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Poetry

Random Pickings

Bitiw

Malalim ang ‘yong mga mata’t Hapis na ang mukha. Hindi ko na mabilang ang iyong mga gatlâ. Dati-rati’y parang tigre ka kung tumingin, Matikas ang tindig, At buong katawan...

MEMOS

To the Woodcarvers of Betis 1 if i could feel the cold hardness of wood, would i also know your will, woodcarver, your will to hew a soul out of a...

Ghost knocking

She left him nothing, not a word, not even a single letter. But everywhere he turned, he could feel   her cupped hand riding a plank the shape of a...

Dale As I Explain to Him This Weird Thing Called Love

Is love visceral? Is love political?We elect emotions as tyrantsDictating the rest of our historyWhile I hold your hands gentlyWalking down the parliamentOf desire...

One Little Less

One little less of me — a hand, an awe, a feather falling free. one little much an eye; one too little, still more to be. One too little of what I am; a little too much to count on, to look ahead for few is to drift...

Washout

I So in a fit of righteous anger I washed the pots pans plates bowls knives spoons glasses even cleaned the kitchen sink and the drawers, which I haven’t been able to do for a long time. The leftover food I did not care to save for the dog. I...

Encounter at the S.C. Field

Mornings do not rise Above this leafy prison. Time hangs midnoon Over sharp sugarcane leaves, Striking against the downpour Of cruel sunrays. All the sounds enclosing Are the rustle of the peering enemy And the striking of our espading Against the earth's unflinching deadness, Whose parchedness is under our tongue And whose flame is...

Price of a Dream

“You’re free to dream,” is what’s often heard For wishful thinking seems to be done daily And nobody had to pay a dime to keep it in their minds Or really is it so? The price of a dream never comes cheap It has, and always has been,...

Sometimes, I Am the Leaves

Aimless and astray—“I won’t go far”But most times, I am lost in the intricate streets and manmade blocks Not knowing the way back to your bosom I am the leaves, bloodless even with the stomping feet of menand most often I am the leaf that...

Nautilus

I walked barefoot on the Pacific beach,the sand a chill, the sun a dying coal.Waves whispered secrets to the rocks,and there it was—a spiral waiting in the breath of the tide.Its surface shone,etched with lines curling inward,like a road curving toward a hidden...

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