Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Cinquain Trilogy

I showed my grief
you were surprised yet knew
there's inner hurt gnawing inside
my soul.

But then
aren't we forced
by social norms to hide
our fears lest our loved ones suffer
from them?

I take 
my manly role
seriously as I can.
Yet do they know that I also 
feel pain?


Monday, August 3, 2015


the cactus plant
outlives and outlasts
even man himself
who then is the master
of the universe

from my book,
Haiku and Tanka Havest
available at Amazon

Thursday, July 30, 2015


my neighbor mows
the grassy edges
of my unkempt lawn
in the shade I try to write
this friendship poem

from my book,
Haiku and Tanka Harvest

Friday, July 17, 2015



lack of rain
still no news
of their runaway daughter


kulang sa ulan
wala pa ring balita
lumayas na anak

a fly on top
of the carabao
the mighty one


sa likod ng kalabaw


from a distance
at the appointed time
I wait for your smile
to bask once more
in your smile


sa abot ng tanaw
at takdang panahon
hintay ang sulyap mo
nang muling mamasdan
ang iyong ngiti

From my book,
Haiku and tanka harvest

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Trilingual Haiku



gabing walang bituin
hinihintay kita sinta
kahit sa panaginip

SOLEDAD (Spanish)

la noche sin estrellas
esperare por te amor
aun en mi sueƱos


starless night
l'll wait for you my love
even in my dreams

From my book,
Haiku and Tanka Harvest

Saturday, June 27, 2015

Moving Day

MOVING DAY, a haibun
by Victor P. Gendrano

World Haiku Review, August 2013

watching me watch
the remnants of my past life
my daughter whispers
it's alright Dad to be sad
on your moving out

On my daughter Juliet's insistent demand that it's time for me to enjoy my retirement, I moved to a senior community place euphemistically called Leisure World. On the early morning of that first day, I thought I smelt the aroma of a freshly brewed coffee, so half-awake, I hurriedly walked to the kitchen dreamingly half-expecting a homey breakfast with my late wife.

Unfortunately, I accidentally bumped my head on the bedroom's slightly open door and felt blood oozing from my forehead to my eyes. I sidestepped to the bathroom, snatched a bunch of toilet paper and pressed them tightly over the wound. With my right hand on my forehead, I used my left hand to dial for help.

A paramedic examined the wound and, obviously to lessen the gravity of the situation and put me at ease, he proclaimed with impish grin and studied flair that it was only a cut and no stitches are needed. He then cleaned, dressed and bandaged my head wound, while softly humming a tune.

Blurting repeated thanks while escorting him to the door, I glimpsed a shaft of early morning light gradually piercing and bathing my sleepy neighborhood.

no time nor place
could weaken the memory
of my first love

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Ode to my father

by Victor P. Gendrano

Gnarled hands reveal
The toil of countless years,
Unceasing care in raising us
From carefree days.
Warm them on mine, let us,
In peace, relive the bygone days
With no regret. Let's not lament
The rare instance when we snatched
From fleeting time a few minutes
Then being one, sharing one's soul
In man-to-man's togetherness.

Oh memories!
Time-warped and distance-dulled
We seem only to dwell on those
We like and dump away the rest
As if in so doing we wash our guilt
Of things undone, unspoken words
Which might haunt us in our sleep.

Your frail body, which now is sapped
Of all strength lay bedridden
Creased brow, etched lines
On aged face my hands
Nor love, cannot erase.

Hearken, I'll sing our song
When as a child you soothed my fears
I need it now to steel myself
Still sorrow, and sad swan song
Inchoate yet escaping
From my burdened breast.

And when the thief of life
Finds us apart, take heed
With you my thoughts, my love
My memories remain always
As with Mother who you precede
Rest peacefully, peacefully rest
We commend you to heaven's grace.

In my book, RUSTLE OF BAMBOO LEAVES, but first published in Heritage magazine, Vol. II, No. 1, March 1988.