Willie R. Bongcaron
Born 1958 in Manila, Philippines
residing in Manila, Philippines
Mr. Willie Ropelos Bongcaron is a haijin by choice. He is an adherent of short poetry forms like haiku, senryu, tanka, haiga, free verse, etc, but has been particularly addicted to haiku for 8 or more years now. He resides in Sampaloc, Manila, the Philippines with his family; and is a government employee, having worked with the light rail system since 1985.
airport barista —
pouring happiness
into people's lives
Failed Haiku, 10.2021
just for you child:
the love of your parents
that has no bounds
Failed Haiku, 10.2021
morning sun
her smile a bucketful
of cherries
Failed Haiku 58 2020 Issue
hometown visit
my childhood etched
on a footbridge
Failed Haiku 58 2020 Issue
social distancing...
the sign language added
on the menu
heritage cognac
a bottle of memories
a bottle of love
morning news
her congee thick
in attention
if common talk
can’t get through…
smile
my romance
with solitude
evening mist
morning blues
just a pinch of smile
on her face
crossroads…
the twists and turns
in each choice
kitchen tricks…
she never stops
to amaze me
Failed Haiku May 2020 Issue
connectivity the power of SMS
Failed Haiku: August 2019 Issue
hashtags…
I edit some
of my assertions
Failed Haiku August 2019 Issue
wedding march --
the groom's mother
lets out a sob
full moon --
her eyes beg me
to stay
cloudy morning
i keep the musings
in my pocket
eastbound train
memories speed up
with the clouds
carpentry lesson --
father brushes
aside summer
from a pile of wood
straw mat
on the floor, the long
summer night
dew drops --
the tears that linger
in her eyes
morning rain --
picking the pieces
of myself
train ride...
at the tail end
my longings
salted peanuts...
another heap of all
his heartaches
morning butterfly
the unsteady gait
of an old man
if only lovers
weren't so blind...
autumn moon
haiku walk
the shimmering palette
of an old master
street brawl...
a text message
on my phone
morning sky
I squint some more
to meet the sun
a piece
of jigsaw puzzle...
fake news
the whistle
of an old street thug
summer night
attic room
never too late to save
memories
a pocket
full of memories...
homeless man
morning sun
the many ways I look
at a rose
in a bench
of have's and have not's
the same news