Literature Lost

Saturday, September 25 2011

Literature Lost

Verbum volent, scripta manent.

Writing is not remains -
Its own life it retains.
Though it can't fly away,
It runs every which way.

Don't lament writing lost,
For loss is writing's cost.
The Other's gluttony:
Same as lost memory.

So you begin anew -
Praying this time: have you
A piece of what you made.
But the price shall be paid.

Epoy 2

This is a new poem about an old friend to whom I dedicated an old poem with the same title.

Sunday, September 25 2011

Epoy 2

With a child's name you write to me;
And with a child's face that I see.
You're on your little planet - standing,
Stretching, searching for something - hiding:
Behind baobabs, ents, and vases.
Are there foxes and roses in your planet's places?
Are they like a hundred other little things -
Especially those which only memory brings?
If so, then you have not understood truly,
And one act you've neglected regularly.
I am inclined to believe, however,
That we have already tamed each other.
And all things else are wheat fields, spring wells,
Four o clocks, and laughing star bells.

We are beings, each with a different there,
Who met in a here which is now nowhere -
In a moment when we were both at hand.
Each other, through ourselves did we understand,
Like a balloon, to the end of our fingers, tied -
The essential, from our sights did hide:
That nothing but ether to our hands did we tether.
Until the Fates deigned our strands they should sever,
Past clouds and stars did our rubber bubbly fly:
Just like a little soul spiraling to the sky -
Our very own imminent uncertain death.
The eyes of our hearts are awakened fully:
Only now will we begin to see things truly.

With a lady's hand you write;
And with a countenance I've yet to sight.
You're in another world - striving,
Living, growing as someone - moving:
Beyond living memories rooting you down.
You find dogs and daisies all around town,
And one Cacabell: flower like no other -
Who is beyond recollection's offer?
If so, then you are a child grown,
And to you, the truth has been shown:
I am with you well within your world,
Past your visions that are unfurled -
I am wheat fields, spring wells,
Four o clocks, and laughing star bells.

Itch

Tuesday, July 26 2011

Itch

I have an itch below my belly,
it appears from time to time.
In fact it's climbing up my tummy
as I'm beginning to make this rhyme.

It starts as tiny tingles:
titling just above my skin.
Then - it pelts with little prickles,
my pelvis from within.

Now as things do stand,
an annoying itch it is,
for itching now my hand
is to handle this.

First I use a single pat,
which is hardly worth a thing.
So I double - triple that,
which still, I find not working.

So now to rubs my hand moves,
and they give pleasure and relief.
Yet inadequate it still proves -
which is just beyond belief.

Without choice, I curve my fingers:
each one looking like a claw,
and I scratch this itch that lingers,
until my skin is bloody raw.

Despite all the pain it's causing,
there's an unfolding ecstatic bliss.
when the skin, the tips are breaching,
in this corporeal kiss.

So I am now past the point of stopping,
and am now beyond salvation,
as I, am itch, is skin, is fingers, are scratching, is being,
in this dissonant sensation.

Pablo

I haven't written anything in a while so it really feels good to be able to finish this poem. Actually I have a lot of unfinished ones waiting to be done so I hope that I'll be able to make the updates a little more regular. As ashamed as I am to do it, this is yet another poem about a good friend. Am I getting sappy?

Monday, 26th April 2010

Pablo

(Makita mo sana ang sarili mo sa mga talatang ito na alay ko dahilan ng iyong paglisan patungo sa lupain ng kristal na ulan at dahong ginto.)

Nalalagas na ang buhok sa ulo: binibilang bawat araw ng buhay mo - tulad ng boteng puno ng buhanging patuloy sa pagtulo.
Isang hibla para sa bawat bangon ng araw sa umaga; mahigit walong libo at kwarenta na pala - silang mga hiblang nilisan ka.

May angking alab ang mata na sa talas ng isip nagmula - ngunit kahit ang pinaka-bughaw na apoy: ningas at abo lamang sa kamay ng lampa.
Katulad ng bata - ika'y utak tighang-lupa: kailangan diligan ng sagot ang isang libong tanong sa ulo ukol sa ilang daang paksa.
Isa kang peste! Pinagagalaw mo ba ang tamad at antuking kabayo? Langaw ka bang maka-Soktratiko? O pinaiinit mo lang ang ulo ng tao?

At sinong magaakalang mapaglinlang pala ang 'yong mukha - na kayang maitago ang mga pangarap at panaginip ng isang bata?
Ngunit naimarka na ang 'yong mga pantasya ng pluma sa papel: bahagharing pakpak ng ilaw at liwanag (ala Tinkerbell?).
Karga pa ng hininga mo ang prinsipyo't katarungan: kaawaan ang mga nahihirapan; husgahan ang makasalanan; at kung iisa ang dalawa - ewan?
At tinatakpan ng kamay ang mga mata nang di makita ang nagbubunga ng sala. Papano napatol ang husga sa di nakita: si Hustisya ka ba?

Likido ka na walang anyo na hiwalay sa kinalalagyan nito. Isang angking kakayahang makitungo kahit saan, kahit kanino. Pero...
Tila talbog ng tunog ang sayo'y makipagtalastasan: kailangang pangunahan, at laging bulong ang balik - kahit sa sigaw na may kalakasan.
At nakatago sa labirinto ang nilalaman ng iyong puso. Saktong tanong at saktong pagkakataon ang mga natatanging taling maglalabas ng damdamin mo.
Para ring pader ang pagitan ng larawan natin ng mundo; at nasa lakas at bukas ng isip ang makakita ka gamit mata ko, at ako naman sa iyo.
Ating mga pagkakaiba: matingkad at litaw. Isang relasyong nakatayo sa pagaalay ng abot-tanaw: pagkakaisang walang pagsasapaw.

Kinikilala kang kaibigang mabuti datapwat totoo ang lahat ng nasabi. Balintuna ng buhay, papaano nga ba nangyari?
Marahil naakit ako - tulad ng iba - sa liwanag ng pagkatao mo (hindi ng 'yong ulo). Hindi lang kaya pangarap ang maladiwatang pakpak mo?
Lalo na't nakikita ko ang iyong matayog na paglipad. Kahit ang ibon ay lampa lumipad nung sisiw pa lang 'sya; sa pagtanda kung san san na napadpad.
Alam mo bang sa bawat kutya at lait, may naiiwan sa bunganga na di kapansinpansing duda at pait? Nang minsang pagmunihan nauwi sa tanong: inggit?
Kung meron kang mga masarap isarili na karanasan; pepwes meron akong mga katanungang di kailangan sagutan!
Pwede rin namang nadala lang ako ng pagtula at ng ligaya ng pagsalat ng letra. Parang batang nagkulay sa labas ng linya, ako kaya'y sumablay at sumobra?
Sa huli, meron tayong pagsasamang yin-yang ang aking palagay: ang kaunting kaibahan sa anyo ay nawawala sa pagtugma ng mga tingkad nating taglay.

Savannah

Again another poem about a dear friend. Although it's not the usual cheeziness - except for the last few lines. He he he

Thursday, 18th March 2010

Savannah

Posible ba na ang tao'y mabulag ng ligaya?
Hindi dahil sa pagsara ng mata dulot ng pagtawa,
Bagkus umaapaw sa mata ang liwanag ng galak.
Parang kislap at kinang ng ginto't pilak.
At sa pagnanasa mong kamkamin ang ilaw,
hindi mo na mapansin ang samu't-saring kulay ng mundo sayong
pagkasilaw

Maaari bang mabingi ng halakhak?
Katulad ng ulang patuloy na pumapatak,
Nilulunod ang lahat ng yanig sa hangin.
Kaya't walang nalalabing maaaring dinggin,
Kundi ang malinaw at malutong na hahaha,
Hindi mo na madinig ang pabago-bagong awitin ng mundong
maka-orkestra

Maaari bang mapipi sa tuwa?
Na kahit hindi putulin ang iyong dila,
Kakatayin, tatapyasan naman ang iyong bokubaloryo.
Sa ganoong sitwasyon, masasabi mo bang sayo ang mga salitang
bibigkasin mo?
At sa mga pangungusap mo, makikilala ba ang 'yong pagkataong tunay?
Hindi ka na matatagpuan ng mga kakilala mo, tulad ng mga salitang
nanakaw habambuhay.

Hindi manhid ang taong ganap na masaya.
Masdan mo ang pagsabog ng kulay ng mundo.
Pakinggan mo ang iba't-ibang awitin nya.
Hanapin mo ang mga salitang talagang sa iyo.
Ako ba'y nadaranas ng iyong mga pandama?
Sapagka't ikaw ay palaging nadaranasan ko.

Luna

This poem is a re-write of an old poem that I lost. I barely remember the original except for the recurring stanza. Somehow I do feel that this new poem has kept the essence of the old one. In fact I have a hunch it's even better than its predecessor - of course I would know for sure.

Sunday, 21st February 2010

Luna, Luna,
cratered and gray,
why do you stay?

Why must he be the one,
to be your life's center,
when he has his sun?
Do you hope to enter -
between them intervene?

Luna, Luna,
cratered and gray,
why do you stay?

The little light you show -
albeit alluring -
is naught but a coy glow
that pales in the shining
splendor of bright starlight.

Though you capture his glance
every evening passing;
see - his look is askance.
His countenance facing
the breaking dawn of day.

Luna, Luna,
cratered and gray,
why do you stay?

The sun you imitate,
catching what rays you can;
but his love you won't abate.
What he'll see even then
is a mere reflection

of radiant rays that spring
forth from a shining sun.
Only hurt shall it bring.
His stare shoots - like a gun -
a nipping nostalgia.

Luna, Luna,
cratered and gray,
why do you stay?

Find your self in his eyes,
do you - in his longing?
Looking at his love, cries -
all that he is hiding -
you hear: ringing, howling.

He's your center, your world;
the sun his focal point.
Your orbits spiraled, swirled,
bringing both bodies joint
in a very black hole.

Luna, Luna,
cratered and gray,
why do you stay?

Fate paves a painful path
for Hyperion's offspring.
The Universe's wrath:
upon her who did bring
for all eternity?

Luna, Luna,
cratered and gray,
why do you stay?

Fire & Earth

Double haiku combo. Since I wrote these on the same day, might as well post them on the same day as well...

Tuesday, 16th February 2010

Fire

Flickering flames rise
in one brightly burning burst.
Leaving ash - falling.

Earth

Mountain: towering.
Stillness - belies rumbling rocks.
The mountain trembles.