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Poetry
Revolution
by Earl Carlo Guevarra
Back when I was a child
I thought revolution was a product
Of blood, sweat, tears and steel
I thought that it was about rallies
And rousing speeches
Laced with tales of bravery and defiance
Maybe a column of tanks here and there
And someone blocking the...
Wired
A picture of yourself
Standing on a locked door
Hand dives in that shallow bag
Which can barely move in the
Seafloor of wires.
Strangled with thick and thin
Chargers that actually drains
Black and white chords
Which disconnects from reality
Earphones that shuts the noisy mind
An escape, you said
Yet...
Admit one
I have never been to a general hospital
alone before: sitting on one of the plastic benches
shoulder to shoulder with faces stuck on the Now
Serving sign above all four counters I can see
it is I am a no big deal I am. Just another...
Love undead
I wish you’d let me write my poetry.
My words, stuck between pen and paper
Never allowing your sight through
My lines, your ears on my untelling
Story. Precisely because you see,
Hear, and feel me that I cannot
Call upon you. So leave me
With words to speak, transcending
Walls,...
Makiling Dusk
Wind from the lake below
Has brought the fine rain
That wet the stair railings
Between classrooms on Makiling.
As I step out after class,
The cold droplets cling to my palms
And I check the gray sky,
The west tinted with fading orange.
It seems to have held back
The drenching:...
I Keep a Lover
I keep a lover and
He means so much to me.
When I think of him
I feel light-headed
And giddy from within.
We test each other’s
Patience then make love
Like there’s no tomorrow.
He is in myself,
My triumph and tempest,
He makes me seethe
With rage and passion
Till we both are...
