Category: Poetry

Socrates in a Dark Alley

Poetry by | September 23, 2007

Beware this ancient agent of wisdom
At the prime of his faculties
Before he was brought low by his drink

Beware the searching lantern eyes
Ever on the lookout
For the honest men of Greece

Beware the sharp silver tongue
That cuts with the confounding power of truth
Implacable corruptor of Athens’ fair-haired youth!

To him, all ground is fertile
Nowhere sacred, nowhere safe
Be it market, forum, palace, or temple

Beware those wiry hands
That reach out and grab
For victims of his method

Then with the force of a knife
He wrenches an answer to the essential question:
“Your money or your life?”

Stupid Complaints

Poetry by | September 16, 2007

I hate the speedy HH.
I hate the bumpy road to school.
I hate the scent of Manong Driver.

Complaints! Complaints! Complaints!
Don’t hate the speedy HH.
Let the air slap your face.
Smile. Close your eyes.
Listen to the rush of air.
You will hear the laughter of the earth.
Don’t hate the bumpy road to school.
Let the rocks in the road jolt you to the real.
Hold tight. Close your eyes.
Feel the stony path.
You will find there life’s ups and downs.
Don’t hate the scent of Manong Driver.
If he smells awful, let him be.
Breathe freely. Close your eyes.
In his scent you will sense
Man’s proud spirit towards life’s journeys.
Stop complaining. Just ride on.

Pakikiraan

Poetry by | September 16, 2007

Paano kaya kita kakausapin

Nang walang sinasabi

Walang hinihingi

Walang minumungkahi
At walang dinaramdam
Nais kong maging maingat
Sa aking pagdaan
Manabi-tabi, ituring kang
Isang ilang na lugar
Tahimik na susubayin
At buong galang na iiwanan
Hahayo nang walang galit
Walang gustong nakawin
At walang ni anong dadalhin.

Polemic on Culture and Capitalism

Poetry by | September 16, 2007

The pen is mightier than the sword
But the PC is mightier than the pen
But the cell is mightier than the PC
But the radio is mightier than the cell
But the cable TV is mightier than the radio
But the power company is mightier than the cable company
But the bank is mightier than the power company
Perhaps I shall work for the bank

The Driver's Blessing

Poetry by | September 9, 2007

One day, I saw a driver
He was getting off his jeep
He ran to the roadside, stood against a wall
And became a priest
He stood with his legs apart
Looked up to the sky above
Bowed down his head in prayer
And clasped his hands in front of his hips
In silent supplication
In fervent adoration
Then he started to perform his rite
And suddenly out gushed
A spray of amber water
The driver has blessed the concrete wall
And washed away its sins

The Sound of Water

Poetry by | September 9, 2007

I like the sound of water
crooning like nature’s song
from a mountain’s secret streams
I like its voice, like a lover’s
echoing whispers
within a pool in a cavern
sometimes subtle, like dew
on a yawning leaf,
it can whoosh as if in a rush
and slap against daring rocks and ridges—
at times oddly thoughtful,
it putters and plops
and trickles on a window sill;
or merry, it blends
with the shrieks and splashes
of running naked limbs—
forbidding, it roars
with the force of an angry ocean;
hurt, it whimpers—the sound
muffled by a confining bottle
or glass—

quiet, it lies gagged and imprisoned,
locked by a trembling eyelid.

When I talk

Poetry by | September 2, 2007

When I talk
To you and you answer
With a sigh or
Asterisk I am at
A loss

For words just
As well
And then we converse
In long
Or short
Silences and a smattering
Of footnotes

You and I
We do not talk anymore
And all our asterisks
Are turning
Into flowers.

I was told you just died

Poetry by | September 2, 2007

All day long for two days I had longed to see you
Now you are dead
And all I have is this desire
Monumental and cracked
To run as fast as I can
Into the unyielding heat of the desert sun
Into the hot fury of my own heart
Where love long and immemorial
Could not save you
I was told you smiled on your way out
Knowing you it had to be the thousand little golden stars of your childhood
The ones that named you after their own light
Because like them you too are brilliant
And of another world
You were perhaps seven or eight again
Or maybe a grown man as you are now
Comforting yourself as you begin to die
Among the same stars that came to you in the same dream
Always in the softest glow and the scent of cinnamon