CLEMENCIO MONTECILLO BASCAR - POEMS

Clemencio Montecillo Bascar was a former Professor and Vice President for Corporate Affairs of the Western Mindanao State University. He is a recepient of various local, regional, and national awards in songwriting, playwriting, poetry, and public service. Several of his poems had been published in international literary magazines and journals such as, Foliate Oak, BRICKrhetoric, About Place, Torrid Literature, Mused-theBellaOnline Lietrary Review, and The Voices Project. He had written and published by the Western Mindanao State University two books of poetry, namely; "Fragments of the Eucharist" and "Riots of Convictions." In the Philippines, some of his poems appeared in the such magazines as Women's, MOD, and Chick. 
At present, he writes a column in the Zamboanga Today daily newspaper and resides at 659 Gemini Street, Tumaga, Zamboanga City, Philippines. He is married to the former Miss Melinda Climaco dela Cruz and blest with three children, Jane, Lynnette, and Timothy James.   

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​A RACE TO NOWHERE
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​Don't make it a problem, man, there are no bars to clear nor hurdles for you to leap over; here, everyone is free to try his luck ; if you still recall even patarasa took a wild shot at the throne you once occupied; and his mind was never an issue although many maliciously suspected  that it was full of  debris of all kinds.
There's absolutely no justifiable reason for you to have second thoughts about your grand home coming, in fact the red carpet has already been laid out befitting a bona fide royal; there's just one tiny concern left for you to resolve as a highly respected gentleman- the last will and testament you signed; oops, I might have mistaken you for someone else; yeah,  am not sure anymore whether it was really  you who made that last will and testament bequeathing the throne to a queen for just a term;
sorry, my age-beaten memory has failed me again; and if I pay attention to the rumors and whispers I hear around  testifying that it was actually the queen who heartily promised to vacate the throne once you decide to occupy it again, the confusion in me becomes more and more overwhelming.
As I struggle hard to recall what really happened three years behind, the more muddled my mind becomes;
honestly,  ever since I have never been sure  as to who of the two of you, promised something, when, how, why, and for what.
This dilemma of mine, is of course, easily explainable; I was never a part of your social circles and political bandwagons; this makes me completely a stranger to both of you; hence, an entity of weightless importance.
So what, if both of you join the race for the mace? Would that make any huge difference if one of you outruns the other? By your track records the verdict is "NO!"... for you are of the same template which means that both of you fit the saddle very well.
Nonetheless, If it comes to pass, the political landscape of this empire will never be the same again for a long, long time; some even venture to foretell that the next reign might be eternal...and all because you two played a tug-of- war "to the death" while the dark horse made the easy dash to the finish line.
Frankly, the mere thought of it paralyzes even the deepest recesses of my mind; and when one considers the sublte in-bound exodus and behind-the-scene extensive  reclamation activities going on all over the empire day in and day out, the certainty of total takeover is imminent,  just a matter of time; worst, neither one of you seems to worry about the steady acceleration of the  dark horse now about to overtake both of you in the race toward the pedestal.
 

fermented tears

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​They are there discrepit, ethereal, cluttered on moss-carpeted stone walls heralding the birth beams of a dis-oriented spring; by a silted moat an anorexic rat helplessly struggles to free itself from the ruins of a torture chamber, also the mass grave of its kins; a legacy of colonial barbarism.
in the crib of discarded memories still  echos the dirge for the  repose of dreams nipped in their buds for their freshness and innocence; nearby the  rhythm of a rising tide gently blends with the agony of a naked child reduced to skin and bones by starvation; an unwanted fruit of forbidden carnal desire.
and the clouds commence to stitch the skies with fermented tears; for the first time in ages the  world remorsely embraces the crown of thorns...
a thousand calvaries unfold in my soul...
and i cry no more.
 
 

game of gods

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I don't blame you for sticking insanely to that dead log like a flying lizard; it's just another sight to behold before the shadows start to lengthen as a cross-eyed crescent recedes to the perforated womb of the dark; there's really nothing unusual about solons shouting in a brilliant display of eloquence and intelligence; we see this as often as the frogs dance in a nearby pool; in fact, my friend considers it a festival of egos in a colonial republic.
Look at those street images resembling odd match sticks demanding justice for anything that inspires public attention; I think you will fully agree with me that they have become permanent fixtures of our democracy gone completely wild and mad; and what about that wax corpse preserved as a valiant defender of freedom and the flat-nosed caesar who built the bridge connecting two hearts? Doesn't he deserve even just a petal of a rose? By the way, is there really such thing as a martyr, a saint, or a hero? What if heaven renders an opposite judgement? Does mortal justice really make any sense?
They say, so many countries on earth have become  Wild Wests where lawmen go on a rampage playing games connected with forbidden medicines; some sneeringly call it a blanket license to shoot and kill any which way they want. But what about due proces? No problem, it can be enjoyed in all its essence and fullness in the silence of the grave.    
By the way, nothing is extra judicial killing or terrorism in the game of gods.