Category: Poetry

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.

Wolfboi004

Poetry by | December 13, 2021

anti-theft laptop bag
anti-theft drawer
anti-theft portable refrigerator
anti-theft suicide vest
anti-missile camping tent
checkout

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.

Space School

Poetry by | December 13, 2021

Because nothing was impossible
for visionaries like them
Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk
built a school somewhere in Africa
that only offered space courses
so the people wanting to be teachers
beekeepers
firefighters
artists
farmers
would be forced to become astronauts
because of lack of money
Soon the school produced the first-ever
depressed African astronauts in space
and they did space therapy

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.

Half-Remembered

Poetry by | November 22, 2021

Every morning I reach into my bag of memories
and pull out who to be for the day.
Sometimes it’s an old receipt,
half-remembered.
Other days it’s a photo of smiling faces
of loves frozen,
unrepeatable.
And there will be times when
I pull back my empty hand
and I am lost, for what will I be then?

Like lace and latticework;
to be defined by what is not there.

Everyday I look back and I feel myself disappear
because in turning my head to what was
I see my Eurydice crumple to the ground;
the snake clamped on her heel is now my pain,
her tumbling back into the dark my loss,
the forgiveness an aftertaste to my regret

But if I keep my eyes locked to what will be,
how will I know, with absolute certainty,
that I too,
had lived?

Nal Jalando-on lives in Koronadal City. In her free time – which is all the time – she reads and occasionally writes.