Category: Poetry

Spice Poems

Poetry by | August 7, 2011

1. Onion

Is it the onion
that makes you cry—
how you need to mince it
very finely to deceive his taste?
Or is it how he excuses himself
from your conjugal room
showing no hint of hunger, only
fatigue as he removes his socks
while your thoughts
drip down your cheeks
with your tears?
Sadness in the kitchen
comes also in layers—
peeled and chopped
into salty salsa.

2. Tomato

Grandpa’s secret
in making fish soup
is to squeeze ripe tomatoes
directly into boiling water
instead of cutting them
with a sharp knife.
The seeds and flesh
sticking to his fingers
he flicks into the mixture
then wipes the sticky juice
on his own bare skin.
I wonder how something
crude could taste so good.

—
Orlando P. Sayman is a graduate of Ateneo de Davao University.

Ang Kumot Ko

Poetry by | July 17, 2011

Siya’y sa tabi ko,
Sa pagtulog ng katawang ito.
Bumabalot
Sa kaluluwang nilalaman ng panahon.

Handang pahiran,
Ang malunkot kong luha.
Pati laway’t sipon,
Handang pagsaluhan.

Siya’y kasangga ko,
Laban sa lamok.
Nagging saplot ko,
Sa katawang walang suot.

Siya’y sumalo,
Sa pangungulila ko.
Kunwari’y yumayakap,
Sa katawan na parang linta.

Siya ang kumot ko,
Na nasa tabi ko.
Handang balutan ako,
Sa aking pagtulog.

–-
Frank David Bayanon is a student of the University of Southeastern Philippines-Mintal taking up Public Administration.

Pieta

Poetry by | July 10, 2011

Tell me how much you loved your firstborn,
about how you could have kissed every inch
of his tender skin. I know, as you told me,
you only allowed him to eat blended veggies
that you carefully prepared. Are you sure
he did not sleep unless you run while cradling him?
That was funny! I could not imagine how you delighted
when he learned to close-open his hands while
you sang him that simple rhyme.
I am interested on what you shared about how fast
he learned to talk, how fast he learned to walk.
Was he really just seven months old then?
Ahh, so he is nineteen now.
Why do you worry when he leaves? It was you
who taught him how to walk. No, please,
please don’t cry when he talks. He is just
thanking you because he now learns not to
unclench his fist. No more close-open rhymes.
He has to be steadfast because many
do not eat even blended veggies.
And he told me, when he does not come back
and when you hear of him no more, follow his trail.
Pick him, bone after bone and kiss him.
He will not sleep unless you run while cradling him.
I know you will. You told me you love your firstborn.

–-
Paul Randy Gumanao is a BS Chemistry student and editor-in-chief of Atenews at Ateneo de Davao University. He was fellow to the Davao Writers Workshop and to IYAS Workshop in Bacolod.

Two Haiku

Poetry by | July 10, 2011

Two chickens in a
jeepney, with their legs tied, in
silence they travel.

Two cats playing
in the middle of the road
their tails are cut.

–-
Angela Geun Hee Lee, originally from Korea, is a BS Education student at Ateneo de Davao University.

Shapeshifter

Poetry by | July 3, 2011

drink from a cup of bones
eat a pie of decay
bathe in dirt
breathe not fresh air
but poison

here
gods die
to become men

—
Margaux Denise Garcia is taking up BS Education at the Ateneo de Davao University.

Glutathione Identity

Poetry by | July 3, 2011

her skin is color is brown but she wants it to be white

white
like the color of the people in the land of honey and milk
home of the free and the brave.

white
she wants her color to be white
cause God favors the white

and so
she bleached her sun kissed brown skin
with expensive therapies and medicines

brown
her skin is color brown

brown
like the color of mud
like the color of her mood when she’s sad

brown skin
the color of third world citizens
she doesn’t like her brown skin
its history and what it represents
corruption and poverty
revolutions and slavery

but she has to know that
changing one’s skin
will never change what’s within

And that
     medication
     modernization
     globalization
will never alter the fact

that she is the daughter
of her brown skin forefathers

who fought hard
started a revolution
so she would have the freedom,
to bleach her brown skin

white

—
Shiela Mae Milla studies economics at the University of Southeastern Philippines.

End

Poetry by | June 12, 2011

time, the music planets make,
a dance between silences,
overtures of consciousness,
a requiem of meteorites
past nocturnes of breaths,
supernovas prelude black holes
and the song ends with a breakdown:

a chaotic larghetto of stars
more numerous than grains of sand—

end of playlist, untoggled repeat

—
Darylle Rubino recently graduated cum laude from the University of the Philippines Mindanao with a degree in B.A. English, major in Creative Writing. He was a fellow at the 2011 Iyas Creative Writing Workshop held in Bacolod in May.

Bago Mo Lisanin

Poetry by | June 12, 2011

Bago mo lisanin ang araw na ito
Hagkan mo sa iyong diwa ang mga oras
Na wala kang ginawa kung hindi magmahal
At umawit ng himig nito

Paano mo nga ba nilipad ang tayog ng pangarap?
Paano mo sinisid ang lalim ng panaginip?
Hindi mo man abot ang dulo
Natutuwa na akong sinubukan mo

Kasabay sa pagsabog ng araw
Asahan mo ang patuloy kong pagsamo
Iyo ang aking balikat at ang mga nakarugtong pa rito
Isama mo na ang pangarap at panaginip na nakatago

—
Alfredo Agreda is a full-time marketing officer and a freelance photographer.