Poetry by | September 23, 2007

Black bugs sprinkled by the devil’s breath
Are black beans, actually, making me hungry.
Their odor rises, darkening the evening, and stoops
Down to strangle my neck.

More of them are wheedling other
Vendors around to pack up and
Go home. But my basket is still
Half-full of balut, I have bills to
Pay and sons to send
Tuition fees to.

These black bugs—be gone soon,
I pray!

Askal sa Balay ni Kuya

Poetry by | September 23, 2007

Ikog mikitoy-kitoy pagtukar sa karaoke;
ming kitiw-kitiw pagkita sa Rusty (baho).
Nagsinaw-sinaw ang ilong, nalingin-itom
pagsinimhot-simhot sa balhiboon ug
gipangkapoy nga mga bitiis: sikad gibalik;
hikap sa paghigugma nga way pinalabing iring.

Lawas miikyad-ikyad, luyo sa hapak sa tsinelas –
Spartan (hastang gahia, makabuak ug tay-ang lata);
apan sige gihapon, kay mao may naandan: si Kuya
muuli sa hapon ug dapat sugat-sugaton; simhuton.

Hala, gawas ug lili sa gamay’ng kang-a;
duna nay nag-alirong sa lamesa;
kawhat basig mahutdan;
kay ang damgo raba dili dyud kabayran—
sa gabii kon makatulog nga wa makakaplag ug nahot,
matabunan unya ang kalag sa sartin nga way sulod!

Socrates in a Dark Alley

Poetry by | September 23, 2007

Beware this ancient agent of wisdom
At the prime of his faculties
Before he was brought low by his drink

Beware the searching lantern eyes
Ever on the lookout
For the honest men of Greece

Beware the sharp silver tongue
That cuts with the confounding power of truth
Implacable corruptor of Athens’ fair-haired youth!

To him, all ground is fertile
Nowhere sacred, nowhere safe
Be it market, forum, palace, or temple

Beware those wiry hands
That reach out and grab
For victims of his method

Then with the force of a knife
He wrenches an answer to the essential question:
“Your money or your life?”

Stupid Complaints

Poetry by | September 16, 2007

I hate the speedy HH.
I hate the bumpy road to school.
I hate the scent of Manong Driver.

Complaints! Complaints! Complaints!
Don’t hate the speedy HH.
Let the air slap your face.
Smile. Close your eyes.
Listen to the rush of air.
You will hear the laughter of the earth.
Don’t hate the bumpy road to school.
Let the rocks in the road jolt you to the real.
Hold tight. Close your eyes.
Feel the stony path.
You will find there life’s ups and downs.
Don’t hate the scent of Manong Driver.
If he smells awful, let him be.
Breathe freely. Close your eyes.
In his scent you will sense
Man’s proud spirit towards life’s journeys.
Stop complaining. Just ride on.


Poetry by | September 16, 2007

Paano kaya kita kakausapin

Nang walang sinasabi

Walang hinihingi

Walang minumungkahi
At walang dinaramdam
Nais kong maging maingat
Sa aking pagdaan
Manabi-tabi, ituring kang
Isang ilang na lugar
Tahimik na susubayin
At buong galang na iiwanan
Hahayo nang walang galit
Walang gustong nakawin
At walang ni anong dadalhin.

Polemic on Culture and Capitalism

Poetry by | September 16, 2007

The pen is mightier than the sword
But the PC is mightier than the pen
But the cell is mightier than the PC
But the radio is mightier than the cell
But the cable TV is mightier than the radio
But the power company is mightier than the cable company
But the bank is mightier than the power company
Perhaps I shall work for the bank

Magdalena and Scenes of Chronic Poverty

Fiction by | September 16, 2007

It’s About Time You Meet Her
You knew her though, or someone you knew of. We were all aware of her existence that, like wallpapers, we never really took notice. Hers was a familiar face in the crowd with that look of desperation crawling right into you. Her face caked with pustules that nobody dared to touch. Her body looked so thin, her skin tightly embracing her bones. She didn’t possess those black-rimmed glasses and buck teeth (though she had one missing on the upper mouth); she didn’t have braces that completed the criteria for everyday geeks. Her mother barely covered the basics; another strain on their budget was certainly out of the question.

Continue reading Magdalena and Scenes of Chronic Poverty

The Driver's Blessing

Poetry by | September 9, 2007

One day, I saw a driver
He was getting off his jeep
He ran to the roadside, stood against a wall
And became a priest
He stood with his legs apart
Looked up to the sky above
Bowed down his head in prayer
And clasped his hands in front of his hips
In silent supplication
In fervent adoration
Then he started to perform his rite
And suddenly out gushed
A spray of amber water
The driver has blessed the concrete wall
And washed away its sins