Children

Children

need to see the Christ pained

on his death,

they need to see

pixilated, blurred scars on TV

turning into flesh cut out by lashes,

they need no guidance from adults,

they need to be left interpreting

a man whispering his moans

to his unseen father,

they need

to smell the blood dried on his nose

on his cheeks & eyelashes,

they need to hear the breath

last on his lungs as a spear soaked

in wine is struck on his rib,

they

need to look closely on the sun

interspersed on the crucifix

thus making out a silhouette

of a man - healer & teacher as

yearned by weeping bit players

- saving a world of dragged backs

equated with salvific yokes,

they

need to remind one and themselves

all they have seen on screen

as they throw pebbles on chalk lines

etched on sand, indeciphering yet,

impetuously loving yet.

Poem by: Aloy Polintan
Photo by: Joemill Veloso Flordelis

Image: Sunken Cemetery, Camiguin Island, Philippines

New Baptism

During the sun's scorching gaze

Is baptism renewed most fit

When, hands clasped on each other

(a gesture of obligatory devotion)

I will soak my heels up my nape

Drops almost touching my earlobes

Bubbles will form, burst, regenerate

Ripples rival among themselves

Placid waves caress my ligaments

As the high priest rinses the spirit

As I close my eyes for orange panorama

The gentle rush of water subsides

A stagnant pool quiets the crowd

And now the baptizer is out of sight

Only cobblestones cradle me in their arms

In the void of direction, of ritual

Poetry by: Aloy Polintan
Photo by: Joemill Veloso Flordelis

Image: Camiguin Island, Philippines

Bleeding Sunset in Mactan Island

The dull horizon of a spotless canvas – a garden for the pensive mind staring out at nothingness – exploded into a spectrum of raging fire, quite unexpectedly a visual treat at sundown, one fine Christmas day with family, merry and loud and full, in Cordova. It is a small town on an island ruled by the valiant Lapu-Lapu and where Ferdinand Magellan – the Portuguese explorer that set sail from Seville, Spain in an attempt to circumnavigate the globe – met his untimely death.

The sky that day bled a hopeful message that everything else was taken care of, that the blessing wasn't too far not to see.

Images: Lantaw Floating Native Restaurant, Cordova, Mactan Island, Cebu, Philippines

Panglao Island: Bohol's Little Paradise

Images:

South Palms Resort

Bohol Beach Club

Dumaluan Beach Resort

Bohol: A Thousand Chocolate Hills, Green Landscapes, Tarsiers, and Ati People

Images:

Chocolate Hills Complex, Carmen

Chocolate Hills -- Sagbayan Peak, Sagbayan

Tarsiers -- Sagbayan Peak, Sagbayan

Bilar Man-made Forest, Bilar

Loboc River, Loboc

Ati Tribe Riverside Community -- Loboc River, Loboc

The Fisherfolk of Bantayan Island, Cebu

Sunrise commits itself to a cyclical responsibility for the world to see. 

Every early morning, its soft lights knife through thatched-roof homes of slumbering heads, gagged mouths, and motionless bodies, leaving no dust in a spectrum unmasked. Sunrise is the culmination of the death of night and the first sign of the birth of day, where two long-rivaling ends meet. It is a predictable phenomenon, which could mean many things to a billion different people. It could mean just another monotonous day for the uninspired, another dreaded day for the burned-out rat, another sunny day for the optimist. Or another sweat-it-all-out day for the hard worker who has mouths to feed.

In Santa Fe, one of only three municipalities on Bantayan Island, sunrise means another day to possess and thank the gifts of water. Unsurprisingly, as being islander locals, a lot of whom are fishermen. As early as five in the pastel-colored morning, fishermen end their fishing in deep waters. In a fascinating manner, they return and help each other by carrying ashore a banca (outrigger) in cadence, which goes to show the spirit of bayanihan (cooperation) still truly lives on. The toiling fisherfolk bring their past-midnight haul of bolinao (anchovies) to their anxious wives and drowsy children, where each member correspondingly untangles the fish out from the fishing net and puts them in a pail or bucket.

Apart from finding their fresh catch straight in wet markets, they also sell them as buwad (dried fish) prepared by themselves.

It is not uncommon to see fishing as a family affair on the resource-rich island.