Bitter Sweet

2017.11.13 Bitter Gourd Seed

Bitter Sweet

Since it comes from a bitter gourd,
You would expect it to be bitter.
You may expect it to be brown.
But red like a cherry tomato?
A seed gently sweet?


Bitter Cup

2017.11.13 Bitter Cup

Four years have passed. If I had not looked up my logbook, I would not have remembered what this bitter cup was.

Super Typhoon Haiyan had attacked the Philippines. PFTC, Our fair trade raw sugar producer in Ililo was hard hit but they were still distributing relief and shared aids received with the people affected in the area.

Kablon Farms, our cacao producer in south Mindanao, was not affected but they generously decided to spend their Christmas party money for the year on relief in the northern part of the island.

Our fair trade producers, loving and caring people to salute to.



Can We Not

Can We Not

The very first world war?
The war to end all wars?
Death of tens of millions?
Hard to fathom pre-War days.

Were they days of laughter?
And days filled with gentleness,
As Rupert Brooke in his poem
So very gently says?

There is no return, I know.
But can we not re-play?
Those days of laughter,
And gentleness?


In Flanders Fields _ by John McCrae

Lest we forget

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,
    That mark our place; and in the sky
    The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
    Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
        In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
    The torch; be yours to hold it high.
    If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
        In Flanders fields.


High & Low

High & Low

It is not that I have anything against high society.
It is just that certain things puzzle me.

Someone posts, what he writes attracts readers.
And among them a former high-ranker
Whenever this ex-official returns to this place
This writer-friend gets invited
To a buffet at a haughty hotel
And he feels high and elated

I cannot help wondering:
What if his fan were not a high-rank?
What if his fan should be living in the streets?
What if his fan should offer a buffet of leftovers?
Would the writer still treasure the encounter?
Would he feel low and not as flattered?


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