Tanka
with pen and ink
I capture his likeness
seaside
he turns in wonder,
how did you know, how did you know?
homesick
in this large city
far from home
the smell of smoke
in my smoke-free room
riverside
wind rustles through
the poplar’s leaves . . .
this restless feeling that
comes and goes without warning
one year
after his stroke, I’ve finally begun
to write about him
but only his death, his life
too large to capture on paper
© Aurora Antonovic
Aurora Antonovic is a Canadian editor, writer, and visual artist whose work has appeared over four thousand times in publications spanning twelve countries and five continents. She is a recent Pushcart Prize nominee, and haiga editor of Simply Haiku. She is also editor of A Little Archive of Poetry, a publication that seeks to promote the love of verse in all forms. Aurora recently illustrated Marie Lecrivain's chapbook, The Painter, available through Lummox Press -- http://www.lummoxpress.com/newlp.htm
FOUR CRICKETS
A great singer
forges his songs
from behind a
flew blades of grass.
He is small in
stature, but great
in depth and sound.
He is small,
fits in my hand.
Perhaps two, three,
four such singers
would fit as well.
A quarter of
small, great singers
would fill this room
with giant songs.
(Previously published in Pemmican)
SINCE EARLY MORNING
Blackbirds
have been
singing
in the
backyard.
Cats have
been on
the prowl
looking
for meals.
The sky
seems to
be a
swollen
belly
filled with
clouds that
will burst.
I am
waiting.
GHOSTS OF OUR ANCESTORS
They are up early.
The ghosts of our ancestors
turn in their graves.
They climb out. Light on
their feet they step on landmines
which don't detonate.
Their rage swells as they
curse the sun and the moon for
this violent world.
QUEEN ELIZABETH
I was born
on a plane
in a
rainstorm
over
Colorado.
I have been
treated
like a
Russian
pig in
this place.
Don't you know
that I'm a
police
officer,
working
undercover?
Nobody
is going
to take
control
over my
finances.
I have a
place to live
somewhere
in New York,
where I'm called
Elizabeth.
© Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
West Covina, CA
Sa Liwanag ng Dilim Nasilayan Ko ang Walang Hanggan
Dahan-dahan kong ipininta
Ang bawat korte ng iyong mukha,
Sa aking mapagsamantalang alaala,
Ang iyong mga matang makapikit
Na tila nangungusap
Sa aking mga matang abala sa pagtitig,
Ang iyong labi na mayroong ibinubulong
Subalit sadya yatang di makaintindi
Itong aking nararamdaman,
Ang iyong ilong na nakikisama
Sa misteryosong yakap-yakap ng mata¢t bibig
At ang iyong pisngi,
Na wari'y kumikislap ang ngiti
Sa liwanag na nagmumula sa buwan,
Nagpakadalubhasa ako
Sa pagguhit sa iyong buong mukha
Dito sa aking alaala,
Upang sa gayon,
Pagdating sa kabilang buhay
Kilala ko
Kung sino ang aking hinihintay.
Tikatik ng Kahapon
Kasabay ng samyo ng hangin
na sinasayawan ng amoy ng punong pino
ay ang kahapong ni minsa'y di nalimutan,
ang hamog na ipinaghehele ng mga dahon
sa damuhang saksi sa luhang nag-uumapaw,
marahil sa pagkakataong ito
ang iyong diwa'y mag-aaliwalas,
kaniig ang matang namamaga
ang pusong nagnanana
at patuloy na umaasa,
ang kahapong napuno ng pasakit
hanggang ngayo'y di pa rin maiwaglit.
Kung luha lamang ang batayan
upang masambit ang tunay na nararamdaman,
kailangan ang mahiwagang bangka
malulunod ang manhid na puso,
aapaw ang alat ng bawat patak
ng hamog sa kandungan ng bulaklak araw
matitinag ang punong pinong kipkip ang ating kasaysayan,
Kung sugat lamang ang pamantayan,
hayaan akong maghubad sa iyong harapan
titigan ang dambuhalang marka
na tila nagmamakaawa sa ilan pang may nana
naghihintay sa paghilom
ng namumula
humihikbing puso.
Kasalikop sa bulsa ng di maturuang puso
ay ang walang hanggang paghihintay
sa isang taong tiyak namang may ibang minamahal,
Sa tikatik ng kahapong laging nakaantabay
higit na nasasaktan itong abang puso
na walang ibang ginawa
kundi maghintay.
Resign
Nagpupumiglas ang kalamnang hungkag
walang malamong pagpapahalaga
mula sa abang tuwina'y tinitingala.
Hindi ko na kaya.
Hindi ko na matantiya,
ang kabog ng dibdib
sapagkat nariyan ka!
Bago ako mamatay
sa pagiging tanga,
sa dakilang posisyon mo sa aking alaala
pakiusap,
lumayas ka na!
© Zig Madamba Dulay
Twisted
The number one fan
swallows hook, line and sinker;
tightening her belt.
Teacher's pet
He'll do anything,
be a little too naughty
just to get an A.
Superheroes
Knights in shining tights
ignore the untouchables;
bark up the wrong tree.
Black clouds
Black clouds encircle you.
Ug, it makes me queasy,
like a hundred interment
or a recurring hemorrhage.
Wolves in sheep's clothing
say: "Now, finish him off."
You finally got rid of me!
Hurrah...does it feel good?
To you I'm a can of worms.
Your prejudices, acts as if--
oh, my heart is slain, at last!
Is that your final answer?
Pretense and keepsake
What a nightmare!
I see them only
on fair-weather days,
those whom I thought
were my friends.
What a relief!
In times of adversity,
strangers rush in
who are still very
much in touch.
© Dennis Espada
Brought up and educated in Laguna, Philippines, Dennis has written articles for various print and online publications. He has also received honors in campus journalism while in college.
URL: http://iyolo.blogspot.com
Gabi-ing Hudyakaon
Gabi-ing hudyakaon,
Sayawan nga masadyaon,
May dalaga nga batan-on
Ka anindot niya tan-awon.
Ka-angayan niya musayaw,
Makalingaw sa nagatan-aw,
Madanihon ang paglihok,
Sa lawas niya nga humok.
Mubo'g itum niya nga bisti
Tukma gyud ining gabi-i,
Kahamis sa iyang bati-is,
Ka-tahum sa iyang kutis.
Pahiyom nga maulawon,
Mga mata nga daw bito-on,
Kahibalo magbia-biay,
Malipayon man si inday.
Garden of My Mind
A dragon fly floating in the air,
Tamsi birds fluttering without care,
A yellow butterfly swiftly passing by
Bumble bees sounding like a sigh,
Children mirthful,
Children playful,
The breeze caressing,
The sun gently touching,
A tropical heaven,
The childhood garden,
Ti's good to pause in contemplation,
To be still in silent meditation,
To go into the garden of memories
In my mind,
And remember the innocent days.
When life was kind.
An Afternoon in the Mall
In an air conditioned cafe,
Waiting for daughter shopping,
Letting time abide,
Watching People from inside,
Umbrellaed tables wait outside,
Empty in the summer sun,
It's still too hot to be much fun,
But ti's an afternoon for easy living,
For sipping coffee, passing time,
The pleasure of people-watching,
Letting the world go passing by,
A fleeting pleasure,
To be sure,
But one that one leaves with a sigh.
Naked Rose
Nothing is lovelier to behold
Than the full bloom of a naked rose,
Wide open, delightful as the petals unfold,
No words in prose
Can ever describe the bold
Feelings the promise of an open rose
Evokes, the promise to hold
For richer, for poorer,
Of life to be lived together,
For life begins, it can be told,
With the full bloom of a naked rose
© Manuel Lino G. Faelnar
BROWN
ruddy leaves raining down
the brown earth robed in scarlet
brown fingers caressing the face
of the white sky
and when she opened her brown eyes
I was warmed
as when having drunk a cup of brown tea
on a frosty morning
(published in WAH 4, October 2005)
US
Sunrise, sunset;
the years are swiftly past --
is there anything left to get?
Sunrise, sunset;
over the future we fret,
but what is there to last?
Sunrise, sunset;
the years are swiftly past.
On Remembering French Lovers Ate Apples Upon Waking
Candles
on the table,
a roast in the oven;
by my bed, an apple awaits
morning.
(originally published in Poetic Voices, August 2002)
Rushing To The Bus Stop On A June Morning
Dark clouds
ceiling the sky
with the promise of rain;
around the yard are the roses,
blooming.
(originally published in Autumn Leaves, May 2005)
ATTENTION SEEKERS
Three-day moon
in the sky,
city-lighted...
Who stops to notice you?
Who stops?
© C. W. Hawes
C W Hawes is a human services worker who divides his time between Minneapolis, Minnesota and rural northeast Iowa. His muses are Whitman, Millay, Basho, Issa, the Imagists, Takuboku, and Rumi. He holds a bachelor’s degree in history and political science and a Masters of Divinity degree. His work has appeared in Carnelian, Lynx, Simply Haiku, Lilliput Review, Amaze, Makata, and The Ghazal Page, among others.
NASAAN KA, JUAN?
Sa pagsikat ng araw, narinig ni Juan ang tinig ng ama.
“Nasaan ka, Juan? Ano’ng iyong ginagawa?
Umaga na. Gising, gising, gumising ka na.”
Sagot ng binatang nakalatag pa sa higaan,
“Ako po’y lumilipad sa maaliwalas na kalangitan,
Nagsusundo’t naghahatid kung saan-saan,
paparoo’t parito sa eroplanong sasakyan.”
Oras ng agahan muling hinanap si Juan.
“Nasaan ka, Juan? Ano’ng iyong ginagawa?
Halina sa mesa at kumain ka na.”
Sagot ni Juan, sa paliligo’y ayaw mabitin.”
“Ako po’y naglalayag sa isang lantsang matulin
sinisipat ang karagatan para sa isdang ihahain
at ilalako sa aking pagdating.”
Mahuhuli na sa eskuwela, si Juan hindi na naman makita.
“Nasaan ka, Juan? Ano’ng iyong ginagawa?
Hindi ka pa ba handa? Aba’y aalis na!”
Sagot ni Juan, sa salamin nakatanaw,
“Ako po’y naglalakad sa gitna ng mga ilaw,
ibinibida ang kasuotang yari sa anahaw,
dahan-dahan ang kilos at pino ang galaw.
Nagtuturo ang guro, si Juan nama’y tulala.
“Nasaan ka, Juan? Ano’ng iyong ginagawa?
Alalahanin mong may pagsusulit tayo mamaya.”
Naaliw ang lahat sa sagot ng kaeskuwela,
“Ako po’y nagtatalumpati sa harap ng madla,
inuudyok silang makisali, makiisa, makisama,
upang ang kabataa’y bigyan ng pag-aasa.”
Tapos na ang klase. Magbabasketbol na.
“Nasaan ka, Juan? Ano’ng iyong ginagawa?
Kulang pa ang tropa. Dali, mag-uumpisa na!”
Sumagot si Juan, hinihingal sa pagtakbo,
“Ako’y nakikipag-unahan sa ibang manlalaro.
Kahit hapong-hapo hindi ako patatalo
makamit lamang ang medalyang ginto.”
Pagdating ng bahay, tamang-tama sa meryenda.
“Nasaan ka, Juan? Ano’ng iyong ginagawa?
Kumain, magpahinga, pagkatapos ay mag-aral ka.”
Sumagot si Juan, abalang-abala,
“Ako’y nag-iisip ng isang magandang umpisa
sa gagawin kong kakaibang nobela
na balang araw sa buong mundo’y magiging kilala.”
Hatinggabi na ngunit si Juan ay gising pa.
“Nasaan ka, Juan? Ano’ng iyong ginagawa?
Matulog ka na at bukas ay may pasok pa.”
Sa ilalim ng liwanag ng buwan si Juan pala’y nangangarap,
ang mga mata’y nakatitig sa lumalayag na mga ulap.
Tinatanong ang sarili, wari’y may hinahanap
sa mga bituing walang pagal sa pagkislap.
“Akin pong pinagmumunihan ang di malayong hinaharap,
kung aking maaabot ang samu’t saring pangarap.
Maaabot nga kaya ang mga mithiing mailap
na sa bawat panaginip ay aking yakap-yakap?”
“Juan, aking anak,” tugon ng amang may paglalambing,
“sipag at tiyaga ang iyong kakailanganin.
Kakambal ang talino at husay na iyung angkin,
gaano man kalayo, paroroona’y iyo ring mararating.
“At,” pahabol ng ina, “iyung tandaan
na kami’y narito upang ikaw ay tulungan.
Responsibilidad naming ikaw ay alalayan
upang magkaroon ng magandang kinabukasan.”
“Iyo ring huwag kalilimutan
na ang Maykapal ay taos-pusong pasalamatan,
hingin na ikaw ay gabayan at patnubayan
sa samu’t saring pagsubok na iyong daraanan.
Sumikat na naman ang araw, maririnig ang tinig ni Juan,
“Nasaan ka, ina? Nasaan ka, ama?
Napakaganda ng umaga. Kayo’y gumising na.
Ang hangin ay nanlalambing at may dalang awit
at sumisilang na ang gintong liwanag sa puso ng langit.
Napakaganda ng umaga, sa mga pangarap ay hitik—
isang napakagandang umaga… tayo nang manungkit!”
© E.V. Infante
Mirages
Why can't I get your crooked nose right?
Love was buried that night
Corseted with rose-thorns
in six feet of your height.
Photographs squirm. I can't see
myself draw. Are you a
figment of my derangement? Your angles spin and soar.
Apples for the teacher. Apples for Eve.
By the hands of Adam
Stolen from her reach.
But she showed him, didn't she? That knowledge is
power.
When she passed
With her casket
It was swept under.
Dark things creep
in the cloak of your hair.
Its beauty is something to beware.
Subconscious worms burrow their way.
In my head a tap leaks astray.
© Rachel Chan Suet Kay
Final year Sociology major who likes singing, ballroom dancing, travelling, and reading and writing poetry.
DIONA SA KABUNDUKAN
Bundok na mapagpala --
Bubukad sa 'yong lupa
Ang sa bayang paglaya.
© Alexander Martin Remollino
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