Easter Morning

 

Easter Morning

The sun

does not

really rise.

Within those

one hundred

twenty

seconds,

the ground

tilts us towards

the light.

And as with

anything

we encounter,

epiphanies

are constant

cores

unveiled

through

a glass

darkly.

One day,

nothing

will distinguish

us from

stars.

For now,

still

let your

breath catch

as you open

your eyes.

Image: cmophoto.net of Unsplash

April 4, 2021

#NaPoWriMo2021 no. 4

King Butter Buns and The Dark Chocolates

Last Black Saturday, I made up a story together with my son. Sharing all the belly laugh-inducing silliness with you.

King Butter Buns and The Dark Chocolates 
by Justine Camacho-Tajonera

For B. 

King Butter Buns lived peacefully in the green hills with his minions, the Easter bunnies and the regular bunnies. The Easter bunnies were special. They ate the magic weeds of King Butter Bun's hills and pooped Easter eggs filled with soda gummies. King Butter Bun’s regular bunnies, on the other hand, pooped out milk chocolate bars.

Everything was going fine until the Dark Chocolates arrived. There was an army of them. They wanted to take over King Butter Bun’s kingdom. They came armed with Dark Chocolate bows and arrows and catapults. It was an all out war. King Butter Buns hit back with Easter eggs and milk chocolate bars. But they were outnumbered. The Dark Chocolates were winning.

Suddenly, from out of the horizon, a rocket ship of children arrived. The boys and girls saw that the Dark Chocolates covered King Butter Bun’s hills. “Eeew! Dark chocolates!” they cried out. Together, they flung the Dark Chocolates away until they saw the Easter eggs and milk chocolate bars. “Yay! Easter eggs and milk chocolate!” The children defeated the Dark Chocolates.

“Thank you, dear children,” King Butter Buns said, “as your reward, you can have as much Easter eggs, cola gummies, and milk chocolate as you want.” The boys and girls were astonished with the cola gummies. They didn't see that these were hidden inside the sugar shells of the Easter eggs. Everyone cheered! The regular bunnies and Easter bunnies pooped out all the Easter eggs and chocolate bars with grateful hearts. Before they left on their rocket ship, the children, in turn, left a box of carrots for the bunnies. What the bunnies pooped out from the carrots is another story. 

The End

NaPoWriMo#25: Join Easter Jaunt, A Portrait

NaPoWriMo or National Poetry Writing Month, is an annual project in which participating poets attempt to write a poem a day for the month of April.

Below is a short portrait poem that emerges out of the anagram that comes from my name.

Join Easter Jaunt, A Portrait
by Justine C. Tajonera

Inside my name is an invitation to a journey
on the road to resurrection. Everlasting life is heavy
stuff. So, why make the trip so solemn? A jaunt
sounds like a call in the morning: we're going off
to Sierra Madre, come quick, pack light. It's cramming
into a car and making stops at roadside restaurants
that you won't find in the city. We're going together,
that's what counts. Everlasting life is now, exactly
now, as I turn around to take a picture. It's the smile
that won't leave your lips because, there, around the
bend, there's a view of the light coming through
the clouds, making the mountainside golden. It's
the glory of your hand in mine as we get out of the
car with the children and stand in the wind.

NaPoWriMo#2: Easter Eggs

Easter Eggs
by Justine C. Tajonera

We hid eighty-four eggs in the park, yesterday
and waited an hour and a half for everyone to show up.
Eighty-three eggs were found in thirty minutes, one was unaccounted for.
Inside the eggs were pieces of paper with Easter quotes
about eternal life and temples and resurrection and God's
only begotten son. I had hoped some of the children would
read them before turning them over for the prizes of marshmallows
and star jelly candies and chocolates and lollipops.
Some of them did. But what I remember most was how hot
the afternoon light was. How cooling the breeze.
How peaceful it was with only the two of us looking for
unlikely places for children to find treats among the trees.
We rested on the wooden bench together, exhausted, smiling.
We counted all those eggs. We worked on them with our son,
our daughter. We had twelve big eggs with five small candies
in them. We had twelve small, fancy eggs with designs on them and
sixty regular eggs, each with three small candies in them. Sixty
out of the eight-four eggs had carefully folded pieces of paper.
Easter bunnies have nothing to do with Jesus Christ, I know,
but there was something in the work of that afternoon that was
the resurrection and the life.