Tuesday, September 22, 2015

"Philippine American Writers and Artists (PAWA) and the San Francisco Public Library, along with the Philippine Consulate General of San Francisco and other community partners, will celebrate the Third Filipino American International Book Festival (FilBookFest) on October 2-4, 2015 at the Main Branch of the San Francisco Public Library. This year’s festival theme, "Bukás na Bukas: An Open Tomorrow, Pin@y Literature in the 21st Century," focuses on where we are as a community of writers and artists and our direction for the future." -

I will be participating in three panels during this 3rd Filipino American International Book Festival which we call by its nickname, Filbookfest 3:

Saturday, October 3:

Welcome and Introduction for Creating Writing Communities--Kundiman, VONA/Voices, and NVM Gonzalez Memorial Workshops-- Readings and Discussions, 12:30-1:30 p.m., 5th Floor Learning Studio

Moderator for Beyond Lumpia, Pansit, and Seven Manangs Wild (Eastwind Books, 2014) -- Readings from contributors of the anthology, edited by Evangeline Canonizado Buell, Edwin Lozada, Eleanor Hipol Luis, Evelyn Luluquisen, Tony Robles, Myrna Zialcita, 3:00-4:00 p.m., 5th Floor Learning Studio.

Sunday, October 4:

One of the featured authors in Hot Off The Press Author Readings, moderated by Cecelia Manguerra Brainard, 1:45-2:45 p.m., Koret Auditorium.  I will be reading from my new book, #30 Collantes Street (Carayan Press, 2015)

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Historical Truths
(i bet you think this poem is about you, don't you, don't you?)

I requested that you
Can it, your Rants, your
prima donna Rants
But you can’t, Can It.

I won’t let you in
on my heart’s level of hurt, you
Shoving me aside, Keep the Version of verse
we Gave You, you said.

Ah, you slithered and sucked your way to that “We”
But where was



You wanted me to be
The ghostwriter for a ghost
/gōst/ = one who occupies the body of a living person
in order to                   complete itself

From this, my vantage,
I witnessed being stuffed

            into a corner
You prick
your presence
an unskilled putty knife
Thrusting me

            into the mitre

My toes, clinging

            to the framing

While you had your way with me

While you
With your imaginary playmates
thrashing mind 
flailing birdie hands
buzzard buddy playing board games

Playing me the same way you

worked the room.

Rapt yourselves around my
Precious morning minutes
Text vibrations


My inner rhythm

I requested (again) that you
Can it, your Rants, your
prima donna Rants
But you can’t, Can It.

On three, fuck me      

For a time I doubled
wondered how
you could burn a bridge with us
and though
you’d done it with so-and-so
and so-and-so, so-and-so, and so-and-so
I looked
the other way.

So Now,
On two…