Makata Vol.8: October Issue

Tanka

suddenly autumn
yesterday's leaves swept
into the gutter....
I thought there would be time
to say good-bye


not content
with just bubbles
I add bath salts too
the lavender-rising scent proving
just how spoiled I've become


under my breath
I rehearse the eulogy
in a foreign language
saying good-bye to my friend
in his native tongue


I have not seen him
since childhood
this former teacher of mine
back then frost was in his words
now it clings to the tips of his hair

© 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



FOR THE POWER OF THE PAPER AND PENCIL

Each poem
that comes from
my mind, I
set it down
to paper.

I keep a
fair amount
of pencils
and paper
handy. The

poems I
write on the
computer
are also
copied down.

My notebooks
store every
poem I
ever wrote.
They don't crash.

If it was
not for the
power of
the paper
and pencil,

I would be
lost somehow,
like smokers
without their
cigarettes.


SPIRITUAL DIET

God is chastising me.
He will command me
when it's time to eat.

I'm on a spiritual diet.
This is not a fast.
It's something different.

Fallen angels torment me.
They want me to eat.
But I must resist.

God won't let me die.
He will nourish my
soul with His wisdom.

God said I will eat soon.
The Holy Spirit
will not let me down.

A wingless angel
with dark eyes, shaped just
like an old woman

follows me around
telling me to eat
food from the garbage.

I resist its voice.
Only God can say
when I can eat again.


PRAY FOR RAIN

I don't sing for the sun
when I'm burning up.

I don't praise its brilliance
in times of drought.

With downcast eyes
I lament the heat.

I pray for steady rain,
cold, crisp, and fat.

I would pray for rain,
especially on parades.

© Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal



POST

a post manuscript of the sky surround
the stern pale authority of rosy-fingered days
an only exit to perdition, seeking
to rebuild a dress of white feathers
along an aisle’s carpet of feathers

to remember you (forgot my dulcet
song of time the symphony of a melancholic
guitar of matches.
The corridor of broken stares where
you cannot return. why
does it seem I am
left below
The roads a view of
five arrows
in all directions.
(devour your hands in spaceless
Thus to resurrect
early
death)

a eulogy, an ephemeral tile
a deathbed of flowers


TO A FINER WORLD

(and the blackened corners of my youth
are reticent in another
cosmos) so I forget the plight of mangoes
in our backyard, I set my own

impassively seeking memories
of tomorrow, nakedly tugging
an orchestra of fifty-one stars.
I am callow as drifters

running from my crippled uselessness
and that house where I see only
a backyard and a clothesline – They
understand that in Albany
until I am not futile anymore than a
pileworn coconut shell
or a misinterpreted leaf;

On certain days I think
my hair is not yet white; days like
those I remember too a mango tree
in a backyard --
Much of my confessions sat there
beside the Mango tree
(I would have looked after, would have
watched wilting in earth-soil)
until lifeless it is a betrayed scallop

It would have felt a com-plete of some erased
corner --
(of my youth
that will not exist like windows
at the back of your hands
It is an only-nostalgia I effortlessly
walk upon
a road before I could have
walked a trail of leaves)

But that is in another place.


REUNION

To-day I am among
splinters marred with an occasional
homecoming – you will admire
me
and look at me
in diamonds,
hurry toward the steps
to
kiss my feet grazed in liberty
(while yours are birthed of sluggish
colors you do not chose)
I know what you say
when you peep in your agonies:
that you would rather
be I,
me,
you,
again.

© Kristina V. Cajipe



REQUIEM

i hate trite metaphors:
i detest, for example, saying that
the heavens wept the day Death came to fetch you
in his dark chariot,
leaving us desolate.
but the stars did blink away their tears
and dirges sang in sorrow --
a sob for a refrain --
the haunting notes fading away
but not forgotten.
and still could i not find another word for sadness –
not loneliness, not emptiness, not melancholy.
yet in moments of gloom when
uncertainty is absolute,
i anguish over your loss –
and though i would not want to say,
to write that night has claimed you,
and angels have carried you up to
heaven, where you have always belonged –
in the turbulent agony of the solemn night
i look at the stars and see them
use the clouds as handkerchiefs
while dirges, singing in sorrow,
lull scared, lonely children
to a dreamless sleep.

© Hazel Calventas



The Ideal

Drawn, from black ink, I was made to
die in the caresses of fire
warm, and beloved by the bare

In the large, leaden lake
I was a minion swimmer, a band of arm and leg
against the strop of the crowd
trodden by blunt hooves, withering
by the smith's smouldering scourge.

As the edifice trembled, the solitary weight
shifted the earth like Poseidon's wrath. Hungered, fueled,
by the villainy of the demagogue. Eruptions wrecked,

sputtered steel on the marked valleys. Embraced, I
made to return to the sand.


Brotherly Love

It is a roar, a deafening roar
that pries me from your ways.
The jealous and the jilted are but one deafening jolt.
Concentration, that weary bastard
flickers in the shadow of its peer.
Joined, to the hip our
faces and bodies are kneaded
in one embrace.


The Typist’s Tale

Oh, how typing chews this once straight back
Once I had thumbs twisting like Chubby Check.
Jitterbugging knees, crisp as fast frisbees
Jiving on the pad in a flurry of keys.
Then came a time when pain ploughed my arms
A field of needles grew as in a saffron-filled lawn
Spiciness spread in a typhoon of hest
And hence, typing became a tyrannous test.


Partner-In-Crime

With you, I ran into the clouds
in invisible night
Death a partner in crime
Steady by my side
The static silence rendering my senses anew, we
Walked like best friends
On the first day of school.

In our blanket you lay me warm
That the chill of our surroundings ceased to scorn
Our embracing hands, our whispered souls
Till the careless hour took us cold.


Rebellion

Eyes, like hawk's
I sought your approval
but you despised me
Threw me a scatter like
So many fish
Uneaten, still
Half-alive.

Now, I refuse to
Climb your tower.
To reach you, I believe
Is impossible.
Even if I'd made it to the
Highest step
Your withering gaze'd
Cast me down.

No matter, I beseech you
To stop minding.
I have struggled too long
And am drowned.

Elsewhere the sun blooms
A little brighter
I can find my flowers there, my own
Paradise.

© Rachel Chan Suet Kay

Rachel Chan Suet Kay likes art, drawing comics, travel, photography, writing, and poetry. Visit her site here: http://thusspakethethorn.blogspot.com



Bawal ang makulit sa Puting Kahoy

Nagagalit sa makulit ang mersenaryo
kaya tinaboy ang kaanak at boluntaryo.
"Nasaan ang anak ko?" tanong ng ina,
wala man lang imik ang kaharap niya.

Sa halip nakatikim sila ng sampal,
hambalos, tadyak, suntok, pananakal.
Ininteroga ang iba matapos gulpihin
gayong militar ang may dapat sagutin

sa malimit na pagdukot at pagpatay
ng pinaghihinalaan nilang kaaway.
Ang asong-ulol walang tamang tugon
kaya nananakit sa mga nagtatanong.

Napipikon na ang may pinagtatakpan
sa pag-usisa ng inang nagulumihanan.
Kung kagagalitan lagi ang makulit
di sana nag-aaruga ng batang paslit.

© Dennis Espada

Brought up and educated in Laguna, Philippines, Dennis has written over 300 articles for various print and online publications. He has also received honors in campus journalism while in college.

URL: http://iyolo.blogspot.com



Taknang Langitnon

Taknang langitnon,
Taknang himayan-on,
Kita magdulog,
Usa matulog,
Buka nga ganghaan,
Sa gugma sungsungan,
Puno ta og bahandi,
Labing lami ang kinabuhi.

Moments of Heaven

Moments of heaven,
Moments of bliss,
When you're beside me
Before we slumber.
Portal wide open,
Love shall cover,
Our cup runs over,
Life is so much sweeter.

© Manuel Lino G. Faelnar



REFLECTIONS

I bite
into the peach
and in the sweet, juicy,
stone-filled middle, I see the sun
rising.

(previously published in Poetic Voices, May 2004)


FOUR TANKA

friends
forever faithful
even as
a lover met in a bar
is forever faithful

(first published in Autumn Leaves, July 2005)


like that dog
worrying its toy
your memory
shakes me to and fro
and won’t release my heart

(first published in Poetic Voices, February 2003)


yesterday
a few hours ago it was
and yet
it is no more real
than those misty dreams


owning a dog
one learns to look down
walking in the grass
and so’s walking in the Way
with many teachers

© 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.



kaybat ning uran
pinanaring kikindat
asilip naku
bibilad ke'ing ulunan
besa ning lwa nabengi

after the rain
the peeping rainbow
saw me
sun-drying my pillow
tear-soaked last night


adwang alino
misapin-metung lapin
libutad jardin
ing dalumdum a lalbag
kukutkut ya king bengi

silhouettes
in communion
at the bamboo garden
the thickening dusk
penetrates the evening


lawen maratnga
banwang tiktak dalumdum
lonang malwalas
na karin ya migulis
kislap-taram kung laram

beholding
the deep ebon sky
a vast canvas
to paint the twinkle
of my little white lie


lalam maslag bulan
babo maglumut a bangku
paninapan ka
papadwasan labi mu
lele lalanging ilug

b’neath moonlit night
above the rickety bench
dreaming
fishing your lips
near the drying pond


bulung mebaldug
king talagang tayimik
kakung santungan
sugatan kung kayanakan
malalaso kening ketwanan

pallid leaves
upon the placid pond
my refuge
of wounded chivalries
rotting in captivity

© Tony Mercado Peña



Apocalypse

a bullet through the head
internal combustion
a rusty sword, a syringe
contaminated with HIV
riot, arson, hooliganism
poverty, hunger, desperation
the naked mad woman
standing at the crossing
legs outstretched, gaping hole
flesh eating bacteria
speak less, say more
you share may bed now
a good woman, wilderness
a ticking time bomb
growing fat and strong
the unconscious memory
throws up dark shadows
apocalypse, mercy killing.


Healing Touch

caught on the wrong foot again?
agitated ? then calm down
take deep breath, oxifresh
take a sip, or a dip, cold
take a puff, or a huff, hot
take a nap, forget yourself
discard the stinking self
in the peace of greenery
like you discard yourself
on women; cautionary tales
banned poly bags, banned books
but don’t worry, be happy
the well-meaning decree
never well taken by the victim
no healing touch in the offing
how will you heal yourself?


Cage

a lyric cry from the soul
round the clock, like FM radio
the bird is disturbing
my mornings, and evenings
calling for mate, for love
my song is purposeless
just for being me, myself
solitary in the iron, trained
showpiece from the wilds
cry freedom, cry mercy
a jailbird in a solitary cell.


Flight

I meet you
mate you
my fate
it is to taste
the fly on shit
you say my heart
lies elsewhere
where my dreams
gather ants
like armadillo
I touch you
touched
the pillow smells
urine
you say it is
hate that I mate
hate it is
that my fate
ensures
unsure and cold
you say there is
no remedy for sugar
and you prepare
bitter gourd
for my meals
you want to heal
I take to my heels
for the hills.


Fire

separate worlds, you and I
pinpricks, or it may be
a nail, the flat tires
the alloy rims spark
scintillate fire on asphalt
you get petrol for me
BOOM, the fire from hell
a fiery end before the end
the sign glows NO SMOKING
the sparks you consume
a fire monger she devil
or he devil you set on fire
the telos, ontos or eschatos
or all other dimensions
no birth this morning
or no sun in the noon
no death in the evening
you borrow your sons
from the sun you borrow
to rear them in the fire.

© Bishnupada Ray

Bio: I am a reader in English in NORTH BENGAL UNIVERSITY. My poems have been published in journals like INDIAN LITERATURE and NEW QUEST. One collection of my poems titled POSSIBILITIES has been published by writers workshop, Kolkata, India.



DIFFERENTLY MEASURED

This is where distance is differently measured.

"A brief walk" could be half a day's travel on foot,
When someone tells you a certain place
is "just nearby,"
be prepared to walk all the way
to the next mountain.
What's "just over there" could be three hills away.

Strange then for a land in which near is far
that just getting past the foot of the mountain
is often already considered
a successful climb.

© Alexander Martin Remollino



ABRILATA

Tahasang tumutok ang talim na galit
sa munting de latang para sa pulutan.
At tinirang lata ay tadtad ng saknit.

Tuwang-tuwang tunay sa latang nasakmit
mula sa tindahang puno ng tuksuhan.
Tahasang tumutok ang talim na galit.

Tinitig-titigan di lang isang saglit,
bago pa ang lata'y dagling tinuluyan.
At tinirang lata ay tadtad ng saknit.

Saknit na mula pa sa maraming saplit
ng hayok na nasang sagad sa sukdulan.
Tahasang tumutok ang talim na galit.

Ang kawawang lata'y di inda ang sakit
nang ito'y mabuksa't mapagparausan.
At tinirang lata ay tadtad ng saknit.

Tinapon ang latang tiwangwang at gamit,
ngayon na mayroong bagong pang hapunan.
Tahasang tumutok ang talim na galit
at tinirang lata ay tadtad ng saknit.


PADLOCK

Mapalad ka.
Kahit kinakalawang na
ang ilang bahagi
ng iyong katawan,
at maganit na
ang iyong susian,
tumanda ka
na iisa,
at natatangi,
ang susi
na ginagamit
upang ikaw ay buksan.

Mapalad ka
at ordinaryo ka.

Mapalad ka
at hindi ka de numero.

© Silvana Zapanta

Silvana 'Kyo' Zapanta is a professor at ABE International College of Business and Accountancy in Cainta, Rizal. In her spare time, she enjoys writing poems and songs. This is her escape from the realities of life's responsibilities. For more of her work, you may visit http://www.postpoems.com/members/kyoksil