Wednesday, August 3, 2016


Sparks flew once
amidst the shallow,
pale shadows
of how they met long ago.

Molten irons glow
and pounded into shapes;
familiar figures.
Then he pounded further.
Deeper. Longer.

She retreated her sprawl,
back into a curl
and gripped his hair.
bed sheets turn into mountains.
pillow into rafts.

Flares rise
as he lifted her
from the depths
of her sored and soaked longing.

Jay Protacio Mendoza
(1978 -           )

Monday, January 5, 2015

Of New Year's Resolutions and Other Fleeting Requiems

And though you spoke of strength,
which moved heavens and this earth...

There is only this; to escape.
But do we not both run away
at one point... towards the same point... 
and from one point...
only to find ourselves
meeting again at the horizon?

And that which you ask from me so dearly...
equates only to silence; mine to be exact.

And thus the farewell becomes only
a small favor asked, so that I may become mum.

So hear now, my muffled musings...
the deep and sorrowful universe I made,
which you can no longer visit.

It was I who have been the option...
By you...
By others...
By my self...

Back to a place where I never left.

Misplaced but never gone,

Jay Protacio Mendoza
(1978-           )

Monday, November 10, 2014


You garble at
your short speech
and stutter at him.

Prior, prior
to your
first meeting –
you already
gave what will
later be asked
from you.

On the edge of
you both strolled
until the wind
has taken
it’s toll…

Not to forsaken,
but to leave a mark.

So prior, prior
to the soft
prior, prior
to the dark
that looms
between your
pink cheeks
and prior, prior
to the echoing
just bellow
his belly…

You already haunted
his dream…

Monday, November 3, 2014


The notion
of course
is always inaccurate
he pertains
to a myth of a healer
or at least some
character who

“help pick up
the broken pieces”
she refused
to accept
as always

Then she gives
the nod
he proceeds
the fine

A guarantee
of a solemn
of muffled
the shortest
of eternal

The notion
of course…
in the dark,
we are one.

-Jay Protacio Mendoza

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Of Phantom Penumbras

So he was coined;
the culprit.
The tosses and turns
during humid nights
and that he once
surmised as true
In dark and desparate
She would touch
the tip of its thorns...
the pleasure is not
a dream
nor a delightful
He hid until the hardness
has hung it self
a suicide on the edge
of a damp, old pulpit

No one knew his face.
The suspect...
as always...
was me.

Jay Protacio Mendoza

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Leaks in the Afternoon

Under this grey
tapestry of clouds
where even clowns would not
dare brighten or grin at;
I recall you.

In between deep breaths
the figure of you
a faint after-glow
of lime-greens and off-white
passes by the peripherals

After deep sighs
and long evening walks
I surrender
bloodied and bone-dried
to the core

You appear.
Yet only long enough
for the afternoon rain
to wash you  off
these mossy firewalls.

-Jay Protacio Mendoza-

*written: September 20, 2014

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Dahil (Old Poem re-written)

Sinusulat ko ang tula dahil;
maraming paro-paro sa aking isipan
at nakakawala ng sabay sabay,
at wala akong magawa upang pigilan.
Dahil pinagmamalabisan
ng mga dambuhala ang mga
masang anak-pawis
ngunit di ako malabas
ng bahay para maki welga...
maglalaba pa ako,
wala akong pamasahe
o di kaya'y iba ang inatas
sa akin ng aking kolektib...
at iba ang gagawin namin
ng mga kapwa aktibista

Sinusulat ko ang tula dahil
minsa'y nakaramdam ako
ng init ng katawan...
ngunit di ko mailabas...
Wala akong pera.
Wala akong chicks.
May tao pa sa banyo.
O di kaya'y natatakot lang
akong lumapit sa mga babae.

Sinusulat ko ang tula dahil
hindi ko malapitan
ang gusto kong babae
dahl may nobyo na sya
at poging di hamak sa akin.
Dahil mukhang anghel ang lahat
ng makita kong babae
at dahil wala akong babae...

At sa huli:

Sinusulat ko ang tula dahil
pinagmamalabisan ng mga
dambuhala ang mga
masang anak-pawis
habang nagwewelga ako
kasama ang mga babaeng mukhang anghel
at umiinit ang katawan ko sa tao sa banyo

Dahil wala akong pera...
at wala akong chicks...

Sinulat ko na lang ang tula...

Jay Protacio Mendoza
(1978 -     )

*This piece was written sometime in 1999, back when I was still in college. I tried to recall the original and came up with this.