the way he says
my name
thunder -
I catch her name
in the obituaries
red
the colour of
many kinds of love
(previously published in bottlerockets)
frost on the Daphne
the way he says
Never mind
(previously published in The Heron's Nest)
© Aurora Antonovic
Aurora Antonovic is a Canadian writer, editor, and visual artist whose work has been published internationally. She currently acts as haiga editor for Simply Haiku, artist-in-residence for moonset, and editor-in-chief of Magnapoets (http://www.magnapoets.com ), a print publication that seeks to promote love of poetry in all forms.
maeapad nga eawod
gapatunga
sa atong paghigugma
(para sa mga akeanon sa panawan ag sa andang pamilyang inaywanan sa akean)
kasikaeom-
pagtunod it adlaw
nag bye bye
si tatay sa anwang
-maestra-
adlaw-gabi-i
gahaboe it pamisea
si nanay.
(for mom sally, my grade 2 ma'am)
~haiku~
eomamig ro kape
samtang ginahaboe
kita sa akong painu-ino
ham-an it maila
ikaw kakon
ag bukon kay Bashu?
~tag-eamig~
ro squirrel
gustong magpabukot
sa akong haboe.
hakatueog ro beaver
sa paghinueat
it summer.
icicle---
pareho sa damang
gakapyot sa bubong.
~canada~
gakatueog pa ro adlaw
pagbugtaw ko
para mag usoy it dolyar.
Shelahanie
siyam nga buean
naghueat ing nanay
sa pag-abot mo.
aninipot
bituon---
nagaidlap idlap
sa puno it eangka.
the following haiku are written in akeanon(aklanon), the author's dialect.she currently write haiku @ calgary, alberta, canada.
© beeSPUNKY
A PRINCE I WILL NEVER BE
I sunk into a bottle.
Delirium shouted out
my name. Strangers said I was
completely insane and mad.
On the street I balanced my
bottle on my top hat and
I took a swig or two each
step I took to ruin road.
I was disorganized in
speech. I thought I was charming.
But a prince I will never
be. I know it from my source
who speaks from the mirror. I
was not crazy. I was just
depressed. But no one believes
anything I say these days.
WAITING FOR THE BUS
Waiting for the bus
in Los Angeles,
daydreaming,
when a malodorous
beggar cups
his hand facing me
waist high.
In Spanish
he asks for
a quarter.
I am back in my youth
kicking soccer balls
in Zacatepec.
School girls cheer
and my friends smile.
In Spanish
they shout,
goooooal.
I become alert
when the bus
arrives
walking past
the malodorous beggar
with both his hands
in his pockets.
GOODBYE
I sat in my father’s car crying.
I saw my grandfather get out
And wave goodbye to me
And wishing me good luck.
I thought he would be coming
With me to America . I did
Not know he would stay in
Mexico . So I cried and cried.
My father could not stop my tears.
Threats or promises could not do it.
I don’t think he realized
Our bond. I think back now
If my grandfather felt as bad as
I felt. I wonder if my father
Was jealous of our bond.
I only saw my grandfather
One more time, four years later.
The second time he said goodbye
Was a little easier. When he
Died no one could stop my tears.
© Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
West Covina, CA
SA LABAS NG MUNDO
Pusikat ang gabi at ang lahat ay nanahimik,
Karagata’y malalim at ang alo’y di mapigil,
Mayroong isang taong walang kaimik-imik,
Marahil sa pinipithaya’y sabik,
Ang rayuho nang sinisinta’y naghandog ng pitik,
Madalas niyang sanggunian ang kanyang sapantaha,
Tunay na tugon yaong iniisip ay di mabasa,
Ginto ang araw na siya’y masilayan,
Yaman ang bawat salitang kanyang binibitawan,
Marayang pagkakatao’y dumating upang maningil,
Saya mo sa dibdib kanyang kinitil,
Luhaan ka ng nilingon mo ang batis,
Natanaw mo ang larawan nang paghihinagpis,
Ani mo’y sumasalo sa iyong inis,
Sa labas ng mundo’y walang sumasalungat,
Ang iniisip mo’y tanging nakalapat,
Tumatalima sayo ang paligid,
Bulang naglaho ang mga nililihim mong balakid,
Mayuming imahen hinayaan mong pumailandang,
Panahon at tungkulin, di mo na isinang-alang-alang,
Tuluyan ka na niyang ninakaw at lagging pinagaabang,
Gaano kataas ang kanyang mga katangian?
Bakit di mawaksi sa sunud-sunuran mong isipan?
Pumailangilang siya sa di maarok mong pagtingin sa kalikasan,
Tula’t talata mo sa kalikasan ay nabuwag na,
Pagnamnam mo nang malalim sa buhay naaalala pa ba?
Pakiwari ko’y kaya mong iukit ang pangalan sa durungawan sa langit,
Maaring sa mga burol mukha niya ang iyong maiguhit,
Kailan babalik sa mundong panandalian mong nilisan?
Nararamdaman niya’y din a tutungo sa iyong kaalaman,
Hayaan ang pagkakataon maging tagapaghatid,
Kung ano ang nais niyang ipabatid,
Paano kung di mo pa ito mabatid?
Bigyan ng subok ang sarili na puso at isip huwag muna siyang isilid.
TWO DOORS IN A MAN
Party with the pretentious limitlessly,
Make love with stupid reasons boundlessly,
Boast your ingenuity inexhaustibly,
Shriek and say rancor reigns,
Shout and tell the crowd who gave you pain.
Brag your palace, edifices and wealth,
Let your foes see you sexy and in good health,
Do they know where in your life you extremely melt?
Do they know that public sees only your first door?
Do they know with in there, there are a lot more?
I insist that you show them the other door!
Turmoil of love cracks your sanity,
Faith faltered and broken easily,
Depression hovers rather than happy in love,
I caught you questioning the one above,
Stop rejection, refrain from doing projection,
Smothered by pretension, always bothered by dejection,
Your second door is the port of false and true man,
Continue cursing your experience until you can…
DEPARTING
Joy leaves after a season,
Sorrow dwells like a poison,
Love sometimes fancy, sometimes make a lie,
When joy leaves, when he leaves you die,
When pain huddles, it is difficult to retrench,
Life always initiates a hard challenge,
Numb mind, numb heart, numb soul,
Ugly heart is what I have, many big holes,
Eating for the sake of continued existence,
Living without a fragrant essence,
Death rewards rest and peace,
Untold pain weakens my feet piece by piece,
Cursing those who sinned against me is not my game,
I am groping, where is the flame?
Why would I leave if God do not command?
The choice of departing this world is easy to understand,
Never yank me to lonesomeness, I want a happy word,
Fears and drama is over, nothing is hoard,
Would I stand or lose?
When all else fails,
Nothing else but a narrow path to choose,
Endless water nowhere to sail,
Live, live and live until it becomes tiring,
Joy leaves, pain stays, love is aching.
© Maria Criselda Bisda
LANSI
Nilansi ng alak ang aking haraya;
binuksang buong-buo
ang aking kaluluwa.
Hinubaran nito ng pagtitimpi
ang hinakdal at hinampong
nanganlong sa suson-susong
makinasyon ng puso.
At tinakasang tuluyan ng kahinahunan
ang himulmol ng relasyong matagal nang
dinalirot ng kaba't panibugho.
Masasabi pa kaya na maiintindihan
ang bagisbis na pumuwing
sa matibay na dibdib? Gayong
luha rin naman ang dumampi
sa himpak na pagsusuyuang
nauhaw,
nanangis,
nagkubli't
nagtiis?
Kahit na ang espiritung lumukob
sa sansinukob ay maglunoy
sa sugat na di maghilom;
ilang tagay pa kaya
ang makapagpapamanhid sa hungkag
mong pag-ibig na rito'y kumubabaw?
SA PASIG
Umaga.
Mataas ang tubig
sa bituka ng Pasig.
Nag-uunahan sa paghalik
sa tubig na madilim
ang mga puting ibong
kikiwal-kiwal sa gutom.
Nag-uunahan kung aling
tiyan ang unang mabubusog...
kakaunti lang ang naligaw
na pagkaing sasama
sa sima ng tuka.
Nag-uunahan sa paghabol
sa panahon; masakit
ang hampas ng araw
sa dako pa roon.
LANGONG MANUNULAT
Langong manunulat ay
minsang nagwika:
"Sa aking pag-iisa'y
lilikha ng sariling mundo,
mundong kahalintulad
ng minimithing Parnaso.
Doo'y siguradong mala-paraiso
ang paligid; di limot ang saya't
di tanda ang hibik.
Aking huhulihin
ang maiilap na kataga;
pagtatagni-tagniing pilit
ang kaluluwa ng tanaga.
Sisisirin ko ang bughaw
niyang dagat; magpangbubuno kami
sa kristal n'yang talampas.
At kung mabingwit na
ang tayutay na hinahanap,
matutuwang tiyak at
aking magagagap ang mailap
na kaluluwa nitong pagtatanging
ibinaon sa puntod ng hinagpis
at pangungulila.
NAKAPIKIT PA
(Para sa mga Magsing-irog sa Araw ng mga Puso)
Nakapikit pa
ang mga rosas ng kaniyang pag-ibig.
Tila nahihiya pang magmulat
ng kanyang paningin upang sapuhin
ang yumi ng bahagharing sumungaw
sa bintana ng langit.
Nakapikit pa
ang mga rosas ng kaniyang pag-ibig.
Nakapinid din ang kanyang pang-amoy
sa halimuyak na unti-unti nang
isinasabog ng katuwang na sampagita
sa pusod ng harding pinagpala.
Nakapikit pa
ang mga rosas ng kaniyang pag-ibig.
Mura pa siya sa karanasang
nakikipagtagisan upang kanya lamang
tapunan ng sulyap at pagtingin.
At kung sakali mang
mamukadkad na't dumaloy ang nektar
sa mabango n'yang talulot,
akin itong iipunin at iaalay sa
dambana ng wagas at dalisay na pagsuyo.
Aalagan siya ng mapagpalang
pagsintang lalagi niyang gabay
hanggang sa siya'y maluoy at talikuran
ng nagtalusirang dahon ng panahon.
SA CHINATOWN
(ca. 2008)
Ika-pito ng Pebrero
nang mapadaan ako sa Chinatown.
Agad na napansing:
"Red is the color of the day."
Sala-salabid ang mga tao sa daan.
Nagkakatuwaan.
Nagkakasiyahan.
Sensitibo sa mga nagaganap na sayaw;
nakikilahok sa Dragon Dance
at Lion Dance, bilang tagamasid
ng mga kaganapan.
May kumukuha pa ng mga larawan,
kabilang ang ilang Puti
na sa wari'y mga turistang Aleman;
at sige ang paliwanag ng kanilang Pinoy guide.
Humuhugong ang tambol.
Humahataw ang tunog ng cymbals.
Walang patid ang nakatutulig na
Sinturon ni Hudas.
Sa mga tindaha'y nagkalat ang suson-susong
kahon ng tikoy – sari-sari ang kulay.
Pula at ginintuang palamuti'y
nangagsabit sa kaligiran; samutsaring prutas
ang matitisod sa daraanan.
Iba talaga ang pakiramdam
kapag nasa gitna ng pagdiriwang,
kalahok ka sa makulay na drama ng buhay.
Langhap mo ang mga taong
may iba't-ibang papel na ginagampanan,
sa pagbuo ng di-malilimutang karanasan.
MAHIRAP MAGSINUNGALING
Mahirap...
mahirap magsinungaling.
Sa taong sadyang sinungaling
ito'y normal lang...
parang wala lang.
Mahirap...
mahirap magsinungaling.
Sa hindi'y
gumigitaw ang pawis kung saan-saan.
Mahirap...
mahirap magsinungaling.
Parang di-makali sa inuupuan;
parang and puwit ay sinisilihan.
Magsinungaling.
Magsinungaling.
Magsinungaling.
Sino'ng sinungaling?
Sinungaling!
MAY BABALIKANG PUGAD
ANG LUMISAN:
Di pan man nahahalinhan
ang buwan na nagdudulot ng nginig
sa hubad na laman, naghahanda na
ang estranghero upang suungin
ang gigitaw at magliliyab na araw.
Pasan ang pagod na solong tatahakin
ang nakagawiang landas kung saan
bumabalong ang mukha ng
makapangyarihang dolyar.
Sadyang may panghalina ang puwing
ng nagbabagang disyerto; disin sana'y
hindi na nilisan pa ang naulila't
kinagigiliwang unan.
Sadyang may balani ang panghalina
ng produktong banyaga't nagawang
batahin ang mawalay sa nakawilihan
at nilalangit na duyan.
Sadyang may hiwaga;
tunay na mahiwaga ang hampas
ng biro sa magkataling puso.
ANG INIWAN:
Saklot man ng pangungulila' y solo ring
papasanin ang iniwang krus
ng kasuyong nanungkit ng pangarap
sa banyagang kandungan.
Laging ihahanda't pakaiingatan
ang babalikang pugad ng mahal na kapisan.
© W.R. Bongcaron
Gabriela Silang
Gabriela Silang,
One.
Magandá,
as ever beautiful,
she withstood a colonial mind set.
Righteous,
as ever righteous,
she understood and lived Rizal’s
"to die is to rest."
Thirteen steps to the scaffold,
a larger nation’s eyes,
wide open
saw and understood those steps.
Spanish or, Filipino,
her colonizers were not invincible.
In the 1800's
there were a hand full of ignoramuses,
Spanish, as well as Filipinos,
who cheered her hanging,
MarÃa Josefa Gabriela Cari o Silang,
stood apart.
Her courage spoke louder than any words,
Ilocano, Pangasinan, Tagalog or Spanish.
Each warrior’s hanging was a valiant legacy to Diego Silang
and a nation’s story.
Fear?
Naw,
your independence today testifies to the freedom of the human spirit,
cannot
be
caged.
Righteousness in action spoke,
she was never anyone’s Joan of Arc,
but symbolic of a nation’s righteous indignation.
© Eduardo A. Cong
San Diego, USA.
MISAN MUTI’ BUKUG
Misan masalay jasad
Nyawa di’ da mabutas
Timindug magpa-utas
Mujahidin nalukbu’
nagsintak panji natu’
Misan napas mabugtu’
Jimimpulag nagbunu
Imatubang ha satru
Mataud naasag dugu
Hula, Bangsa, Agama
Biyaugbugan ha dunya
Daing ha pitna kulina
Nagbaran ha kablangan
Wayiruun pagtaykuran
Pasal sin kasabunnalan
Haggut pasu’ tiyatasan
Uhaw hapdi siyandalan
Basta ngan sin tuhan
Tahan luha pahiran
Bang iban kakitaan
Miyuklas ha pantayan
Misan nasa mag-unu
Kadar di’ magpanipu
Mawapat da tantu
This poem is written in Tausug language
PALITAAN
Kabataan in bawugbugan
Hipag-ilaw sin kahulaan
Hula’ subay di’ tayikuran
Tindugan pa kasawahan
Lawagun in kahanungan
Hula’ mahaldika’
Bang kabataan sampulna
Di’ na majuljana’ in paghula’
Kahanungan sin hula’ lawagun
Pakutkutun ha laum jantung
Bat di’ maawun in susun
Kabataan nahalubilu
Mabaya tumudju pa amu
Hatihun in atay jatu’
Lawaun na in sinu-sinu
Dawhatun in adlaw masambu
Ngayon ng Kahapon
Ang mga panahon dumaan
Sa islang silangan
Patungo sa kaunlaran
Mamamayan
Wala na sa kahirapan
Buhay ang kultura
Ang tradisyon yumaman na
Ang lahat naging masaya
Nagkakaisa para sa isa
Ang mga panahon lumipas
Sa mataas na antas
Ng isang magandang pangarap
Paghihirap ay wakas
Hindi na makikita pa bukas
Ang mga panahon na dahas
Naging maaliwalas
Sa pagsilang
Ng makinang na liwanag
Bilang lunas
Sa kahirapang dinanas
Ang isang butas
Na tsinelas
Naging botas na balat
Na hindi kumukupas
Sa araw ng pagagnas
Tulad ng mabubuting
Kultura’t tradisyon
Hindi nawawala sa panahon
Kahit ito ay luma
At patay na ang matatanda
Nasasalin parin sa mga bata
Na may isip at diwa
AKALA KO WALA NA
Nalipad ko na ang mundong ito
Nasisid ko na ang karagatan dito
Nahukay ko na ang lupa
Wala din makita
Kahit isang magandang balita
Katabi ko matulog
Ang aking mga dinaramdam
Wala na ba ang katahimikan
Walang pakialam ang karamihan ng mga tao
Di ko halos maisip
Na wala silang isip
Walang nagiisip
Kahit may pagiisip
Masaya ang may kasama
Di kailangan mag-isa
Ang lahat ay liligaya
Kung tayo’y iisa
Makinig tayong lahat
Sa ating mga konsensya
Alam ko may pag –asa pa
Kung tayo’y sama-sama
Nasa loob lang makuha
Ang sagot na tama
IKOT NG PAGASA
Sa paglalakbay ng mundo
Umikot hangang sulu
Minsan magulo
Minsan nama’y nakakalito
Nakakabasag ng ulo
Hindi dahilan
Para mawala ka dito
Sa bayan mo
Hindi hadlang ang kahirapan
Sa iyong patutungohan
Panahon lang ang kailangan
Dito sa bayan mong sinilangan
Isang magandang kapalaran
Nasa sariling bayan
Hindi dapat iwanan ng dahil sa isang
Walang kwentang pangaingailangan
Yun ay pera lamang
Pwedeng mawala sa idlap lang
Ang mahalaga ay kulturat tradisyon
Buhay ito at sang ayon
Sa iyong butihing intensyon
Gamitin ito para makaahon
Huwag limotin ang lumang panahon
Para ang pagasa maipon
At hindi maging ampon
© Nelson Singson Dino
Homecoming
The bright orange crescent
of April's waning moon
rising
in the dawn-hued
eastern sky;
one month closes,
a new month begins;
one chapter ends,
another starts;
and with the landing
of your plane, our journey
turns down a new road.
The Raihana
In Paradise
I'm told
there is a flower
an exceedingly beautiful flower
indescribable
that gently perfumes the air
all day and all night
and the saints cherish this flower
above all others.
Here
on earth
the sweet basil
has tiny delicate flowers
of the purist white
but the leaves
are much more prized.
When the saints
are taken to Paradise
awaiting them
will be the humble sweet basil
transformed.
Pas de Deux
In an elegant
pasdedeux,
the yellow-winged butterfly and
the bumblebee
swirl and twirl
through the garden
in a ballet
older than man
and perhaps far more enduring
than anything
he can conceive.
(Previously published in Ancient Heart, July 2006)
Winter Into Spring
Late February
and the air is pregnant
with the feel and smell
of spring wafting up from the south.
Nature is teasing us,
for we know Old Man Winter
has not yet packed his bags
and will probably blow and bluster at us
all through March.
Yet, the sight of snow melting
off roofs
and bare spots
appearing in the grass
evidence Winter's stubborn retreat.
Things long hidden
slowly emerge
from amidst the rotting snow,
like that bird
who will not sing
when spring comes.
(First published in Autumn Leaves, March 2006)
A Bottle of Dandelion Wine
Come and share with me, my friend,
A bottle of dandelion wine,
Let's reminisce awhile about the spring,
The springtime of our lives.
We'll sip the pale nectar, given
By Bacchus from the flower of earth's renewing,
And share the memories we share
From a time when life had few cares.
We'll recount adventures lost in our living,
When we were knights-errant
Questing for our Holy Grails,
And laugh at crusades insignificant.
And when the bottle's gone, and our glasses
Drained dry, there'll be tears in our eyes --
For the spring is gone and the summer, too,
And the Holy Grails are no more.
© 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.
rage
we go on, wagging
forefingers at skies,
resenting seasons
that fall on us in clumps
of such rhythmic
regularity we just can't
rage against or else
against the grind
we feel a heartless hand
its fingers like iron
claws so tight in grip we find
our waggling a senseless
attempt at being freed—if
but one beat one spark
one breath that does not
fall in hands that move
from point to point to
point, interminable
points, infinitesimal bits,
that had so imprisoned us
raging—
as but one breath that stops and
we can't, we won't find out
we've moved away or out of
the seasons we resented,
the beats we raged
against.
© Alegria Imperial
Enamored with words, dandelions and briar roses, cats' eyes and their purring, memories and imprints, Alegria Imperial is published as journalist in Manila, only recently as poet. She won honorable mention in the 2007 Vancouver Cherry Blossoms Haiku Invitational and 2007 Passager Poetry Contest. Jendi Reiter, editor, winningwriters.com critiqued and published one of her poems. Two other poems are up on poeticdiversity and The Cortland Review. Her essays are read on tiny-lights.com and Timeless Spirit Magazine. She is working on two novels she started during courses on fiction writing at NYU's Center for Continuing Education. She now lives in Vancouver, BC, Canada.
Thank You For Not Smoking
To be of worth
there is a degree of pathos
needed
you must have been
to hell and back
Otherwise you're a
smooth sailing static submarine
better suited to be submerged.
Don't be smoking just yet
No harm intended
Count your cash cows
before they turn to earth.
© Rachel Chan Suet Kay
rachelchansuetkay.blogspot.com
Follow My Footsteps
Follow my footsteps
I follow someone else’s
This unbroken march
To either solitude or oblivion
A march by the broken spirits.
Follow my footsteps
I am almost certain where to go
Back and forth in a straight line;
See my footprints
Etched permanently in time
Why I do this is lost in how I could do this.
Life starts with a question, ends with a question.
I saw myself today, and this road I am in…
It is not even a crossroad.
Follow my footsteps
I follow someone else’s.
© Maria Carmina A. Reynaldo, editor, Book Craft Publishing Co., Inc.
© 2008 All Rights Reserved.
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