going to
kill us all.
of course, they’re not convinced.
yeah, who would even believe a fool like me?
who would even believe a nobody like me?

and the door opens wide in a swift wind blow
they all scream in complete terror as they
look for the closest exit windows
yet, there’s no escaping anymore, fellas
I’ve told you, it’s out there
it has been out there
watching you, feeling you
mocking you, laughing at your fear

it’s on door step, standing upside down
it has a distinct face of a clown
its eyes are red, its feet are long
its lanky body is covered in a red and white suit,
it’s smiling with a knowing it’s got them all
and it says, “So what’s going on?”

The devil says, “What’s going on?”
I reply, “I’m tired of warning them. I gotta go now.”

The devil laughs, “No, you can’t go! You’re the
only one I want. ‘Cause you know how to fight
me. Them? I’ve already got them a long time
ago. They fear me ’cause they have no truths.
But your truth is as sweet as honey, baby. As
horrible and miserable as that scumbag
horseradish. So, do you still want to live? Or
would you rather die right here right now.”

My response:
I shut the TV off and smile at the devil.

Silence.
Darkness.
Power.

I walk out as calm as my soul can get.
I am not one of the audiences anymore.
I am not one of the audiences anymore.

My niece says this, and it chills my spine

Posted on By J.J. Ireneo

dreams

My niece says this, and it chills my spine

Here’s another bizarre dream that I’m still desperate to reconcile with. What does it mean exactly?

this house is a mess;
stylish clothes, privileged devices,
old toys that once upon a time
made us all happy and shaped
our hearts… cover the entire floor
like a sad carpet that knows it all;
stories, secrets, and memories.
now, thwarted by time,
abandoned by the nonsensical new
though, we’re here lounging away
it’s a lazy afternoon, with the
powerful sun being clever to
hide the truth
for the soft breeze of wind
is damp and cold

I’m sleeping on the floor
as my mother caresses my hair
she, too, is on a reverie mood
while grief entertains her
with an uplifting song.
my sister browses through
her screen
showing me the wonder of the
world’s game
she’s proud to have understood its
mischief and corruption
she plays it with a full demand
of enthusiasm
though, she knows her life
is even more profound
her students love her
beyond her teachings and laughter
she can even teach life itself
to be kind
no question, her legacy
is a soul modelled out of
angel’s wings and all the divine.

my niece, on the other hand,
is busy with her art work,
she’s laying down on her
stomach as she carefully
paints an unconventional
body with gentle yet assured strokes.
she talks to herself, hums,
gnashes her teeth, perks up
with odd quirks, and chants
something gibberish
her hand never wavers
her glinting eyes hardly blink
like she wants us all to
see right through her mind
and the magic hidden
in her innocence and cries

the sun and the wind, however,
play tricks on me
am I the only one who can sense it
or notice how uncanny they are?
I get up and shut the window closed,
startling my family whose
exquisite and unique approach
to life makes me envy them;
how to make the most of it,
how to relax in it,
how to challenge it
how to stay ahead of it
how to be more curious about it

I suddenly look for my own item
that, in today’s day and age, is
a necessity to survive
my niece has it wrapped around
her waist
as she goes to pace around,
reclaiming her muse to paint
a new one, I notice it
I say, “Darling, it’s auntie mommy’s. May
I have it back?”
She replies, “Auntie mommy is only around
for two months. Oh, pity life. Oh, how must I
pity life!”
the haunting words of a nine-year-old.

then there’s the sun.
along with the wind.
pity life, indeed.
such a pity life.