Posted in Love Poems, The plea of the old melody...

A Token from the Sailor Lost

photo from

I must give my lady a token
For the last one I sent was broken
A bottle of the sea to her from me
Was spilled on the sand irreverently.

She greatly despised the ocean and me
For she longed for a little flower reverie
She did not wish to keep the bottled sea
And the waves that stole the wonder in me.

It was a lovely day and the sea, warm
When its limbs attacked me without alarm
From its depths I’ve spoken her name aloud
But my voice was eaten by the ocean shroud.

From underneath the sea, can flowers ever be?
I can’t plant a flower garden for her glee
May she find another dreamer to serenade her with a lily
from this sea, and set me free.

(c) Ruth Mostrales, June 2010

Posted in court of reverie, Hope, Paean of Praise

The Doodler, the Dabbler, the Drama

I was only five years old when I got into trouble because I told my teacher what my mother and her co-parents had been saying about their observations of her (my teacher’s) not-so-nice demeanor. Call it a traumatic experience (I think so, too…) but a lot of times, what I have become (silent/melancholic) has saved me from unnecessary skirmishes and hair-pulling incidents that my contemporaries easily get into.

I became this monster — one who wouldn’t speak unless spoken to, and one who’d rather write her thoughts than speak them out. Being on silent mode most of the time developed my observation muscle — I have become a keen perceiver of people’s behavior. That’s nice, but not until I realized I have leveled-up into another type of monster — the silent and perceptive/intuitive pen-wielding type who’d live and die a recluse given enough encouragement from embittered old maids.

Teaching kids taught me to loosen up a bit and have fun. Working with marginalized groups also taught me to speak for others who cannot speak for themselves. I learned to write with a purpose, and I learned to write with passion. I learned to read the Word of God and to understand the creative divine process as He makes things beautiful in His time.

At times I am reprimanded for being lazy, sullen, mean, scared, melodramatic, overly emotional, apathetic, detached, careless, cranky, impatient, tactless, sloppy, mundane and a combination of all of these, but I am learning… Indeed, I am a work-in-progress, but by God’s grace, I am getting there.

I feel weird when I don’t have a pen and paper inside my bag, or when bereft of any device or gadget on which to write/record/save my thoughts. – rvm

Posted in Uncategorized

It began with a question…

I was taken aback by a question a few days ago, and it has never left my head since.  The query obviously evolved into a personal puzzlement that I must write down to make sense of.  That’s just me.

I have dug into many books during the course of my twenty-something existence, but I cannot, try as I might, summon enlightenment from them. This makes me feel uneasy. Does it mean I’ve been spending money, time and effort on many subjects that cannot offer me even a sliver of a tangential answer to one core issue in my life?

One guy asked me to identify the characteristics that my ideal man must have, and from the look on his face, I sensed that I must have given him an answer that most guys would never expect from women in their late twenty-somethings already, but I said it. His amazement was contagious, and I got it after much mulling over.

“He must be a Christian,” I said and I added: ”He must be better than me in every possible way…” He gasped. Poor guy.

At least I should have been rewarded for my honesty, but he probed deeper, as if what I have just said was immediately adjudged a wrong answer. I felt hurt. What’s wrong with my standard?

My sister reprimanded me later that day and said it’s impossible to find such a guy. Another friend of mine laughed at me and said I was asking for an extinct species! I have great hope in God that such a person exists, for I admire his craftsmanship — surely, He’s got that guy in store for me! Likewise, I have great respect for the pursuits of men in improving themselves to become today’s Henry the Eighths whenever they can, I mean, come on, they now even go for facials! So, if they can engage in such painful endeavors as facials, surely, they could have at least read The Republic, quote Shakespeare, preach the word of God, play the piano, the guitar and drums, and thumb through pressing issues without difficulty, aside from showbiz news. All I was saying was, I had in mind a guy who is stronger than me , sings better than me, writes better than me, speaks better than me, cooks better than me, hence, smarter than me.

I admit I scared that guy away, for he said it was impossible. I am confident he is not asking such questions for his own account, because he’s married and he is my friend. I presume he inquires out of curiosity.

“It’s impossible,” he said.

Maybe I was waiting for my philosopher king , a guy that belongs in the ruling class of Plato’s dream society that never saw light beyond the pages of his philosophical treatises. I spelled impossibility in so many words.

But he did not give up, so he asked me again, and I felt the need to clarify, for my own benefit. Realizing the futility of my search (for no one person is ever better in every possible way than another), I rephrased my response and said: “Okay, I want someone who is better than me when it comes to the Bible and Christian pursuits.” I noted his agreement.  Perhaps I came up with a practicable answer, finally!

Is it because I still do not know that’s why I cannot have? God, I must admit, is so wise. He is never in the habit of condoning the wishes of impulsive ladies like me; He must constantly save me from my own devices.

Hence, my prayer is this: “Let me not have, until I know for sure what I need, in accordance to Your will.”

Having said that, all I have to do is wait as I keep still and let Him be God.  I’m saving my other questions for another post.  The title of my post only makes room for one question.  Alas, I am but human, too, like the man I must decide to love, whoever he is.  I can only think deep into one question at a time.#

Posted in Hope



The evening is a coward studded

with stars, like a mighty man

of valor decorated after wars.

From the pits,

the survivors of maiming

Cry to him.  His eyelids

kneel under benign skies

For redemption.  The reaper

connives with gloom, and

sows some weeds inside

the lids where honest light fades.

Darkness feeds the frailty of

his bones, and his limbs,

lugging sordid rifles, drag away

Into the night, so no one sees.

There, a countless us pant to quicken our

Immortal souls.  Somewhere inside,

A door appears to usher

The willing among us, evening and all —

Soldiers, again

To the fray.

The evening is a coward studded

with stars, like a mighty man

of valor decorated after wars.

ruth mostrales, april 2009

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Posted in court of reverie, Hope

My Calendar

The leaves of yesterday I pluck away

Too gladly, my fingers thinking on accord

With its master’s caprice:

A broken toy, pride, friendship

Today —

All mutable, volatile and frail.

What ecstatic liberation the process thrills!

What control, what sublimation those papers

Suffer from the delirious push button ripping

These automaton hands executing my command


But mere defense mechanism, it is

But treachery.  Like paper that I subdue

To bring December,

The sands are not induced

To bring me January.


Copyright 2008

Ruth Mostrales