Friday, February 1, 2008

Makata Vol.9: February Issue

in Korea
with a new love
for the first time
his fingers clumsy
with the chopsticks


the rumour mill churns
with whispers
of my name ---
if you're going to gossip about me
at least make my lovers clever

(both previously published in red lights)


Return

who says you can't go back again…?

home is held
in the hollow
of your shoulder
time rests
in the curve of your back

six weeks of yesteryear,
tenderly packed
in lavender-scented tissue,
is waiting to be unwrapped

and in these days
of time-warped perfection
all will be exactly
as you remember

previously published in ken*again

© 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



THE CAMERA EYE

I have caught you by surprise
On days you did not look your best,
Plagued by bad hair and sad eyes,
Your hand rolled up into a fist.

I have caught you half-asleep
In a state of relaxation,
With drool rolling down your cheek,
Shaking your head in frustration.

I have shot you late at night
As you snuck out in the darkness,
The flash going in your eyes,
Your startled hand upon your chest.


THE RHYTHM OF HIS MUSIC

You learned to dislike the music
Your father played.
It wasn’t cool. It wasn’t hip.
Now in his grave

You cannot get enough of it.
You listen close
To the rhythm of his music.
You want to know

Why it took so long to admit
You loved those songs.
You tell your father about it.
How you were wrong.


CLEANING THE OFFICE

Nineteen-Ninety-Nine catalogs
Of defunct office supply stores,
Year-Two-Thousand telephone books
With outdated area codes,

Ten-year old receipts from bankrupt
Department stores and mini-marts,
We are the keepers of the past,
Keepers of trash never thrown out.

I asked the boss why couldn’t I
Throw out the empty chalk boxes?
He said he kept them to keep all
His worn-down-to-the-nub pencils.


BEHIND THE WALL

Blackbirds walk
Without shoes.
Between blades
Of grass, they
Leave slight
Imprints, which
Only the
Most acute
Eye can see.


SOMEONE’S TRYING TO STEAL MY IDENTITY

I am worried
About the poison
In my food and water.

If I eat or
Drink water, I’m
Going to be a corpse.

Someone’s trying
To steal my identity.
I’m not special.
I’m not a millionaire.

I don’t see why
They keep coming after me.
I want to go
In hiding far from L.A.

© Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
West Covina, CA



home

in my kitchen
the flow and frolic
of water and soap bubbles
sunrise to sunset
the pure circle of light


together

I polish
with a woven cloth
of Irish linen...
our wine glasses sparkle
in the close of another day


love

each evening
I wash away remains
of our feasting
soap bubbles float
into the scented night

© Dawn Bruce
Australia



Lingayen, 12/08/07

I have known no finer sand than this,
no smoother,
no sweeter to the touch.
I have heard no gloomier sound
than the weeping of the weary waves,
distraught and desperate
as an aborted fetus
clamoring for lie.
A lighthouse looms in the distance,
searching for sailors
who never will come home.
I wait for a lost love that will never return.

© Hazel Calventas



IKAW

Ikaw ang dahilan kung bakit may saya
May ngiti sa labi't may ningning ang mata
Ikaw nga ang araw ng bawat umaga
Kung tag-ulan naman, hatid mo'y pag-asa

Laman ka ng isip, hindi nawawaglit
Sa tuwi-tuwina sayo'y nasasabik
Mula sa paggisising hanggang managinip
Di nais mawalay kahit isang saglit

Lahat ng mayroon sayo'y iaalay
Sukdulang magtiis lumigaya ka lang
Sa bawat pagluha akong nahihilam
Ang kalungkutan mo'y aking kamatayan

Wagas na damdamin, laman nitong diddib
Mahalin mo lamang tanging ninanais
Dito sa puso ko, wala kang kapalit
Nabubuhay ako sa iyong pag-ibig

*Unang tula ng pag-ibig para kay Marlon S. Dela Cuadra

© Mary Ann Cariquez



LEBANESE PRIEST

The Lebanese in his twenties tells me he’s trying
to quit smoking. He works the night shift
for the Ottawa Sun. He’s studying theology--
at the university, hoping to become a priest.
In the pool he swims fast next to me;
then...slowly.

“What’s it like to quit smoking?” I ask;
I never smoked, see.
He thinks; he’s been trying hard.

“It’s like a beautiful woman before you,” he says,
“you can never stop looking at her, can you?”

The female swimmers, bikini-clad, go by.

Smoking, that’s all.


MUHAMMAD ALI POEM

I done wrestled with an alligator;
tussled with a whale,
handcuffed lightning,
thrown thunder in jail;
only last week I
murdered a rock,
injured a stone,
hospitalised a brick;
I'm so mean--
I make medicine sick.

(Found Poem)

© Cyril Dabydeen

Cyril Dabydeen's poetry has appeared in over 60 periodicals around the world, including the Oxford, Penguin, and Heinemann Books of Caribbean Verse. He is a former Poet Laureate of the City of Ottawa. His latest poetry book is Imaginary Origins: New and Selected Poems (Peepal Tree Press, UK).



Whitewash

1. City, Arturo Luz

Where are you hidden among towers
And spires, labyrinthine buildings scraping
The sky, obelisks, citadels, pyramids erected
On the rough concrete ground, where are you
In cross sections of shoebox malls, gilded forts,
Astrodomes and coliseums, condominiums
With antennae zigzagging through the smog,
Where could you be amidst a colossal tangle
Of palisades and pillars, in streamlined
Geometries of transnational empires?

Look
No more:
I am perched
On the roof
Of a ramshackle shanty
Piled on the peak of a mountain range of garbage.


2. Castilla VIII, Fernando Zobel

This is the instant:
Thought exploding
On the canvas of the mind:
Eye meeting the sharp

Point of a knife.
This is the split-
Second moment of full-
Blooded truth: thought
Imploding as it eludes

The eye: eye meeting
The sharp point of a knife.
Now when the eye meets
The sharp point of a knife:

The canvas ruptures,
The mind ignites:
Blooming fireworks
Frozen in still-life.


3. White Table, Roberto Chabet

A table has four edges
From four right angles,
Four legs with four edges,
And a table top four feet square
Four feet off the floor.

A white table has four white edges
From four white right angles,
Four white legs with four white edges,
And a white table top four feet square,
Four feet off the white floor.
(It casts a black shadow
As all other tables.)

4. Kinupot, Edgar Talusan Fernandez

No wonder we can’t break free
No matter how long, how wide, how

Deep we reach. We live in the ruse
Of space. The air is a cage.

And so is the page: words don’t spill
Beyond its pale perimeter. All

Over us, all around us
Is the weight of whitewash.

© Rodrigo V. Dela Peña Jr.

A graduate of Political Science from UP Diliman, Rodrigo V. Dela Peña Jr. has been a fellow for poetry in the UP, Iligan and Iyas Writing Workshops. His poems, stories and essays have been published in various magazines and anthologies. He is currently based in Dumaguete, Negros Oriental.



Sulat na umaanlong ed saray kaanakan to’d biektaew

Ugaw kini natan
palbog ni’d dokolan
nonot wala’d amayo
tan kindin masamit

No makalakal kila
pibasa yo pa ya
ilaloan kon anta yo’y
salita nen Lakin Anoy

Ta no andi kaokolan
iyalis ko’d Inglis
dila nen Shakespeare
tanila’n oley ditan

Onbabaleg kayo’d
wikan binayes
ed uliran tan tongtong
sankaili’y bayani

Arin eleng ag apildak
baogdan amputin
singa asukar
buek a mais-maisan

Aliwan singa’d si Siogen
maltaw a manag-anop
aluto’d agew
inames ed asin na dayat

Tan si Apo Anno
naingaran ed alog
mabiskeg a laki
galawan toy takel

Sikara’y atateng
na polin nanlapuan
dala’n onaagos ed ulat
nanayam ni’d poso’ra

Aral yo’y Pangasinan
ngeswa na kamarerwa
taningting to’t narengel ko ni
ed palandey tan kaumaan

Esaes, elek, orangal nen ugma
intikyab, inyatol na dagem
pian sikayon anak na Caboloan
makatalineng ed si Apolaki

Kabaten, kotkoten so lamot
potel kayon onalagey
aleg yon aligen saray arom
nilinguanan da’y dilin baley.

© Erwin S. Fernandez
http://theotherdissent.blogspot.com/


this sunday night
a mug of tea and a book
for company
in a distant world the minstrel
sings a sad song

(first published in Above Ground Testing, August 2004)


after all these years if I happened to see you
once again
would you utter even softly a hello


the old man existing
on a meager retirement income
all day long clenches and unclenches his fists

(first published in Tryst, December 2004)


her daughter
long ago moved away...
the old woman
in the rocking chair
cuddles a doll


propositioned
by the scantily-clad girl
on my evening walk
I give her my last twenty
and continue walking

(first published in Lynx, June 2005)

© 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.



Hunger

She needed money to feed her child,
He needed a woman to satisfy his emotions wild,
They came together in union not meant to be,
He would go his own way and so would she,
The hungry man would be satiated,
And the hungry child would be fed.


Dream

"Trust me it is not over yet"
He shouted at the top of his voice
So that she could hear him,
As she started drifting into another world

"I love you"
She kept repeating
In between the deep breaths she took
So that her heart could continue to beat

He woke up, sweating.
Dream it was, dream that always haunted him
Dream about the day, when it was all over
The day, she left him forever.

Many years to that unfortunate day,
He still remembered it as if it was yesterday
She was not meant to go
She was not meant to die
Death had come with his name on the tag
But she died for him and left him to cry

"I love you"
He still hears her voice
"I am still here"
She still assures him every night
He feels her presence after he has this dream

Perhaps, she could never go
Because he said that it was not over yet.
Perhaps, she still waits
For him to forget that unfortunate day
She waits, for him to realize
That it is over now.


Song - Tanka

I hear the sound of rain
standing at my window
music fills my heart
you wrap your arms around me
and my heart sings a song


Memory - Cinquain

Memory
long forgotten
once again knock on my heart
when only love existed between
you and me


When Clouds Speak To The Moon - Acrostic

When we silently watch,
Hand in hand, Love speaking through the touch
Evening passes off in a swift
Night comes calling ...

Clouds soon gather to speak to the moon
Love is in the air, in every breath we take
Oblivion to everything else,
Under the sky we kiss, our first kiss
Darkness of the night witnessing our love
Sweet and gentle feeling running through our veins

Silence speaks, telling tales of our love
Promises made without words being spoken
Every beat of our heart singing the song
As the river gives the music
Keen stars spying on us

Taking me in your arms, you speak
Of our future together

To this I respond with a kiss
Holding you tight in embrace
Every moment frozen in time

Memories of love,
Of our times together
Often knock on my heart
Never allowing me to believe that it is all over.


Innocent Eyes - Acrostic

Innocent eyes look at me
Narrating the story of her life
No drop of tear in eyes
Of the face etched with pain
Chances are, perhaps,
Every ache is now beyond the limit
No more causing physical ache
Trials of life too rude to her

Each day she looks at me
Yet speaks not a single word
Eventually I smile at her and
She comes running into my arms

© Arti Honrao
India



Leave No Trace

Each time I close my eyes, let me own
the green shower strangers taste together,
smell the beaming breeze that vacillates
between the vermilions and indigos
of leather ferns on a lichen swamp spied
with mud-skippers. Among the baritones
of cicadas, a clamor of hungry flies
and mosquitoes in crescendo fades to rock.

Latent giggles of an earthly couple,
I follow footprints barely visible
understanding I am now in love,
refuse to turn my head and see wings
in my pupils, liqueur along heartbeats
and pass the chanting rocks, waving crabs,
soughing figs and broken kite that flees,
owning them and leaving as they are.


Jealousy

(translation of Sappho’s poem)

That gentleman I see who sits
beside you is lucky as a god
for he beholds your face so close
and listens to your voice so sweet
your charming laughter filled with love
that flutters wild in my heart.

For even with a careless glance
you know how obstinate
I am, await some words
to open my mouth but tongue-tied
only sense a mysterious fire
that sweeps across my flesh and veins.

An absent sky is what my eyes see
a silent breeze is what my ears hear
I sweat like rain, pale as grass
and trembling, for an instant felt
alas, I am not far from death.


Dessert

Chocolate chunk in blue bowl,
mousse golden brown in double whirls
gaily dressed with caramel.

Squeezes with fork that
juicy bit, soiling his tongue and tooth,
warmly excreted from the bowel.


Pattaya Girl

At twenty tough and beautiful,
she left the farm for that blue sky,
beach, smiled and waved at passers-by:
“Sir, where you go? I go with you!”

She slept for cash until twilight,
spent all on rings, lipsticks and shoes.
At night her lemon orchid spoke:
“Sir, where you go? I go with you!”

Men came and went, her bikini.
Enough, she wished to settle down,
approached a bald and old farang:
“Sir, where you go? I go with you!”

The keen traveler she married
had rambled through the country twice.
Now everyday the wake-up call:
“Sir, where you go? I go with you!”

She sat beside her dying man,
strived to embrace his final breath.
In tears she whispered the refrain:
“Sir, where you go – I go with you.”

© Arthur Leung

Born and raised in Hong Kong, Arthur Leung’s poems have been published internationally in print magazines, anthologies and online journals. He was a Finalist for the 2007 Erskine J. Poetry Prize and short-listed for the 2007 Margaret Reid Prize for Traditional Verse.



Narasan na dila

pinigarpigar ko yan likna
pianu agak makaugep,
sinakeysakeyko
ya indelnet ed nonot,
say tua et siak
narasanak ed bukorkon dila
komon, sakey labat
ya kamot ed sakey ya salita
wadmanakla ed abong.....

Natan, on, natan antak
ya maliwliwawa ed ayan linawa
ya siak aliwan baaw labat so tinakewda
ya siak tan sayan bilayko et angapola...

Say irap so onsimpet angad tukok
angad sampot na pagew no antak
ya angapola'y nasabi
en sayan panagsimpet.

kutkotenko lan amin
amin a naiyan ed baul
na angano sakey labat ya salita
no sikatoy nepeg
so unsimpet ed sayan panagsulat
na anlong ed sayan kugip...


mabisin a dila

pinirsapirsayko ti riknak
tapno saanak a makaturog,
sinaggasaggaysak
nga indennet ditoy nakem,
ti pudno ket siak
mabisinak iti dilak
koma, maysa laeng
a kammet iti maysa a sao
ket addaakon ti taengko...
Tatta, wen, itatta ket ammok
a naglawag ti riknak
a siak saan laeng nga innapuy ti tinakawda
a siak ken ti biagko ket awanen..
Nagrigat ti agsubli iti lansad
iti murdong ti barukong no ammok
nga awanen ti aguray
iti daytoy nga isasangpet.
Kinalik aminen
aminen nga adda idiay baul
ta uray maysa laeng a sao
no isu ti makapudno
a sumangpet iti daytoy a panagsurat
ti daniw iti daytoy a tagainep...

© Florentino B. Lorenzana



Siping

Alipato tayong umiindak
sa dila at init ng apoy
habang pinapahupa natin
ang alimuon nitong
mga nagbabagang katawan
Tinatarok ang bawat rurok
Sinusubaybayan ang indayog,
kumpas at paggalaw
pinagdadaop ang kalamnan
pinagsasaluhan ang labas pasok
na nakakapaso't nanabik
na hingal na hiniga

Pabilis... nang pabilis...
na parang bumabayo
ang tibok ng napapagod na puso
kumakaripas na parang
hubo't hubad na engkanto

pagkatapos ng lahat didilat
ang malamlam na mata
na yakap ang malamig na unan
at sumisiping sa dumudugong
alaala ng nakaraan

* Alipato - lumilipad na baga mula sa sunog


Selyado

Posteng inaanay ako
dito sa loob ng kuwadra
ng mga galang engkanto
nakakabinging katahimikan
ang bumabalot sa
kulay kapeng kalangitan
kumakanti ang matamlay na hangin
sa mala disyerto kong balat
na uhaw sa iyong mga yakap
ngangungulila sa iyong haplos
na nilapnos ng unos kayat
sa balon ng luha na
lamang ibinubuhos
habang malumbay na
pinagmamasdan ang selyadong
baul na alaala ng ating nakaraan

© Anthony Pabon,SOLT



Blue Skies Then and Now

I used to think that
blue skies tell me, “Go out.
The sun needs a long hug back
and flowers and the weeds
need an audience.
Go and watch the awakening
of colors and scents
you don’t even see in your dreams.
Let sunlight plant small kisses
all over your face –
bathe your soul with something so pure, so simple…”

There were you then sharing those blue skies.

Blue skies now
remind me you can’t hug back the sun too long —
Or that flowers and weeds
grow no more for concrete dwellers
who care neither for colors or scents…
Blues skies I see nowadays are bluer,
but I don’t care much for sunlight’s small kisses,
my soul could care less for what is pure and simple.

I wish you bring my blue skies back.

© Maria Carmina A. Reynaldo
Editor, Book Craft Publishing Co., Inc.

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