Category: Poetry

Papa's Ride 

Poetry by | October 19, 2014

Papa surrounds
his arms around me
securing, supporting
and never letting go.
While his big hands
that smelt of earth
and roughed with calloused
are cautiously holding
our weight
as he placed them
on the handles of his bike.

I sit on a metal rod
having the same view
of the narrow road
slowly easing
between the scenes
of flowers
of rainbows
of trees
But Papa traded
his two wheels to have four
saying that having more
would take us to places.

Now, I sit beside him
on a cushioned seat
with a belt
replacing the safety
of his arms
His hands pale and perfumed
steering blindly
between streaks of scenes
only seeing half
of the view
of the road.

Joissen Marie Bacharpa is an AB English student of AdDU.

The Bus Ride

Poetry by | October 19, 2014

The bus pulls away
from the terminal; my sister
softly sinks into the splitting silence
of metal lullabies.
The vastness of the vehicle
narrows in my restlessness,
my slippers tap, tap, tap on the floor
as, lurching, we embrace
the journey to Medina.
How do we measure distance?
When it rains in Cagayan
but my fingers feel dry
in Balingoan, that is how
I feel your absence
and the roads stretching into dust
and memories
of afternoons that listen
to the tap, tap, tap of rain
on your Toyota
and taste the grayness
of lips crying for closure.
But this bus
it drives past canopies
of leafy arms reaching toward
a blank canvas of skin,
past silent bungalows
painted in the colors
of your tasteful laugh.
I hear Medina from a distance,
The gentle waves brushing
against the shore, and I,
tempestuous being,
hear your absence resonate
across the sands:
The bus ride carries me away
but where you are, I stay.

Karlene is an AB Sociology student from Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan. She is a fellow in the 21st Iligan National Writers Workshop. On Sundays, her column appears on Sun Star CDO.

The Invitation in my Garden 

Poetry by | October 12, 2014

In my garden
you can wander freely
pick any fruit
you crave and envy
be not afraid of being
bare and naked
thoughts and body.

Orlando Sayman is an A.B. Literature graduate from AdDu. He is one of the new Milas at F. Bangoy National High School. He misses looking at fireflies.

Coffee Break

Poetry by | October 12, 2014

Cut all the ties with the world —
For all its sound and fury.

Sit and find the moment’s balance
Amid lifeless things in motion.

Let your soul glow from the depth
Of your weariness and anxiety.

Keep that newly purchased novel
Or put off those earphones, dear child.

There is no need of escape all the time.
Be still and free your vision to the distance.

Wander above the chaotic and banal.
Let the sound between your gentle lips

And the brim of that paper cup rule over —
To resonate joy and tranquility to the mind.

A little bitter, a little sweet, and utterly warm —
Sip, and sip over, the absurdities of life.

Adonis Enricuso is a university instructor from Duminag, Zamboanga del Sur. He was a fellow of the 29th Cornelio Faigao Workshop. If not taking part in the drama of life, he dreams night and day.

Marcotting

Poetry by | October 5, 2014

The untrained see
absurdity.
For the novice –
Secrets!
But he, he knows
how it feels, perhaps,
as he cuts ’round

limb and body.
Bleeding earth blood,
both remain
silent, pretending
blood is infinite,
the wound – fiction.
He covers it with earth.

He knows which
part of the limb
or body to wound.
Where precisely?
Near the heart,
where life
springs eternal.

The reason?
It’s marcotting, he says,
wounds are needed
to grow roots,
new ones,
which we wound again,
to grow more roots.

Cheese Sticks Boy

Poetry by | October 5, 2014

With his tactics
for surprise,
he jolted our nerves,
despite the glass between us
as he flashed
a face of full sunlight,
like a jack-in-the-box
with visage, brown
freshly painted
red blush, circled
on cheeks
which are dry
riverbed of tears,
which are wet
once the box of day
comes to a close:
just to sell sticks
wrapped in see-through
gold.

—
Amado Mahds Guinto, Jr teaches at the English Department in MSU-Iligan Institute of Technology, Iligan City. He is a fellow in the 21st Iligan National Writers Workshop. Aside from writing, he also dances and choreographs.

My Vagina is Magical

Poetry by | September 14, 2014

My vagina is magical, but not in the way
drugs, or weight loss programs, or hair removal products swear they are, no—
my vagina is magical in a macabre and ancient way. It stretches
back to the time of Eve in the Holy Garden, who
after taking a bite out of the Forbidden Fruit,
discovered her own holy garden; it stretches
back to the priestesses who read prophecies
in stars and bones and shells. Pleasure
is not just her purpose, it is one of her powers, please do not
get that twisted. My vagina
is magical, and every month I pay for that magic
with the currency of pain and anxiety, but I do not care
if I have to endure again and again, I would gladly trade
white pants for unspeakable power, because these lips
between my legs, they can speak in cycles
of blood that wanes and waxes like the moon, the same moon
that wild wolves howl to. My vagina is the cup
that can hold the miracle of Life, a song
written in cells and tissues and nine months. We are
unstoppable, my vagina and I, because we have proven
that bleeding for days and nights does not kill a woman. We have proven
that we can endure razors and hot wax against our trembling flesh, just so
we can be acknowledged by a judging public as
“clean” and “feminine”. We have braved ridicule
and shame after we so sincerely admitted
that we would rather feel the pressing of soft
downstairs lips to the pounding and prodding of a male shaft.
My vagina is a titan enclosed
in warm, velveteen layers of flesh. My vagina
is a portal made of love and strength
to welcome new chapters of life into this world. My vagina
is a masterpiece that nobody will ever have the power nor privilege
to taint, or mock, or hurt, or ridicule, because my vagina
is magical. She is made of the most beautiful witchcraft
and she is not anyone’s to take.

—
Nina Maria Matalam-Alvarez is a Creative Writing student at UP Mindanao. She loves reading stories as much as she loves writing them. Good poems make her cry. Good music makes her cry. Her dog makes her cry. This piece was performed at litVrgy, the fifth installment of the LitOrgy series, at Saless Bar Tekanplor last August 30.

Ang Pakigstorya Kang Inday

Poetry by | August 31, 2014

Karon, kitang duha adunay higayon na magkaistorya
Pero dako akong kaguol kung unsa akoang isulti sa imoha.
Nahadlok ko mogamit ko og mga jamming nimo
Kay basin dili ka ganahan og mamali ang akoang tiyempo.
Karon naa sa akong atubagan na tika
Wa na ko’y laing mabuhat kundi makipagstorya jud sa imoha
Apan, unsaon ko man lagi ni?
Kung naa ka, hilomon man ning tawhana ni.
Pero matod pa ni Buber,
Na ang pakigstorya kinahanglan lang akong kaugalingon
Kay wala na’y mas lain pang nindot na ika ingon
Kundi ang akong kasing-kasing na matinud-anon.
Mao nang wala na koy jamming na iingon pa
Kay ang tanan nakong isulti angay jud sa imoha.
Di nako kinahanglan mo sulti og pampabukhad atay
Kay kini mismo akong tula para lang kanimo Inday.

—
Si Karlo usa ka estudyante AB Pilosopiya sa Ateneo de Davao University.