765.
Karoling – Simbolo ng Pasko
Sa bansang ito
Makahulugan ang Pasko
Kayrami nitong simbolo…
Makikita, mapapakinggan
Matitikman, mararamdaman
Oh anong karanasan?
Gaya ng “Karoling” na mapapakinggan mo
Sa bangketa't bahay-bahay ng bawat barrio
Isa sa mga “Simbolo ng Pasko”
Mga Pamaskong harana
Gabi-gabi bumibisita
Sagisag ng Panunuluyan nina Jose at Maria –
Isa lamang ito
Sa mga simbolo
Ng makahulugan naming Pasko!
-12/05/2019
(Dumarao)
*Mga Simbolo ng Pasko
She is the mural painted on barrio walls,
stories in her curves, rhythm in her calls.
Colors of abuela, the fire of the street,
a masterpiece rising where cultures meet.
But art needs a frame — firm hands, steady eyes,
men who don’t compete but safeguard the prize.
A frame holds the story, keeps memory tight,
protects from the weather, the dust, and the night.
Alone she’s the art, brilliance untamed—
but her power shines louder ’cause he is the frame.
That folded barrio flour,
Candor candied blemish
Was found
Beside my times
Nestled curtsey
Pliant blush
Confi, confetti
Tower piza tall
Ballerina repose throw rugs
Of roja fiends
The upright ends alone
You know you got
Just what it takes
The stairway from I do
Baby you lost
What I take
There in wait
I am planned forwards
Rest of mind, escapes in days
Mare on jaunt
Fred nostaire?
Parent hatred and fair
Whims and spotlighting darkness
A posting flyer of despair beautifully written
Collide in hides
Invites and excentric
Repulsive conversion of meeting place
School ties and community bland
The night was not for sleeping.
It was for the drag of headlights
against the skin of wet asphalt,
for the torn-down column
spitting its weight into the earth —
too heavy for a backhoe,
too stubborn for goodbye.
EMs Barrio curled in on itself,
a hive of borrowed beds
and half-finished dreams.
I sat outside its hum,
counting the breaks between engines,
each jeepney’s arrival a breath,
each departure an emptying.
The last one wore its driver like an afterthought —
shoulders pressed forward,
face carrying the rust of decades.
The radio died mid-verse,
as if ashamed of how thin it had grown.
I do not smoke.
But that night
I inhaled the exhaust of his leaving,
kept it in my lungs
long enough to taste
what it might be like
to disappear slowly
past a stranger’s gaze.
(Legazpi City, 1997)
Do you remember
when we left the baraylehan
early
at midnight
.
It was my alibi,
I really meant to
walk with you
I smiled when you held
my hand.
The nipa leaves
let go of the moon
as the music at the dance
went silent,
I kissed you.
The road was cold
the grass beside it moist
my heart was singing
and dancing
It stopped.
Like nomad soul, he flew away
Looking for a fine place to stay
A deck of cards, full of aces
He searched gold in far flung places
His great nickname means "rattan bag"
He's a packer, moved like fierce slug
He hiked on mountains, walked on plains
In search for bountiful fountains
Served his folks as barrio captain
On valley of Sierra Mountain
For many years, he lit the flame
That brought his bright spark into fame
Oh! Bagsangi, as he was known
Many hearts and souls, he has blown
On the mountains of Sandelain
His memory was left to dine
In memory of my grandfather
Mariano "Bagsangi" Balbalin
Pioneer of traditional gold mining in the highlands of Palayan City
November 20, 2023, 7:08 AM, PST
APC
He has no poetic garden to gaze upon
no outside to the inside of this room
Soft breaths of brothers 1, 2 and 3
like the breeze on the asphalt playground
of his tiny school, one mile away.
No light shines in his window
No birds sing hymns from leafing trees
No sign of spring or fall or summer
display beyond the sill.
In this place where nothing grows
is life, but hidden from the world
and the grand and stylish homes
(with their fruit trees and fancy lawns)
Within these walls with brothers 1, 2 and 3
mama collapses, exhausted on the sofa
and papa snores loudly from the floor.
He prevails with dreams and plans and sadness
in leaps and bounds and setbacks
between school lunches and cafe con leche for breakfast.
In the place where nothing grows, he lives.
Domingo
sitting in his chair on the walk
day after day
he's seen many days years decades
Teeth like a half eaten ear of corn
or an old halloween pumpkin
but with a smile just as large
Looking looking but seeing?
sitting sitting all day every day
Does not walk
right hand lame
but the left always warm
limber like a man of twenty
Slow to speak but always kind
never an angry word
tho' alone on a busy street in the barrio
¿Papá, gustas un vaso con agua?
¿y tu amigo, el señor?
Aging but not old
mi amigo
my hero.
i woke
hard
ly notic
ing
that she
she is
nude modeling
i am
crudely drawing
her figure
with words
refreshing my page
on my computer
on my paper
erasing
distasteful mistakes
taking away
layers of lost years
res
urrect
ing myself
in 2/4
cut time
asking the metronome
to slow to largo
so i can
dance
with her flames
the heart of fire
is heat
in heat
i find
her
one time
i did this once
hands held
over
a bum's barrel
in a Boston barrio
her torso
torturing me
to a fever pitch
throw
another poem in
Sleepless, half-naked
and thirsty
beside the river,
under constant moonlight,
waiting to feel
the final impact
of the Sun.
I am
locked up,
dents
on red knuckles,
tears betraying
a fear I can't
hide.
Nose in a book,
laboring
to be someone,
losing, regaining
the world,
the charitable God
reminding me
of the beauty
of grace.
Walking sideways
down a Fort Worth
barrio, music
steadies my mind,
keeps me
from knocking
on a random door.
What do I fear now,
but the silence of her voice,
of the voice I have known,
the siren that
drifts me down
to the great rivers,
searching for the tree of life?
And I fear that
you, my love,
were my tree of life,
in my own
strange way.
The vastness of you,
my only ocean
in the universe.
My delight carved
into the plot of land
I never had the wisdom
to let lie fallow.
Oh If Double You
What can you do?
Your salary is coming
Time to pay the due
You're away from home
In a country not your own
Sacrifices are done
Just to take money home
Your hard earned money
Is a sweet jar of honey
Made kins so happy
Leaving you almost empty
Then they call you a hero
But the help is almost zero
Better go back to your barrio
And plant corn and potato.
Alguien marque el nueve once
pues mi corazón a recibido una sobre dosis
de un amor adulterado que ahora lo ha dejado
más atarantado que un balabarista en un alambrado
valgame Dios pues fue una simple voz
que le causo a mi corazón esta tremenda convulsión
la nena era lista bien vista en la pista
pero a solas se comportaba como nena de revista
dando el numero como preparando entrevista
y por atencion a cualquiera le quitaba la camisa
vaya esto se que causa tremenda risa
ahora en mi barrio no falta quien la pisa
ella es como la brisa que llega y se va de prisa
y si vuelve es solo pa' dejartela una vez mas liza
pero no se llama lisa mucho menos melissa
y su nombre es como un domingo de misa
va y se presenta y se pone su ceniza
por fuera hace el show y por dentro sigue siendo una canija
tiena el alma hueca como una vasija
quien lo fuera imaginado que me resultara una tremenda avispa!!!
Once I found a snail
Slowly moving with its shell
Along the shores of Bacsil
White sand dunes hills.
Then suddenly the snail
Went out of its shell hollow
To look for a hole
But not let it in to huddle.
Another big-eyed
Protruding four-legged gastropod
With cinnamon roll-shell
Centipede claws ready to snap it.
But one moonlight
And a windy night
The snail found again a house
Behind the bamboos and shady "aludig" trees
The snail no more in snail pace
Come alive!
Terms:
Bacsil - a small barrio in Paoay, Ilocos Norte, Philippines.
Aludig tree- a wild shady tree in the forested area in the Philippines. Old folks believe that snakes love this tree for their sap which is converted into a venom. (I just heard this explanation from the old folks who live in that area).
Some Paris Hilton wannabe laughed
At my cell phone
(which was missing the battery cover)
As if to say
"How pathetic!"
As if to suggest
"He'll never get laid!"
The day was too gloriously
Autumn
For me to care
About the trivialities of some
Electronic set of shackles
And the status of their condition
But(t)
I was tempted to throw out some quips
Toss some facetiousness around
Like feces
Just a little something to mentally gnaw on
While mockingly handing her the phone
"Oh, your girlfriend has something to admit to you."
While overanalysing her face
"Oh, nice 1986 pink skiing googles that you call sunglasses."
But
Alas
Why feed the absurdity with more
Of the same
The leaves were showing signs of new color
The air was crisp
The hummingbirds were in Mexico
The music in my head was excellent as
The breeze blew over my neurons
Adios
La muchacha con no alma
Buenos dias
Para la Tierra
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