ode to the pirate of Mindanao,
swashbuckler of the south china sea...
he lived by his wit and to stash in his kit
all he had hopes to be.
he was dashing and swarthy a joy at a party.
but beware when he sharpened his pen.
time paid to society through
wanting to leave
a world behind, start new...
little girls in ribbons and bows
had nothing to do with his adult sized woes...
too young, to explain, his distain.
so he battled and collected fame... wealth in his infamous name.
trafficked in guns and the lives of men
who died in battles for gain.
scarred and maimed he descended to bed
in a house built of nipa palm...
sold whiskey on the beach 10 pesos each, for a shot of the liquid sun.
what more does a man, with a war torn head, really need to do?
the women were beautiful but shy
and whiskey flowed from the sky.
one day, it seemed, when the world turned mean
and the voices of his children grew...
the whiskey stopped working, the ghosts kept lurking...
he really had nothing to do.
he got up
he shook it off...
and decided to take a wife...
start a new batch of kids
begin a new life...
one filled with joy
not strife.
but, old ways had become, part of his sin...
old friends had ideas to begin...
politicians and tobaccos,
president Marcos!
now what had he fallen in?
every letter he sent had to be copied and bent
by people all over the world...
so where were these folks
who knew of the hoax,
of all the dirt in the den?
he died last year...!
where were the copies of letters... then?
telling me it was time to come?
time to bury the pirate king?
to fold his arms, remove his ring,
minus one hand....
to kiss and to press his brow?
to tell him daddy, there's nothing to forgive....
i've loved you all the while.
so stash in the saber, put the coins on display,
drink up the last of the rum...
throw up and over, the old Jolly Rodger
his chop and his smokes and his gun....
burn all the papers...
layers upon layers
of tales and history...
the ship has been taken...
his ghost in the mak-in...
my father, the pirate king.
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