COMMODORE EUGENIO C. VELASCO O-8076 PN  

06 September 1953 – 29 November 2017

A very sad day today! I am still in shock. Eugene is a neighbour who is a health conscious buff. I can see him taking daily walks with his wife, Ester, around our neighbourhood in the wee hours of the morning, as I am leaving for work to evade the traffic rush hours. Jing, as we call Eugene, passed away a few minutes ago of gastric bleeding at St. Luke’s hospital. I remember this email loop with jest.

(Before proceeding: to Bai Onell, the protagonist of Jing here in my writing, please accept my apologies and permission to publish your 3 poems! I am printing these Mapitagans private email exchanges without malice to shame you but just to honour the memory of Jing. For me, you Bai Onell, are still one of the brilliant writers in our class, the Academy for that matter, has ever produced. You are my lodi in essay writing. You had edited so many of my essays, “False Hope” in particular. I’m forever indebted to you…thank you Herr Onell!)

Here, I did not include anymore comments of other classmates about the poem. Let me now proceed:

On May 13, 2015, at 07:47 Bai Onell wrote:

Mga mistah, may I share, unsolicited, the first of three narrative poems I wrote last year about a fictional character just called The Duffer.

The Duffer, October 7, 2014

My friend, a duffer, very passionate in this weekend pursuit

Proudly claims he’s a golfer, though often comes up short

Ah, golf, will there ever be the most exasperating a sport

He tees off hopeful, and promptly drives a glorious slice

Into trees in fairway’s right, must play the ball as it lies

Face wrapped in hangdog grin, he tees for a Mulligan

With that lousy first swing, the round is all but gone.

Seventeen more holes, he imagines making birdies

And pars and bogeys, not double and triple bogeys.

That double par in the first hole alas has set the pace

In the scorecard his numbers in every hole gone amiss

To the fairways’ left and right, wayward shots he sprays

Balls out of bounds, in water hazards and wrong fairways

Missed bunker blasts and three putts, more strokes added

The duffer, hapless, once more foiled to break one hundred.

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On May 14, 2015, at 13:17 Eugene Velasco wrote:

Bravo Bay! You have found a new calling. You have written a short poem which is at PAR with other writers.

Keep on seeing the hole, este, the whole picture and you put(t) it right. He he he.

———————

On May 15, 2015 at 16:04:26 Bai Onell wrote:

bai jing, while reading your email, i want to get my Driver, because i might be Teed off by your typical Jing-ic humor.

———————-

On May 19, 2015 at 08:03:39 Bai Onell wrote:

thanks for the kind words mga mistah. bai jing, looking forward to playing with you, in my own duffing way…

———————-

On May 26, 2015 at 07:05:13 Bai Onell wrote:

The Duffer Off The Tee, November 28, 2014

As early morning sunlight

Bathes the glistening fairways

From the trees the merry chirps

Of birds greet the first golfers flight.

My friend, the duffer, his foursome lead

To the mound he struts, Callaway in hand

Stoops, with ungloved hand tees up his ball

A Titleist Pro V1x, for lower spin and more roll.

Feet spread wide apart, the video tip he recalls

And parallel to the target line, his pro’s advise

All those lessons from the range and video

Fill his mind, but messing up his tempo.

He waggles, then his takeaway slow

With a mighty heave, he swings

But looks up, topping the ball!

Ah, ten mere yards, it rolls.

– onell

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On May 26, 2015 at 12:34 Eugene Velasco wrote:

Bravo for the second time Bay Onell. Well thought of lines in the stanzas. The fight to play the game right reminds of Don Sayote, este Don Quijote pala. Suggest you take a look at the fourth stanza on the use of the word “advise”. You’re intended usage of the word in the poem is a Noun. But based on the teachings of our instructors a long time ago at PMA the noun of advise is advice! Pardon my limited knowledge if I am wrong. I hope I was not asleep when Mrs Purification taught in our class. He he he. Again Bay, two thumps up!

———————-

On May 26, 2015 at 18:01:12 Bai Onell wrote:

Egad! (a Dickensian expletive, mind you)

bai Jing, you are right! my sincerest apologies for this grammatical betrayal. i verbed a noun; or nouned a verb! advice it is. defined by any online dictionary worth its shaker of salt as – a suggestion for an appropriate course of action; therefore a noun.

to preserve a modicum of my pride which you have wounded, albeit with good intention, I lay the blame on Mrs. Tandoc, who failed to inculcate in my yearling mind the cosmic difference between s and c in advi*e.

bitaw Jing, thanks for pointing out this booboo.

———————-

On May 27, 2015 at 04:07:57 Bai Onell wrote:

thanks for the vote of confidence Mike. coming from you, the compliment is like a class snapshot taken during our homecoming. definitely worth keeping.

so unlike a 10-minute video clip of maria ozawa. 🙂

i must have been wallowing in shame, and applying the correct “c”, for that grammatical slip-up to have noticed Jing’s pun-ny hossana.

indeed, thumped twice up there, to knock some grammar sense into the head. thanks Jing, I O U 1! pwede rin, I O U 2!

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On May 28, 2015 1:57 PM Eugene Velasco wrote:

Sorry Mistah. When I wrote the word ” two thumps up”, I meant it as a joke but with feelings because the thumps are sounds produced from the beatings of two blunt objects like two woods or two irons, perhaps.

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May 29, 2015 at 04:35:23 Bai Onell wrote:

jing, seriously, we are entertained, nakakatuwa ba, how you slay, er, este, play with the words. it’s witty, actually. keep slaying, bai jing.

mike, as i from time to time play with japanese lady golfers, i will ask one what the phrase means. would you recommend i prepare one cheek for that inevitable slap?

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On June 16, 2015 at 14:05:43 Bai Lleno wrote:

The Duffer Three-Putts, December 14, 2014

With a surprising drive off the 6th tee,

The duffer struts, beaming so proudly;

Two hundred yards far the ball carried,

To the cup, the yardage just a hundred.

This short par four he wants to tame,

Scoring at best a bogey, double often;

His second shot with a pitching wedge,

At two on the green for birdie he needs.

The ball struck well lands left of the pin,

Tho uphill rolls to the back of the green;

Twenty yards downhill, a straight putt,

Just one for a birdie, hole out he must.

Mallet putter aligned, he eyes the ball,

Thru his Oakleys, the line to the hole;

Breath held, pulls back the putter slow,

As caddies watch, desist all banter too.

He strikes the ball with a spastic jerk,

His golfing buddies all hide their smirk;

The ball to the right rolls, past the cup,

Fifteen yards beyond, it decides to stop.

With the birdie blown he prays for par,

Now uphill, he strokes firmly and sure,

The ball tracks well but stops at the lip!

Ah, a three-putt bogey more, to live with.

——— END OF STORY ———

Note: Please leave your comments below …for your sympathies to the bereaved family or accolades to the writer of the poem. I can relay your messages to the surviving members of the family and author, respectively.