Guardian Angel
his hands are held in permanent fists ready to wage war on my behalf
his eye pierced to watch for a wrong look his ear sharper than any owl’s listen for a false word
wolves imaginary or true-to-life
cannot harm
when he is near
and just when I think his smirk a little too smug his cocked head
a little too self-assured
I hear the faint whisper
of angel wings
Whir
hours on the King Air
forty-five minutes in the cab
high heels clatter
on the cold sidewalk
peppermint tea
the Daily News
the doorman’s warm hello
honey-I’m-home
attaché on the sofa
stir fry on the table
foot rubs
lavender scented baths
the guest room
that’s home
eulogies
parties
emails
flurried phone calls
five minutes to throw a week
into a suitcase
with always the awareness
that the taxi meter is running
the plane engine is revving
and my life is a perpetual
Monday morning
no matter what day
of the week
it falls on
Jordan
We know a secret now, you and I:
the more our bodies wither,
and sacred limbs waste away,
the true self steps forward
finally fully revealed
The flesh is a Liar,
telling tall tales of woe
that we must be defeated,
that what we see is what we get –
but there is so much more!
Seven feet of bones
buried six feet deep
yet you are a meteor
whose strength left us
breathless
© 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
Cruising The Crypt
Dusk-down.
The key knotted to a finger
Of a pipistrelle bat
- The only relic in the mist
Between the necrophiliac
And her stiff.
Crush!
Our eye studs locked.
I had bravura, trousered in carbon-black velvet,
A sun-blink yellow shirtwaist in tickly nylon.
Our eye studs locked.
His face flickered (a pick-me-up)
A gibbon’s mischief in each latest-wrinkle pose.
Bluebeat on the transistor sharp-cornered our limbs
While denim impounded his rock-a-bye rump.
A buttoned-down collar struggled to attention.
Our eye studs locked.
Curiosities At Moodie Zoo
Duskingtide twiddles with the minkhouse.
There’s a Niagara in the birdbath, a zebra
Flops in dirt, snuffles
As a matter-of-fact yak, yawns.
Chunks
Of the ear
Bear no analogy
In chimps,
Barking deer and skunk,
A punk
In eye-filling red-ink trousers, says.
Joe & Molly Dulldress stare,
“What’s that coloury species
With pecker wood feathers
On tea rose hair?”
Curriculum
In John Bull gyms he is a fag,
A boy who performs and works seductive miracles,
A squat Gabriel, bootblack to a good-size captor,
Dogsbody to his Prince in all things.
In shorts and cap he understudies,
On Howzat! Innings and parky dorms,
In dimming unzipped closets, in the bathhouse
And occasionally bare arsed
Under midnight quilts.
© Christopher Barnes
in 1998 I won a Northern Arts writers award. In July 200 I read at Waterstones bookshop to promote the anthology 'Titles Are Bitches'. Christmas 2001 I debuted at Newcastle's famous Morden Tower doing a reading of my poems. Each year I read for Proudwords lesbian and gay writing festival and I partake in workshops. 2005 saw the publication of my collection LOVEBITES published by Chanticleer Press, 6/1 Jamaica Mews, Edinburgh.
EARLY BIRDS
Early birds
chatter
and sing
from the pepper tree,
while I'm
still half-asleep,
unable
to interpret
my dream
about water
and boats
swollen
with algae.
The early birds
call me
awake, show me
the sky
and a sun,
which is rising.
SPIES ON THE MOON
The spies
are on
the moon.
They hide
up in
the light.
They hear
our words,
read our
thoughts and
make their
blacklists.
I'm on
their list.
The moon
men want
me gone.
It's true.
THE ANGRY POET
The angry poet
Has a tongue
Like poison.
His words are like poison.
His poems poison.
The angry poet
Speaks too soon without
Thinking at all.
His words on the page
Cannot be taken back.
They escape.
They become public.
They are poison
Darts in the board of life.
SLOW DAYS
A slow day
at the office
is the best
kind of day:
No phone calls
from parents or
patients, and
no complaints.
A slow day
at the office
I will take
anytime
over days
where almost all
the calls are
life and death:
Over days
when patients scream
into the
receiver
demanding
more money or
cigarettes
and more clothes.
© Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
West Covina, CA (USA)
Kalawanging poso
Bigay-pwersa kong itinaas-baba
ang braso ng kalawanging poso,
humuhugot pa sa inat at hikab
ng naghahamog na umaga.
Pero, natanga at natulala ako
sa mumunting patak sa bunganga
ng naninilaw na tubo—
Iismiran na lang ang umagang
walang pangmumog
sa amoy panis na hininga.
Elehiya kay Ka Gabriel
Bumulwak ang dugo't laman
sa ukab mong kaliwang pisngi,
nang humalakhak
ang walang dinidiyos na armalayt
Taranta ang lahat—
mga kadre at medik
Ang iyong asawa at anak
na kasalo mo sa ginataang puso
ng saging kaninang tanghalian.
Pinid ang aking labi at kamao
habang iginuguhit ng aking mga mata
ang hugis ng iyong kilay, ilong,
at labi na ngayo'y mantasado
ng putik at dugo.
Inusal ko sa sarili na sana
muli mo pang makasalo
ang iyong asawa't anak,
at makasabay ka pa namin
sa paglusong at pag-ahon
dito sa Peninsula.
Ngunit, gumagalos sa aking dibdib
ang napipigtal mong hininga,
ang naghahabulang tibok ng puso
at garalgal mong ungol at daing –
Sandaling tumigil ang pitik
ng segundo sa aking pulso
Nahulog na tuyong dahon
ang iyong kanang kamay
na kanina'y kayhigpit na nakakapit
sa pisi ng duyan
Sa pagbagsak ng iyong talukap
nalaglag ang butil ng luha
at sumanib sa iyong dugo.
nilingkis kami ng alikabok ng dapit-hapon.
pipiglas
kasabay ng bugso ng bala
ang aming poot at pighati.
© Niña Catherine Calleja
The contributor is a graduate of BS Economics from the University of the Philippines Los Baños. Former chairperson of the UPLB Writers' Club and editor of the UPLB Perspective, she became a fellow at the 7th UST National Writers' Workshop last May 2006. Presently, she works as a correspondent for the Southern Luzon Bureau of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.
Winter lady
She preferred winter,
when she could cover her knobby shoulders
with sweaters and coats —
hide the fact she was without form,
similar to a trodden leaf
that has lost its intricate outline.
She preferred her sweaters ugly
and yarny,
hoped they would offer empathy
to waif-like arms.
(Once of spring, lithe,
she swayed with the grasses
until disease snatched her up.)
She turned heartsick in summer,
inside the sun’s kiln;
dreaded the exposure of skin,
obsessed about winter,
when she could crawl under layers again.
first published in Adagio Verse Quarterly, 2006.
© Janet Lynn Davis
Janet Lynn Davis lives in Texas (USA). Her poetry has appeared in numerous online and print venues.
Bossing
Utos niya'y di mababali
sapagkat dagta niya'y binalot
itong abang sarili
natatakot ako sa kaniya
kahit ako'y hirap na
pinipilit pa rin
ang tanging nais niya.
Minsan nakakagalitan ako ng tulog,
binubulyawan ng panlasa sa pagkain
at sinasapak ako ng aking adhikain,
nakatunganga ako
sa tuwing nararamdaman ko
ang kaniyang pagpaparamdam
wari'y napapadpad ako
sa di mawawaang hulmahan.
Minsan,
tinangka kong mag-resign
subalit ako pa ri'y talunan
sa kaniyang mapagharing kagalingan
di ako tinantanan
hanggang nasunod ang kaniyang kautusan,
pinilit niyang isakripisyo
ang malalim na pagkakaibigan
sa taong lubos kong pinahalgahan,
ngayon, sa aking tabi
wala na ang aking iniingat-ingatan.
O, ano ang aking gagawin,
utos ng puso
akin bang babaliin?
Nahintay ko ang Huling Araw ng Magpakailanman
Marahan ang pagkilos ng magulang na araw
wari’y ingat na ingat ito sa kaniyang pamamaalam,
isa itong pangakariniwang paghimlay
walang ibang nangyari kundi ito lamang,
ang huling araw ng magpakailanman.
Mabilis ang hiwalayang namagitan
sa mga namuong alapaap sa himpapawid,
upang bigyang daan ang liwanag
na maya-maya’y ibabandera ng buwan.
Ano kaya ang naramdaman ng magkatipang ulap
na nagsakripisyo para sa buwan?
sumukob ba sila sa dagta ng mapait na hiwalayan?
o sadyang sana’y na sila
kung paano makipagbuno sa tadhana?
Maliban sa hiwalayang alapaap,
walang ibang nangyari,
wala akong ibang naisip
kundi ito lamang
ang huling araw ng ipinangako mong
magpakailanman.
© Zig Carlo M. Dulay
http://zigcarlo.blogdrive.com
Tagpuan
Hindi mo alam kung ga'no katagal akong
naghintay na mamalas ang iyong mata
na maaari kong ikaligaw.
Natatandaan kong huminga
nang hayaan mo ang mahabang buhok
na nakasampay sa iyong balikat,
ikinukubli ang gayong mga busilak
na katangian sa ilalim ng anino.
Bawat mumunting piraso mo
ay inihabilin sa alaala.
Di kita marahil makikilala
kung mukha mo'y di naging litaw
sa kabila ng pagkamanhid ng puno
dito sa karagatan ng isang henerasyong
baldado at walang pakiramdam. Ay,
ang ngiti mo'y nagdulot ng kaibhan.
Ngayong batid mo na matagal
akong naghintay -- sa gabing ito,
dito sa loob ng di-nakatalang pook,
pagsinta ang hanap ng dalawang puso.
"Na-miss kita ng labinlimang araw,"
naisip ko nguni't di binigkas ng malakas.
Ibinalabal mo ang iyong braso sa 'kin
habang damdamin nati'y pumailanlang
sa mga makabagong tayog.
Ang pag-ibig ay tunay sa praktika
Higit pa sa pagtitig sa
kapwa mala-bituing larawan,
nararapat nating matanto na
ang pag-ibig ay tunay sa praktika—-
saan tayo nagmula,
saan tayo patungo;
ang bitag, ang posibilidad,
ang kirot, ang ligaya,
ang alitan, ang hamon
na maging magkasama habang
tayong dalawa'y nabubuhay.
© Dennis Espada
http://iyolo.blogspot.com
Dennis was brought up and educated in Laguna, Philippines where he consume at least one ballpen per month. For him, literary writing is a chance to speak openly and uninhibitedly. He is a freelance writer and journalist.
Your Smile
Your smile beguiled
And swept my lonely heart away.
Your smile beguiled!
Though innocent as a child,
You had my guard in disarray
And won me over in a day.
Your smile beguiled.
(First published in Autumn Leaves, May 2006)
Three Hokku
marching feet
that will never see green hills
again
after my wife's funeral
I put away
the prayer beads
I think
of Basho and Santoka
while packing the car
A Sijo
Morning mist covers the hills and haze hangs in the sky.
Looking soft, like the moon, is gauze-wrapped Sol stripped of ardor,
But with you standing beside me, I have little need of the sun.
(First published in Lynx, February 2006)
© 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.
Peking Dak
Nagkape ako sa tindahan ni Aling Soling.
Nag-sesnaks't nagyosi;
Nagmuni-muni't nangarap
na sana, di natigil ang pagmamahalan namin
ni Inday.
Sa may kalayuan, me dumarating;
kasama ng mga indak ng mga mata
ng mga Undong nagsisipagtambayan, si Tisay.
Hinahagkan-hagkan ng Haring Araw ang kanyang
kayumihan.
At si hangin, di nakapagpigil
niyakap ang kanyang balingkinitang bewang.
Na-alala ko tuloy ang boteng Kok ng panahong,
dekada Otsenta.
Ang Ala-ala namin ni Inday, unti-unting naglaho.
Lumipad patungo sa himpapawid, kasama ng mga usok
na nanggaling sa yosing aking hinigop-higop.
Si Tisay, O si Tisay, sadyang malapit na
sa aking tabi.
Si Junyor na sobrang mabilis, ang jintoldog na
si Junyor, di na mapilit, tumayo.
"Deym, she's so priti!"
ang sigaw ng balun-balunan kong nagtitimpi.
Tumakbo ang aking mga mata't sinabayan ang alon
ng kanyang magandang katawana at ang hugis ng kanyang
mga burol.
"WOW LEGS!" ang sigaw ng naglalaway kong mga labi.
"She meyd my pingers so igsayted and deyr so noti,
dat dey meyd Gardyan Injil meyd tapon di kopi and
meyd paso di hand whits held dem."
Aray! At ako'y nabalik sa katotohanan,
Ano ba itong misteryong uma-aligid?
Bakit me tatlong bundok sa gitna ng mga legs
ni Tisay?
Peste't, pambihira at anak ng Teteng!
Ang mga Sekretong nagtatago sa gitna ng mga legs
ay putsa, ang sekretong, "WOW EGGS!"
© KenMikaze
Typo
i have been pressing on i for some time now
(thirty minutes, i think)
but i is still not responding.
i is proving to be an irritant, and i
am getting irritated.
i can't type, i can't see i onscreen,
i is nullified.
finally, i grab the keyboard with both hands,
hold it above my head, then
hurl it across the room.
one plastic piece shatters to a thousand,
i flies to the open chamberpot
and sinks to the pee-pool's bottom.
i versus i, i for an i —
like the whole keyboard,
i isn't indomitable
but i am.
(Previously published in the Literary Apprentice Lite 2006: A Long Time Coming and a Long Time Gone, UP Diliman.)
© Phillip Kimpo Jr.
http://corsarius.net
Phillip Kimpo Jr., 21, is a Computer Science graduate of UP Diliman. When his muse is on hiatus, he works as a freelance writer and web project manager.
ANG MAKATA
Lahat na ng talinghaga ng salita
nailuwal na ng magagaling na makata
Mga pambihirang kaisipan
ay inihalo na sa maitim na tinta
at isinuka na ng bolpeng Panda
bawat salitang may tugma
ay hinalay na ng ganid na makata
inalipusta na ng mapaglarong kamay
At pinaglaruan na ng guni-guni't isipan
Ngayon sa bintana ay nakatunganga
At naghihintay na kumindat ang himala
nang sa muli ay gumiling itong bolpen
sa entabladong makinis na papel
Upang magkaroon ng disenyo
At sumigla itong bolpeng nahihilo
Sa bawat pagtitig ng balintataw
Talukap ay pilit na inuunat
Upang antok ng kadiliman
ay kanyang mapawi at malabanan
at nang ang bawat bagay
Ay matikman ng kanyang buhay
Nang magkaroon ng sustansyang taglay
Bago pa man siya humalik sa lupa
At buto ay tuluyang maging abo
Kanyang inaasam na ang mga tao'y
Mahadkan at mahalikan
Ng talinhaga't tugma
ng kanyang munting tula.
© Anthony Pabon
Tuloy sa Pagtakbo
Darating ang isang pagkakataon
na ating babakahin ang mga luhang
kikitil ng ating pansamantalang kaligayan.
Tayo'y papasok sa isang saligutgot
na daigdig ng kawalang malay; Upang
tungkabin ang ating ulirat.
Ulirat ng kahapon na susubok
ng ating katatagan sa buhay.
Ngunit,di dapat umatras sa laban
O kaya'y tumalikod sa nakaumang
panganib.
Ating harapin ng buong tapang
at sa dakong huli'y tiyak din ang
ating tagumpay.
Patuloy nating takbuhin ang landas
sa ating harapan.
Kahit na marami pang suligi na
nagkalat.
Tuloy lang sa pagtakbo.
Tuloy ang laban.
Ang Tigatig
Bakas ng kahapon nasagi’t naungkat
Doo’y napagtanto ang pagod at hirap
Ang siyang sumikil tangi kong pangarap
Na dagling naparam ng ako’y malingat
Itong puso’t isip hapo na at pagal
Sa pagtanaw dili sa adhikang kintal
Para bang kay tarik ng daang masukal
At mga panganib naghaharing gimbal
Ang kahapong lipos na animo’y sawi
Di dapat kumubli sa sapalang muhi
Hatid nito’y lumbay sa puso’y lugami
Singkad na layunin animo’y sakbibi
Kaya’t ibulid na nagdaang pagtangis
Upang makaalpas sa lungkot, giyagis
Sumulyap sa langit at huwag mahapis
At gawing mayuhay ang ngiting kay tamis
© Rey Tamayo Jr.
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