Dispatches by Adrian Conoza

The race is near it's end So close yet so far away The walk is still so long How long do I have to stay? I shall face the game, though I've done the wreckage. There's no other option. I have no choice. I cannot go back. If I could go back in time Faster than speed of light I wish I've grasped this little time Then I could have made things right Yet as long as this walk Hands of time ran—in my fall My curling's final end At the far point I have fell I want to get out of this Face myself through needle's eye My target might be missed But let me get them done Imprisoned to own fault Struggling standing up and run High ranks, seeking no more Last salvo under the sun Break me out to exit Probabilities are here Possibilities, it is out of my hearing ear Take me out, let survive Yet I know I shall face this For a lesson in my life To wake up my sleeping me To get me out of my pride To get me out of myself Bring me back to the Guide Not just out of what seems hell I wan...

'Til then, Christmas, I will miss your joy I'm glad for the Season, I had some rest 'Til then, Christmas, I wait like a boy Back to normal, work hard, be put to test 'Til then, Christmas, thanks for the joy of giving I've learned the value of the period, the Reason for the Season The togetherness of family, the union and sharing This time of the year is done, and time goes on 'Til then, Christmas, I'll miss the TV shows The books and stories, good channels and programs Insights, encounters, and reflections that glow The great break that I had 'Til then, Christmas, your spirit may enliven Even if it's not your time, may your soul sparkle Kindness, generosity, goodness you have lent 'Til then, let your stars twinkle 'Til then, Christmas, the lights have to go out The music of your days go back to shelf Your comfort and gentleness have stood out Christmas that's meaningful, that I felt 'Til then, Christmas, I move on with life Through li...

To the fourteenth year of the new millennium To the days that will pass very soon To a new beginning, another new beginning as the bells of Big Ben banging, New York's ball down going To a fresh start for those who survived A revival from the storm they've come through alive To the remaining pieces of fourth year high school for once again in hardship I'll be glued To the random problems we have to solve where we won't use established formulas, where the answers are not Joules To the road we have to take It's not easy, but we'll endure and enjoy all throughout for God's sake To each relationship, to our close connections To those we love, and to those we'll meet as we go along To the next 365 days of our lives full of joys and blessings and ups and downs to mark the timeline To the future that we do not know and soon—as clocks tick and leaves fall—will unfold To growth and flourishing, improvement and development To productivity—its fulfillment we can ge...

I have three words for Haiyan, or Yolanda, which  deeply  struck the Philippines, actually Visayas: strong , short , but most of all saddening. For the first time I felt a heavy sadness and awe when I saw the pictures of destruction, the piles of debris, and the agony of people in Leyte and Samar on television. Really depressing.  After the typhoon, lots of help came, from both the local and international. Telethons are held. Concerts happen for the cause. Celebrities auction their things. Foreign aid, which amounts to billions, is given (we hope that they wouldn't go nowhere).  But how about me? , I thought last Sunday. Shouldn't I give something? Shouldn't I give to Red Cross or somewhere else? Shouldn't I donate? I lament the situation, but shouldn't I donate? Yet, unlike others, I don't get much money, though I admit I have savings.  Thankfully, last Wednesday our school called for donations.  But at that Sunday evening, the thought crowded my mind. Wh...

Aren't there things, pictures, or whatsoever that may bring some flashbacks, then you realize they aren't that good flashbacks? As if you have already thrown something, then it just throws back to you? Aren't we supposed to leave our past, except its lessons, and live at the present and hope for the future? Most of us just do that. Then, why at some point what we had already deleted seemed to have a back up? That made me this. (I Want To) Flee From Bitterness I came from a complex past and I got through it—life's so fast Pain and other else I just felt I'm thankful I didn't melt Hours and days stepped history Growing— thriving —up I see Times have gone by but feeling a sting when it's gone—why? When I threw the bad in the bin why should it go back in? If the hurtful and unfavorable was swept then why those same things I get? I want to flee from this bitterness Never arrive in circumstances of sadness Even bits of memory that corrupts the positive I plea— del...

I remember this poem. I made this during the first quarter when I wasn't given the chance to give my notebook on a subject for checking. I feared that I might have an unsatisfying grade on my card. Well, I must follow the rule: get the notebook before the class. Sorry, but I haven't. I just remained myself quiet at that moment and made this poem. May you appreciate it. Sentiments of A Student Why am I like this? I'm so unlucky I always fail When will I learn? When will things come to change?           When will I be better? I am distressed I get low grades And I lose some things They all turn me bad They all depress me They all leave me in distress! Why? Why should I come at this point?                               At this point            ...

Here's a poem that I made one Saturday evening. I remembered such things, and I made this poem in free verse. Hope you like it. Me Dearest me You've been great and you've been friendly They talk to you and they have happy looks  But let me tell you You'll not always be heard they'll not always look at you You may ask   but they won't always answer you Suggest if you can   yet they'll not bother it You'll not always get the attention you'll not always make them relate to you You'll not always get the credit That makes you blue But turn that blue, and never make it a depression never stuck too deep on yourself Stay friendly stay helpful Thank them that they regard, respect, and appreciate you as a friend .........I'm not alone. I hope you liked that poem. Together with that, I want to share with you a nice song from The Police. Message In A Bottle. I can relate to it somehow.

Our class had recently worked on a project in English. In two pieces of short bond paper, we would make our own web pages entitled "Friendbook"-just like Facebook. There, we wrote a reflection on Afro-Asian poetry, and other sorts of posts related to Africa and Asia. I decided to just make a drawing of my webpage instead of an online webpage. Most of us preferred the virtual one. It took me my whole working hours on Thursday to finish this simple yet unique "Friendbook" at home before I submitted it the next day. I made a short reflection and wrote an African poem and 2 Asian poems-a poem in small letters and a haiku. As I did these things and asked my classmates to write comments that next day, I came to really reflect on Afro-Asian poetry. What my classmates posted on Facebook about their reflections are precise and factual, and they made me write this simple article on my young and unknown blog. Here it is, tough I may not write it as same as what I wrote on that...