Category: Poetry

Salamat, Kuya

Poetry by | May 30, 2010

Nangandoy ko nga motubo og paspas aron maapsan tika.
Napul-an na ko sa pagsul-ob sa imong tinuboang sapatos
nga baho og mga langyawng pangandoy.

Ang mga tinuboan mong sinina guot na kaayo
sa akong dughan. Kanunay ko nga gahilak kon masimhotan
ang nahibiling tinagoan sa imong ilok.

Unsaon, kay lagi, matod ni tatay ‘pobre ra ta’.
Sigon ni nanay, ‘mapuslan pa man na.’
Unya karon, ang imo na pung brip?

Kon may kamot lang ning akong kinatawo,
manampong gyud ni.
Pero sige na lang. Katapusan na ni.

Kay sukad karon, matod mo,
ang imong sul-obon kay panty.
Hay, salamat, kuya.

—-
Paul Randy P. Gumanao is BS Chem Student at AdDU who loves to write poems

Venerations

Poetry by | May 30, 2010

I hold them in open palms
Clipped with my thumb
I cradle them, as one cradles something sacred
I watch as they burn a fire short-lived
I watch them
Glow, ghostly in this heavy darkness
Bringing silence to those who gaze
They leave white smoke trails
Trailing off to unknown planes
Carrying with them prayers I have not uttered
As they strip their way down
They leave ashes in their wake
Filling the air with sweet pungent fragrance
Enough to wake the dead

—-
Fritz Gerald M. Melodi finished BA Psychology from Ateneo de Davao University.

Me, Through You

Poetry by | May 30, 2010

for Bryan Carlo Manos

Each time your hand
touches mine
or some other part of my body,

I shiver until I have goose bumps.

Each time your hand
travels on my hair, my skin, or the sole of my left foot,
the world lights up until
I see nothing but a big, bright ball of light.

Each time your hand
maps me
and some other parts of my body,

I feel
my
self.

—-
Hiyasmin Espejo is a writing major at UP Mindanao and was a fellow in this year’s DWG Writers Workshop.

Balota

Poetry by | May 16, 2010

dati-rati’y manu-mano
at taimtim kong isinusulat sa balota
ang mga pangalan ng aking kandidato
habang umuusal ng dalangin
na sana ang bayan ko ay makaahon
sa kumunoy ng karukhaan.

maraming beses na akong umasa
na sagrado ang aking boto,
na santo ang napiling kandidato.

maraming beses na akong tumaya
sa mga pulitiko, antigo at bagito,
nadaya o nandaya.

ngayon ay mas mahaba na ang balota,
napakaraming pagpipilian, may party list pa.
isusubo ko ang balota sa makina
(hindi na sa ballot box)
dahil ang eleksyon ay automated na.

sana ako ay  tumabla na
kahit minsan lang
sa muli kong pagsusugal.

—-
Vangie Dimla-Algabre teaches high school students.

The Sound of Death

Poetry by | May 16, 2010

What is the sound of death for you? Silence?
No hymns and screams and cries? Just pain inside?
You don’t feel hate, anger, or malevolence—
Just solitude. Everything else you hide.
For me death sounds like distant screams at dawn,
Screaming and crying infants left alone,
Running footsteps on stone pavements and lawn,
And the high pitched ring of the telephone.
The constant counting of one, two, and three
and the fading wail of an ambulance.
Quiet street and rustling leaves of a tree.
Seeing the tree’s shadow reflect a dance.
Electric fan on, myself praying
To God that dad will come back home breathing.

—-
Ella Jade Ismael, a writing major in UP Mindanao, was a fellow at the recent DWG Writers Workshop.

Tiny Stolen Moments

Poetry by | May 9, 2010

i tuck my soul along with its wings
inside a small soap box under my bed.
in its place are white uniforms and a cap
chasing money trains to purchase their dreams

yet once in awhile, on stolen seconds just like this,
for a little air; i gingerly take them out
feed a little sunlight
dust off pleading cobwebs
while sewing the edges of my moth-eaten dreams.

—-
True to the persona of the poem, Iryne is a clinical instructor drawn to poetry. The panel praised this piece for its genuine voice and its melancholic rhythm.

Madonna

Poetry by | May 9, 2010

Dad fetched me one afternoon,
Five-o’ clock,
In my kindergarten classroom.
He saw me draw on the blackboard
A mother taking her son to school.

I asked him if he liked it,
But it’s just a drawing,
He said, sighing,
Not even applauding such stick figures
With the same smiling faces.

I pulled myself away, and turned back
To continue drawing my first masterpiece,
Only to find my teaching aide
Erasing Madonna and child
Drawn on the blackboard.

—-
While some panelists debated on the voice and perspective of the persona of the poem, one panelist felt very moved by the manner treatment of the subject, in this case, a child’s longing for an absent parent.