Category: Poetry

Panamin usa, day!

Poetry by | March 5, 2022

Daghag klase-klase nga samin,
Adunay kuwadrado, adunay lingin.
Adunay dagko, adunay gagmay,
Apan mao ra man gihapon imong dagway.

Og mulakaw ka,
di gyud nimo kalimtan,
Atubangon ang samin,
kutob sa unsay mamatikdan.

Pila man diay ka oras
ang pagpamulbos?
Gikalimtan nimo ang sud-an
maong napan-os.

Ang pagpanudlay
usa ka oras sad tag inihapay.
Ang ulan ni bunok na day,
Wa gyud nahipos ang hinalay.

Usa ka manghinaway,
Panamin usa day.
Nag una-una kag panghimantay
Apan imong ngipon utro
wa nag pantay.

Ayaw paabota day
nga ikaw magmahay.
Ang pang panlibak,
Di gayud angay ikalipay.

Ug pwede, kana,
atubanga ang samin kanunay.
Ayaw lang gyud kalimte,
imong basa-basa
nga hinalay.

Krisha currently resides in Manikling, San Isidro, Davao Oriental for almost 10 years now, but was originally born at Davao City. Krisha is a first year student taking the course of Bachelor of Elementary Education in Davao Oriental State University-San Isidro Extension Campus.

Bulawan

Poetry by | March 5, 2022

Ganito ko lagi sinasariwa ang alahas ni Mamang kapag nasa lungsod siya:
Kumikinang ito nang maringal kapag nakapulupot sa kaniyang leeg tuwing may piging;
Kung may seremonya ng pag-iisandibdib; kung may pagbinyag na makabig;
Kung may kainan sa nagmamagarang restoran; kahit pa aniya’y sa pagsisiping,
Supling niya kung ituring ang hardin ng bulawan sa kinang ng kaniyang tagóng daing.
Ikinalulugod niya kapag naglalandas ang paningin ng mga dayo sa kaniyang tinghas
Habang pumapasok sa kaniyang pag-uulinig ang matarling na bulong ng paghanga.
Nasok ang matitinis na nagsasagutang usapan ang ipinupukol ukol sa kaniyang lawas,
Tinititigan siya nang maigi mula sa hédres niyang anyong bagwis hanggang may ekstraksiyon
Ng kung anong pilit ipasiwalat at ipalabas ng madla na bulawan sa mina ng kaniyang katawan.

Si Adrian Medina Pregonir ay nagsusulat sa wikang Filipino at Hiligaynon mula sa Banga, South Cotabato. Siya ay Fellow sa Davao Writers Workshop, Palihang Rogelio Sicat, TAHAD Hiligaynon CNF Workshop, San Agustin Writers Workshop at Kahirupan Bantugan sa Pagsulat sa Kinaray-a.

Tilimad-on: Tulo ka Haiku

Poetry by | January 31, 2022


Hait ang awit
sa kwaknit nga nasangit
sa kalasangan.


Galanog-lanog
ang siyaok sa hubakong
iring sa atop.

*
Lusok sa uwan,
gibisbisan ang lawas
sa patayng langgam.

Ivan Ridge Arbizo lives in Davao City.

Barbershop

Poetry by | January 17, 2022

Waiting on a bench at Big Tom’s,
I watch the child riding a thin wooden horse,
staring at his own reflection in the mirror before him,
one hand holding a lollipop to his mouth.

The buzzing hair clipper starts grazing
the back of his head. And then against his sideburns
running its cold metal base up his scalp
in a slow, even motion,
following the shape of his head.

When I was his age, wide-eyed and baby powdered,
my father would bring me to Mr. Uy’s,
a cheap, run-down barbershop,
the one with dull scissor blades
and a hair clipper that stung
when hot metal base touched the skin.

As soon as the elderly barber
draped the white cape around my shoulders,
he would tip my head slightly forward
pressing the clipper shakily on my nape,
moving it upward along the back of my head.
No wooden horse, no lollipop to lure me there.
I could’ve jumped out of the barber chair,
and screamed my way out.

Now I come here alone and sit up straight on my seat
stiff as a Chinese ear picker.
I sit on my fear that if I move a little
the barber might snip off my ear
and I would bleed to death,
the voice of my father inside my head
cursing me for giving his words of advice
a deaf ear.

Chris David F. Lao lives in Davao City. He earned his BA in English Creative Writing degree from UP Mindanao and MA in English degree from Ateneo de Davao University. His works have appeared in Mindanao Harvest 4: A 21stCentury Literary Anthology.

Ponderings of a Young Activist

Poetry by | January 17, 2022

If I lay on the streets gasping for life,
Will you take me from the gunfire,
Will you come back for me and run to my aid?

If blood starts to comingle with my body’s perspiration,
Will you shower me with your tears
And bathe me in your love?

If on the streets I die like the martyrs of Mendiola,
My shouts for change reduced to a whisper before the reign of darkness and
The flag I bear soiled by the blood-stained ground,

Will you raise me in your arms like the Pieta or
Will you be a Saint Michael drunk in pride,
Come spit at me, the deviant whom you always told-so?

When you bury me, Mother,
Will my grave also hold the future I envisioned,
The future that once gave me life, that you now hide beneath the earth?

Liane Carlo R. Suelan, born and raised in Davao City, is a BA in Literature student at UP Visayas.

Final Death Month

Poetry by | December 27, 2021

As fast as reptiles molt their skin,
October is on its way to an end in a few days now.
Swiftly, instantly—I only blinked twice,
and here we come to the final scene:
autumn foliage of maples,
dead twigs,
barren and lifeless trunks.

I saw couples taking photographs
of that perished oak tree
with the setting sun behind,
and I heard them call it poetic.
“What’s so poetic about dying?”

Oh! I forgot that people love dead things.
When decaying bodies lie in open caskets—
decaying bodies that are cold and insensible—
they come to call it poetic.
They all come together to offer flowers
and sing a threnody—
dirges so sweet and soothing.
Dirges are so sweet but useless.

A vigil is an opera.
For many, a vigil is a reunion.
But my funeral is not a place to reunite,
and I didn’t die beautifully.
I rot, I decay, I decompose:
my death is not poetic.

I will disperse to be one with the void.
My death is not an occasion for your
get-togethers and photoshoots.
My death is not to be mourned.

Before this month ends,
I’m sure I’ll become that perished oak tree,
only not for snapshots.
I’ll still be dead. Just dead.
Nothing but dead.
It will only be the final scene
of my dying phases
as I die each day in a month.

Yes, I died a long time ago,
and none of you noticed.

Alyana Pauline L. Presores, 19, was born in Magsaysay, Davao del Sur, but grew up in Monkayo, Davao de Oro. She skipped two academic years due to mental health issues, but she’s planning to continue her studies and pursue BS Psychology next school year.

Ang Kataposang Tuyok sa Duha ka Kalibotan

Poetry by | December 27, 2021

Inday:

Daliti imong pinalangga og usa ka balak.
Ayaw ipahalok imong ngabil balik sa iyang
mga bakak. Ilubong ang nagbangotang hagaw-
haw sa inyong kagahapon dinhi ilalom

sa nangalarag nga dahon sa himatyong puno-an.
Ang mga tiil sa tayaong orasan, magtaki-ang
og tinuyok sa iyang kaugalingong dagan.

Sulayi og sukod ang gilapdon sa kagabhion.
Tugoti mahagbong ang mga bituon.
Kinsa’y nakahibalo kanus-a mapislok
ang inyong handomanan?

Dodong:

Kinsa’y nakahibalo kanus-a mapislok
ang inyong handomanan? Tugoti
mahagbong ang mga bituon. Sulayi
og sukod ang gilapdon sa kagabhion.

Ang mga tiil sa tayaong orasan, magtaki-ang
Og tinuyok sa iyang kaugalingong dagan. Dinhi
ilalom sa nangalarag nga dahon sa himatyong

puno-an, ilubong ang nagbangotang hagaw-
haw sa inyong kagahapon. Ayaw ipahalok
imong ngabil balik sa iyang mga bakak.
Daliti imong pinalangga og usa ka balak.

Ivan Ridge Arbizo lives in Davao City.

Thank You Thank Yous

Poetry by | December 13, 2021

This morning I said thank you for coffee
To those dead village people that discovered it
Then I thanked the rain
I think you have to be in the right place and the right time
to be genuinely grateful for rain
Then I thanked my leg
And then I thanked my other leg
Then I said thank you for not having cough
Then I said thank you color pencils
Then I said thank you regular pencils
Thank you toothpaste
Thank you grenades
Thank you ugly babies
Thank you jackpot prizes
Thank you Jackson Browne
Thank you radio stations
Thank you Christmas lights
Thank you computers
[Continue thanking as many things/people as you please]

Jomer Macapaar Pajares is a 22-year-old writer born in Marawi City. He is currently studying Bachelor of Science in Secondary Education at Eastern Samar State University. If not writing, he draws on MS Paint.