On The Sin-Tax Bill (Poem)

I remember the good ol’ days where cigarettes were cheap,
I could smoke a set of sticks, a pack a day, a week,
I could keep drinking from those bottles till it made me weak,
Stick after bottle was good, but now, I have to speak.

Why DID the government go and tax our vice?
Is it because they want people to be healthy, clean and nice?
Is it cause they want people to spend less money and be wise?
Nah, I think it’s cause they just want to earn off of the public’s demise.

If they wanted us all to quit, they would’ve stopped selling this sh*t,
They would’ve stopped selling cigarettes to both adults and kids,
They would’ve banned every single Marlboro stick,
But that’s not good for their income because tobacco is BIG.

If they wanted us all to quit, they would’ve stopped selling the juice,
No more drunken driving cases where people file lawsuits,
No more bottles, no more cans of fermented roots,
No more alcohol content having people make loot.

It’s tax, and it’s for revenue to make the country last,
But instead it helps them do better when they reel in all the cash,
To spend more consumer money when sprucing up their stash,
And they laugh with all they get from the bottles and ash.

They say everyone’s taxed so it isn’t unfair,
But with the amount that they steal, they really just couldn’t care.
They can afford it everyday and they won’t even share,
Hell, they go to work smoking, drunk, and unprepared.

So raise a finger drinkers, smokers to another government scam,
Taking away the simple things is just a part of their plans,
And when we think that we have everything at the tip of our hand,
They go and lie every elections about a promised land.

(c) Anachronic Works 2013

Bargaining (Poem)

How much,
Is your final
For these

Is your last
For these

Will it take for you to
Home with

Will you
Your promise to


Words of affection

Do we
From here

How would you,
Like to
It when the

What then,
Will we
On when the
Is done?

Don’t we
The deal

There. Now.
Me your
I’ll tell you

(c) Anachronic Works 2012

K. F. L. Y. Y.

The wind on my skin is so cold, I could freeze. My eyes are sore, and red, and tearing up. I barely have control over most of my senses. I feel immortal with a weight on my chest that pushes outward. My head drops left and right, and my body wants to follow. Dark and light, move around as if shadows. The music plays and it carries me away on a ship that sails never to see the light of day. I the numb captain immortal, commandeer this ship alone.

With some leaves in my pipe, and a face so cherry-ripe. I wipe my eyes, and fly this ship on the liquid skies. The birds swim and the fish fly, but there is no help to come to me tonight.

I miss the sound of a voice in the distance, it no longer sings, the mermaids are gone. As I am caught up in this blissful instance, I fall once more to the floor of bone. This ship was built on the backs of men, and men lead it across great distances, just to hear the voice call their name. The sun rises with it’s massive blue. Moby Dick couldn’t compare to the size of this spew. This spittle from the sky of liquid jumps and falls, with a white cloud tidal wave, it splashes us all.

The bunny next to me thinks greatly of my endeavor. It thinks me the king of all that is clever. Alas I itch, and my hair needs a scratch, so I sit and use my boot for that. The bunny is starving so I give it some Chicken Cornflake (TM) and it enjoys the milk-less cereal that makes your daily dose of supposed food roll into one suppressed meal. The sea will do that to you, and you need to maneuver as well as eat.


The sun shines and calls me, the shirtless, Captain of this ship. The light of the smokey stars start to fade as they rock me to my sleep of days. I sleep in the daylight but I am no vampire. It is but the simplest of things, a plant I admire.

(c) AnachronicWorks 2012

God Save The Trees, Long Live The Trees

You grow like you know,
You know you are very strong,
You, the mighty Tree.

Towering around,
The true King of the Jungle,
Ruler of Forests.

Hundreds of feet high,
You are nature’s best creature.
And surely, you live.

You don’t feed on life,
And you can provide for such.
You feed the weaklings.

Great is your power,
Your sacrifice aids all life,
A servant to all.

They chop and stab you.
Yet you do not seek revenge,
You suffer but smile.

The storm will brew, but,
You provide them a shelter,
Until your last breath.

You the Timid Beast,
Take all with you when you fall,
But you live in peace.

The perfect leader,
Your rule is just and righteous.
Father to your sons.

One day all will sing,
Your chants and praises galore,
But indeed I know:

“God will save the trees!”
They sing but no word is meant,
“Long will live the trees!”

(c) Anachronic Works 2012

Lost in This World (Project Song)

I’ve been stuck on this same old road,
For more than I can remember,
For more than I can tell.
I’ve been going around in circles,
And I think that I just fell,
Into a deeper part of hell.

But I know. Yes I know. Oh I know, you’ll find me. (x2)

Coz I am lost in this world without you,
There are things that I just can’t defeat.
I am lost in this world without you,
So please don’t leave me be.
Just please stay here with me, with me.

I’ve already been ’round here.
These roads look the same.
But you come up from behind me,
And I’ll never be the same again,
No I’ll never be the same again.

Coz I am lost in this world without you,
There are things that I just can’t defeat.
I am lost in this world without you,
So please don’t leave me be.
Just please stay here with me, with me.

(c) Anachronic Works 2012

Delayed Merry Christmas (It’s Amazing How The Simplest of Stories Can Make One Cry)

So yesterday, I was at a hotel for Christmas day, and surprising to say, I couldn’t get away with my way, because internet service in the room means that you have to pay. 100 Pesos an hour is really too much, so I was not able to post this soon enough, but nevertheless, here I am now, ready to share something new to the crowd.


So for all you people out there who had spent their Christmas-es alone, then that’s cool. At least the Internet always has some posts for you guys. 🙂 Here’s the post:


It’s Amazing How The Simplest of Stories Can Make One Cry


The more complex on the other hand makes one think.

The comical drive the point of the need to laugh.

The more horrific drive the point of the need to fear.

The romantic drive the point of the need to love.

The action and movement filled ones drive at the need to live to the fullest.

The musical drive the point of expression through the sounds that affect us ergo the importance of our ears.

The silent ones drive the point of expression through visuals and how important our eyes really are.

Though with all of this, it’s the simple ones that drive the point of life itself. It’s the simple ones that make us cry. Why? Maybe because we relate to them. Maybe because they’re easier to comprehend. Maybe because they’ve happened to us. Maybe because they can influence more. Maybe because the lessons learned are really useful. Maybe because we follow by example. Maybe because of all of these combined.


Or maybe.

Just maybe.

You’d like to,

Live out what actually transpired.


You’d like to live it, so you can tell your version.

You’d like to live it, so you can experience the fullness of life.

You’d like to live it, because you’ve been starved of it.

You’d like to live it, since it happens to others.

You’d like to live it, knowing what to expect or what not to.


But for me, I like the simple ones because they make me tremble,

they make me question,

they make me wonder,

they make me realize,

they make me analyze,

they make me worry,

they make me relieved,

they make me stay awake,

they make me sleep,

but most of all,

I like the simple ones,

Because they inspire.




To know the simple will give you all that you’ll ever need to make the complex.


(c) Anachronic Works 2011

We Have Time (A Poem)

I’m wondering how the world would be without the essence of existence.

What words are there to explain this resistance to persistence?

The persistent push of mother nature, and yet we keep our distance.

Our lives are futile without each other’s assistance. In this stance,

We try to survive in this world of hatred and we still dance.

We still dance to the rhythm of the music of sleep,

We still dance to the sounds of our demise that creeps,

So deep. So deep.

Intrepid in our futile push to survive, so deep.

I’m apologetic to you, and you’re irritated with me.

I’m in sorrow, with all the chaos in our sea,


Insanity brings me comfort, bringing me back to reality.

The intensity, of this system of inconsistency,

Is as fucked up as the discomfort of plasticity.

A poem for your sake has brought me to my low grades of D,

G, the chord I play with the C to hopefully let you see,

E, and I hope that this basic tune will let me be,

That I love this music, and I love your music…

And I’m tired of this world, and I hope you’re not as tired.

I want to forget to remember to remember to forget,

It’s been said.

If we have time to love ourselves, we have time to love others.

We have time to dance, we have time to sleep, we have time to cry, we have time to fake it.

Time however, is of the essence and I can’t conceive shit.

I can only wish for the sake of this, that we make the most of our time in this,

This world.

And the most of my time will be well spent on you.

(c) Anachronic Works 2011


There was once a time when I wondered to myself about girls.
There was once a time I wondered to myself about the world.
Once upon a time they were parallel, which was never peculiar.
And until once upon a time they became perpendicular.
Inexplicably so, I couldn’t define such a sight I beheld,
But when the time came, it was her hand that I held.
It was her eyes,
It was her lips,
It was her face,
It was her mind,
It was her body,
Mine was a disgrace.
I was fat,
I was ugly,
I was a joke.
If I’d escaped from Chernobyl,
People would understand the words that I spoke.
Once upon a rainy day, I distinctly recalled her, the parallel of my world,
No line she made intersected with mine except that I was a boy and she was a girl.
It was peculiar the way the words she said fell perpendicular,
When I realized she’d meant that I was her shining star,
Because what she said to me, the time she did so long ago,
Misaligned her river from the course of my flow.
She had to go,
She had to leave,
She told me with her arms around my sleeve,
She had to cry,
She questioned why,
She cursed all, the world but never me.

And so grimly I spoke with the remnants of a deadlock of our bodies,
To the night and the cold air, and particularly nobody,

That parallel be life and death,
Metaphors cease to give me rest,

And with a flask of whiskey,
A pocket dictionary,
And a pen and paper that lay lifeless before me,

*Originally written in 2010.
(c) Anachronic Works 2011

Fangs of Gin

How could I ignore such a plea?
When she cries away in the night,
I can’t help but to try,
And hear her scream for a little peace of mind.

Cry, oh, cry, for the fangs of gin,
To lose yourself from where you’ve been,
The world of the bite,
Provides escape for the night.

She hears his voice give a shout,
And she doesn’t know how to react to that,
So she holds the bottle fast,
And wonders if life’s worth the scraps,
In her mind.

(c) Anachronic Works 2011

How dare you steal me away to a world that no longer exists?

How dare you steal me away to a world that no longer exists?
To a world where only memories should have stayed.
To a world where the feelings are buried under a new layer of the recent exploits.
To the world where only she and I, she and I, she and I were held.
Yet I enjoy the taunt, and I enjoy the tease, with no clever retort to this world of ease.

In the light of half-past midnight, my numb eccentricities keep me company with the mist of a small kindle.
My muddied shoes are gentle to the soil, and you steal me away to that world of toil.
That hand held moment that once was gone is recreated in a stubborn belief in the words spoken.
I lay silent.
What noise is there to make?
The rain has proven enough to sing sleep to the countless.
Yet you and I are awake and weak; I in my shirt, and you in that dress.
You in the light of the streetlamp looking beautiful for naught.
I saw you and we made the love of screens and shows, reciting the vows that we let people know.
We recite those lines not of our mind, but of our soul, worth more to me than ages ago.
Those lines we stole.
I wish I could kiss, but miss.
So I grab at your wrist, pulling you closer and balling my hands to fists.
You push me away, and I act okay, saying a single line that would make you stay.
You take a seat, and I sit next to you, to listen to the thoughts that you alone once knew.
I listen to your past, but you nevertheless stay. You needed to speak, and you needed to say.
We let go of the memory, trying to make new, this newfound glory that we feel to be true. You leave.
Take the memories with you, as you see fit. You thieves of sly beauty, you’ve murdered me twice. Tonight…
In the light of half-past midnight, my numb eccentricities keep me company with the mist of a small kindle.
How could you feel so much, but say so little? In the last scene you give the zilch of a spit.
How dare you steal me away to a world that no longer exists?

(c) Anachronic Works 2011