Category: Poetry

Balatukan

Poetry by | March 26, 2017

I climb the old Balatukan peak
Home-breath of the Higaonon
Warm welcome fills my cup of brewed kapi
Warmer still are the smiles of the children
And the tubao-topped timuays.

We sing melodies of the earth
Pluck the higalong,  rap the dasang
Bare feet pounding the parched ground
To the deafening sound of drums and gongs.

Around the fire,  the children curl up
Hear the sagas of painted baylans and alimaongs
Ancient tales of Apo Entampil
Forefather of the people of the  living mountains
Mountains where forests are no more.

The clouds break at dawn
Lightning flashes, thunder roars
Rivers and gorges swell
And sweep down
The old Balatukan  mountains.

Nelson D. Manigo is an associate professor of  the Ateneo de Davao University. He got his bachelor’s degree  in Philosophy from the University of San Carlos and master’s degree from the Ignatian Institute of Religious Education (IIRE)-AdDU.

 

Reflections Before a Waterfall

Poetry by | March 19, 2017

From the pulpit crag,
the waters rush to the rocks below
where they churn and foam
like Styx boiling.
Dead leaves and broken twigs
and the carcasses of dogs and cat
plunge likewise in the maelstrom,
engulfed by the angry swirl below.
And the waters clash and seethe
against the stuboorn rocks
clipping off their defiance
bit by bit,
in a slow and painless death.

Even the rocks will someday crumble
to the furious persistence
of the waters.
Can I hurl myself
into the swirling depths below
and emerged unscathed,
unbruised?

 

Teresita V. Guillen taught in UP Los Banos and UP Mindanao. She is also busy with her five dogs and one cat.

Lupad, Langgam sa Kalinaw

Poetry by | March 19, 2017

(2.24.2017. Poet-activist Don Pagusara  sang the lyrics of the poem Lupad Langgam sa Kalinaw during a unified call to resume peace negotiations. Photo by Jhoanna Lynn B. Cruz)

 

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw
Ipamukway ang mga pangindahay
Lupad, dumdoma ug subaya
Ang tanang dalandalan
Sa langit ug kahanginan.

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw
Tultola ang mga suok sa langit
Dugmoka ang tanang mga dag-om
Nga naghasi ug nagsalimbong
Sa dalisay nga kahayag.

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw
Sum-oka ang tanang mga panganod
Lupad, ipabuhagay ang damgo
Nga dugay nang gitan-ogan
sa kasingkasing sa katawhan.

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw
Ipamukway ang mga dalisayng mithi
Lupad, isabwag ug isangyaw
Ang mga hamiling binhi
Sa hardin sa kasaysayan.

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw
Ikapakapa ang putling pangandoy
Nga gihuni sa imong mga pako —
ang huni sa tiunayng Kalinaw.

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw Lupad! Lupaaaaad!

 

Don Pagusara is an award-winning poet and playwright. He has been an awardee of the Unyon sa mga Magsusulat sa Pilipinas and the Don Carlos Palanca Memorial for Literature.

Sabang

Poetry by | March 12, 2017

Ali, ambak diri sa Sabang.

Naghulat ang tubig-parat
sa dagat,
mahimuot ang isda
sa bula nga mokisiw
sa imong pagtugpa apan,

ang imong kalipay
sa pag-ambak
dali ra mahanaw,
sama sa pagkawala
sa bula, taod-taod
mubalik napud kag katkat
sa kabatuhan,
aron bation usab
ang samang kalipay.

Public school teacher Jan Vernix M. Atix is a fellow of Ateneo de Davao Writers Workshop. He integrates local color in  his writings  to promote Samaleño culture. Sábang, which also means river mouth,  is visited by local and foreign tourists for a diving thrill and cliff jumping.

On Separation

Poetry by | March 12, 2017

Your parting kiss fell
like a mote of dust leaving
a bruise in my heart.

~ ~ ~
I still dare not move
the empty cup of coffee
you marked with your lips.

~ ~ ~
Her fragrance lingers—
dancing in the room, bottled
by the falling rain.

~ ~ ~
Years on, I’d still flinch
from hearing the song she sang
on the night we met.

~ ~ ~
A room full of stillness

Like volumes upon volumes of books—our words,
the ones we left unsaid—in a beautiful, lost library.

Gabriel is a graduate of UP Mindanao’s Creative Writing Program. He currently works as a web content writer.

 

Water Lilies of Tukanalipao

Poetry by | March 5, 2017

Under lilies’ round leaves
He hides
From bullets racing,
Left and right.

His pistol
Firm in his fist. The fiendish
Water stifles his breath.

The sun slowly ascends
Despite a spoilt slumber.
He rises

From the refuge
Of the river,
Witnessing fallen,
Armored comrades.

A revengeful morning!

In the mosque, he shoots
Presumed foes. Four
Defenseless carcasses
Floating
In their blood.

The water
Lilies in the river
Unmoving, but living.

Nassefh Macla is a Kaagan-Moro from Panabo City, Davao del Norte. He is a Creative Writing graduate from University of the Philippines Mindanao. This is in commemoration of the January 25, 2015 Mamasapano incident.

 

Haplas

Poetry by | February 26, 2017

Haplas or liniment in English
reminds me of my Nanay
from Vicks to Efficascent
from White Flower to Betet
she always had a stock of them
hidden in her brown colored box.
Whenever I travel
from our place to Davao
she would always hand me
the latest of her Haplas
telling me to use them just in case
and I would remember thanking her
and instantly see her face lit up.
So nights like this
when I lay in my bed
chest hurt from coughing
or legs sore from prolonged standing
like instinct I would grab a Haplas
and it works most of the time
Thanks to Haplas.
Thanks to Nanay.

—
Abi Andoy is an alumna of Ateneo de Davao University. She’s a “haplas user” for as long as she can remember.

Radioman

Poetry by | February 26, 2017

for Fernando Solijon

History remembers you now
not as the martyr
for an Abstract chained to purses and legalese
but sprawled mind-blown all over newsprint, arms
spread in a reverse hallelujah. Before sunlight
hits gridlock you once scalded with your tongue
the morning grind, and sailed through
headlines and commentary, but croaked
when you couldn’t find their roots.
It is said that anchors hit the unseen floor
to keep the ship upright
as the waves rock it.
Instead, some thought you would tip the ship over,
not knowing the point was to show the muck
that came beneath the current:
“Expensive houses and cars!” “Off-country vacations!”
“Fancy restaurant dinners!” “What happened
to the foreign aid?” “How much
of the budget are their Majesties juggling
from their air-conditioned thrones?”
And then, a phone call: “Capin is ready for you.”
The answers, always,
are another matter. Anyone can write them
or proclaim them on air but they break wills.
They leave bloodstains and broken bones
over brash words hitting air but sing praises
to paintjobs on broken stones,
even claiming to solve our woes and know
who we should vote
come next election.
It is said that Fate
missed you three times in your life—
two from murky waters, another
from the murky waters of politics. When She didn’t,
that evening She came by motorcycle, serving
canned death for dinner, the tins left by the door.
As you run aground, we are told, we must commit
to keep alive longing for truth. We hear static.
You see bloodstains on broken stones.

—
John Oliver Ladaga is currently a fourth-year student taking up BA English at the University of the Philippines Mindanao. He likes warm soup and is attracted to flowers growing through cracks in the wall. He is from Iligan City.