Because I can’t say good-bye… (a poem)


For my Mom, Rosa Pilar Roxas Amador, who passed into another world at 11:10 p.m. on April 26, 2014 (Philippine time). She was my mother-in-law, but more of a mother to me. I will never forget her.


Because I can’t say good-bye, I will remember

Days of loving and caring, sharing and laughing

When we first met I will never forget

Into your home you took me

You made it mine and made me yours


You loved me

As a mother would a child of her blood

Into your fold you took me like one of your brood

You gave freely what you could

And even what you could not

Without second thought

Without hesitation

With far-reaching hands

With large heart

And open mind

Giving to a fault

Mindless of means

You heard with your heart

Listened with love

Counseled with care

There was nowhere I could go that you did not find me

And what I could not say you always knew

Now, everywhere and nowhere, you will be with me

Always in my heart, in my mind

Forever in my words because I can never say good-bye to you

I will remember.


© Cindy Lapeña, 2014


the baby in the tub (poem)


the baby in the tub sat

and the mother of

the baby in the tub

took a call and sat

at her phone to chat

while the baby in the tub sat

and the mother stayed on the phone

left the baby in the tub alone

left the baby in the tub to drown

and the baby in the tub drowned alone

while the mother sat to chat

on the phone


© Cindy Lapeña, 2012


Return to Poetry

A Poem: On the He(Art) of Survivors


There is a certain sadness in The Guild.
shreds of human pain
angst that goes deeper than the medium
remnants of violence
pain in heavy lines
bloody reds oozing out of the frames
glimmers of hope
splotches of yellow in rays and sunflowers
empty eyes–but not really
almost temple-like
a shrine to survival
…and death
hanging on a clothesline in a macabre
dance of shadows
like flimsy prayers with
no wind of hope

There is no joyful abandon here.
only mystery, intrigue, innuendos
veiled behind veiled looks, falling hair, shadows
nothing is as it seems
it’s really worse than it looks
streaks of color shift
to webs and tangles of arms, hands, forest, hair
more empty stares
ennui in a bottle
bloody mary in a tub
studied nonchalance hiding behind dark lenses
patches and pastiches of line and color
stark words on a starker background
do the pluses really outweigh the minuses?
surrealistic fairy figures behind pained looks
the greens of the earth bleed
red through ochres and browns
a bright red here, a dark red there
and the red-flowered brown knit ball
on a twisted pole
on a rusted spade
pig’s head? scarecrow? mummified head?
vaguely reminiscent of wild children and flies
and two empty bowls with a ladle
and nothing to ladle out–

are survivors so empty of their being
or are they just waiting to be filled?

27 March 2012

No time for mourning (poem)


There’ll be no time for mourning when the dying is done

no time for mourning when the dying are gone

no time for mourning when the darkness falls

no time for mourning when the darkness calls

no time for mourning with the morning sun

no time for mourning because life goes on.