Category: Poetry

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.

Keeping

Poetry by | March 28, 2010

So she is my meteor who I foolishly follow
Through the longest nights.
She teases and leaves me a trail
Of all thoughts about her
Till the morning.
A fiery line of promises
Flashed and unfolded
Before my eyes
The moment she crossed the sky
And I saw what could be mine—
She loving me fully,
I making love to her fullness.
The wanting just grows stronger
And the raging desires are just
Depressing me with the fact
That I am left unloved.
So I’ll never get that star
For me to selfishly own.
I won’t ask for more.
I won’t bother God a little.
For a complete love
Will only bring hurt to both of us.
I resolve to keep everything as is.
My heart won’t fear.
It will always be loud and musical.
It will continue to eat all of me
And I will always feel good.
That’s the way it will be.
That’s the only way she’ll get
To love me.

—-
Freidreich C. Layno is a junior writing major in UP Mindanao.

Rehistro

Poetry by | March 21, 2010

Gidahum, gihulat
Lugway pang mga adlaw
Aron masugdan
Unang mga lakang –
Lakang alang sa kaugmaon
Sa kabag-uhan
Apan wa gyud gitagana
Ang pangamuyo niining yano
Kay nganong nagpaabot sa deadline?
Sa way paglangan
Mihuyat, mibarog
Ug nakigbuno
Sa init sa adlawng tutok
Sa taas na nga pila sa kabatan-onan
Inubanan sa dinutdanay
Mipatulo sa singot
Ginagmayng sakripisyo
Wa panumbalinga
Alang sa kahingpitan sa pagtuman
Ning dalan sa tul-id
Nga lungsuranon
Matag istroki sa bolpen
Wa damha ang daw katagbawang
Mitugkad sa kalag
Sa pagsangko
Sa katilingbanong responsibilidad
Subay sa gitakdang katungod
Matag tintang milutak
Nagmalaumon, nagmadasigon
Aron masugdan
Ang unang mga lakang –
Lakang alang sa kaugmaon
Sa kabag-uhan
Andam na
Sa pagpili ug pagbotar!

—-
James Roy Pascual studies accountancy at ADDU.

Home from Binugao, Toril, After a Week, Missing the Enrollment Period

Poetry by | March 21, 2010

Carelessly
you toss your head into the air.
I quickly steal my arm around your neck,
preventing you from falling back.
My knuckles whiten
as my grasp tightens on the rail.
City lights sparkle far into the night,
and this truck revs up, speeds away from this twilight.
The wind washes our faces,
stinging the burns on our cheeks.
Your hair still smells of the sea,
mixed with the sweet scent of beer on my skin.
Back on the beach, how you spilled it on my shirt.
You snatched the bottle from my hand
and brought it up to your lips.
How easily your ears glowed red,
your mouth flowering into a smile.
How giddy the light danced in your eyes as
you ran to the shore, removing your clothes off.
Now, the city lights are closing in
and I toss my head into the air,
wishing summer were not dying too soon.
Forward, it’s time to face those we left behind.
You slip your arm around my waist
to whisper, “We’re gonna be okay.”
Looking back down the disappearing road,
I see the sun’s last wave of heat scattering into tiny lights.
This ride takes only a short while,
and those city lights won’t quiet us down.

—-
Panganud is the pseudonym of an out-of-school youth.

Walking the Night

Poetry by | March 7, 2010

(for Dorothy)

A wounded soul in a black dress
walks the night alone.
The smell of vodka and nicotine in her mouth
and her face a picture of a broken heart.
The city is like a portrait of her
and her past love – a broken promise
hanging on the wall of her memory,
a treasure she guards with tears.

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