Best Narra Poems
l.
Opening the closet of narra doors, I sweep through
organza skirts and gemmed ringlets; my hair
ruffling aimlessly upon scalloped kerchiefs
smelling decade - old hyacinth, Mom’s favorite
ambrosia: she would lift her anklets
in tiptoed hums, ”night and day, you are the one..”
Evenings touched her candle hands; hands
that soothed wounded knees from jackstone fights;
her fingers caressing a pony -tailed girl’s wrath
with piano keys rippling into a gentle moan;
And i am delivered from my tempestuous rants.
ll.
From nowhere, the porcelain mirror gazed at me;
her rhythm of silence billows, cradling my nights
with each veil of her almond eyes
that enter into my irises: a serene sight
too close, much too tight I clung to her unspoken word.
Through years, I grew like a bamboo shoot: her quiet smiles
and music walked me through reality’s maze.
And how I would wail bearing the grim of hard study,
coughing late, late hours of reading toil…yet,
she stayed like a moth with charm flushed
in a wind of calm gaze, ebbing .
lll.
And only Mom could melt my temper
when my raging soul paused to wonder
at her light’s glow: oh, her feminine beat illumined
more lamplights dancing inside this rebellious head…
and now, she hovers around me.
I become her eyes, chanting;
never balking at my surreal conquests.
She is gone bequeathing warmth into my torched flights
without question; with much love dripping
from her graceful movement, straying all through
these my breaths: “night and day, you are the one…”
In a place
where trees caress heaven's cheeks
where winds whisper wistfully,
sharing their secrets to those who care to listen...
In a place
where sun and moon meet, however fleeting,
where death and birth collide,
giving way to the cycle of life
There is She.
the Diwata
enchanting ebony tresses amidst fairest skin
unspeakable beauty manifested
with a voice that could melt the sun
guardian spirit of nature
There she resides quietly in the trees,
~the Narra, the Acacia, the Balete
a blessing for those who care for nature
yet wrath and curse await those who abuse it
You may hear her song echo in the breeze,
her sweet breath to cool the rivers,
her teardrops mingling with the dew...
Next time you take a nature's walk,
stop, listen and just feel---
close your eyes and when you get that tell-tale chill
through your bones, through your soul,
know that she is there,
watching your every move---
the Diwata
Revisiting our ancestral farmhouse
I feel this certain tinge of aloneness,
Which smudges the lively remembrances
About a big clan huddled together
Under narra trees, each Sunday…a frolic kindled
By Grandpa’s recycled stories about literature,
His passion for Cole Porter’s music,
And the grace of old jazzy temperament…
Oh, we would feast on homemade shrimp balls ,
Roasted calf, an array of fragrant tarts
While infants and elders jiggled
Under the chain-link glow of skyscape,
Where my childhood, teen-hood heart
Pulsed, was even fed with many a summers’ delight.
Then…in a dash, this rustic view quelled us—
It was a terror we called a slap of reality
An impertinent fire flattening our homestead,
Just like that, like that: How bitter this pastoral thieving
A madness of doom I need not wish to recall--
Except for a torn violin retrieved among cinders
Leaning now around my grownup arms:
I kneel beneath moonshine, singing myself to sleep.
-----------------------
Remembering What You Want to Forget Contest
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues 10/7/2018
Although
I am not
your date,
nor your
lover, still
you can
have me
anytime.
Yes, anytime
for as long
as you like,
but unlike them you can’t bring me
with you wherever you go, even if
you wanted to. I can’t and I won’t
follow you, ‘cause I preferred to stay
at home and wait
for your sweet
return that I
may give
you what
I was made for.
So, have a seat.
Relax, honey!
Seven thousand islands grace the shore
as narra trees arise , sun -dressed
with ripples humming a native folksong--
gracious the womenfolk, caressed
by Philippine beaches ever idyllic--
and exotic garlands spill from their baskets
crowning fiestas with decorative wares.
And boatmen wave to relish town’s gaiety
the canoes sailing in May's fluvial parade;
when wavelets of joy twirls, animated
along dewy coastlines… such heritage bears
the name reflecting its grandeur, 'Pearl of the Orient.'
My dawn and night broth, this homeland
where birthmark prints…a natural wonder of the world!
(your) Country 'tis of thee' Contest
Sponsor: Brahn Bailey Edited 9/3/2018
Don't cover me with a mantle of glitter
For a circus parade that flaunts
A pretentious kaleidoscopic dream,
Where I am tricked to enchant an audience
Paying hard-earned bills while I roll on a tyke--
Or use my ivory as decor for varnished tables,
Chests and even antique inlays on narra beds:
And my furry skin you peel, turn into
Stilettos, even haute- couture labels designed
Only for those vain magnates...how impertinent!
I am the spirit of the wild forest,
The towering giant of peace on a roam
Where my ears listen to children's fables
As they mount on my back through a landscape
Bathed in night's purple glow... a mystique
Setting a ride into a dazzled starlight,
While we strut away, unmindful of how
dense mankind can be in this journey
Soothed by fresh murmuring of a breeze...
If I were an elephant, let me rock, indulge
On a sacred place made innocent
By the gods who created playful, grassy trails.
For Rob Carmack's Screwed XV1 Contest
Submitted 3/01/2017
-----------------------
Originally Written 12..13..2016
My son, dear son, the artist of my future
Fixing the broken pieces of my every day
Breaking the sorrow of the massive turmoil
Giving the calm spirit made by the dungeon
From your warm little hands, we rode
Together with the cause of the love of Narra
Pieces of your flowers joined in our laugh
In the eyes of many showing joyful smile on us
My son, dear son! Let me hold your hand
The balloon of yours uttering with the air
Your tame eyes figuring crystals in my sight
Reaching the rising action of this unknowing occurrence
My son! don't look back and stay with papa
Don't run! Don't move! Don't follow it!
Hold my fist firmly, don't walk away!
There it comes! Hit the angel, God's sake! Keep your breath!
Oh my son, my dear son feels my hug
Don't call the cold air will change you in trouble
Show your crystal eyes to ease the pain
I command his soul, remain in him, meet me again!
My son, how darkly, how painful the end
Your story in the world unwritten by your father
Looking at you featuring the fairy tale
A tale that ended in ever after lonely song!
narra tree
grace and strength it bears
almost gone
30 April 2018
Et Semper Amabo te! (I will always love you)
Alas! The world was at its newest creation
On the gloam of 24 December celebration
My fine lady rode her bicycle
As I gazed at you in the pinnacle
The quadrangle was filled with the brightest light
And lit my heart through the darkest of nights
Destiny was enough to find you there waving
In the midst of the crowd, I saw you smiling
My face turned red than ever
It's like having a severe fever
You entangled my heart in a spark
Your name was left in me like a mark
Those looks was enough to freeze me
Stunned like the plain narra tree
I just want to make you feel special
So I bought you the most beautiful doll
You said "Thank you" and waved goodbye
That moment I just wanted to die
For without you I am nothing
What is existence if you are not in my being?
Come back to me, that is all I long
So I got my guitar and sang our song
The times we were then together
Now, long lost and you don't even remember
For our country, it stands tall
durable against decay
God-blest with health benefits
midst distinct fragrance.
*Narra is the national tree of our country.
October 2, 2020
3rd place, "Writing Challenge - Dodoitsu" Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 10/4/2020.
She lays the white cloth
on the ground of grass
and opens the cans of coke
with gentle flicks
On a little narra table
she sets the plates
each with three hanging rice,
and a quarter of lechon
While he broils ten sticks
of barbecue on the grill
wiping his sweat as they
trickle down to his cheeks
Smiles paint the little faces
of their children running against
the count of hide and seek
with the other kids in the plaza
as the embers dry to the cooling sun
she calls them all to gather round
hands washed, faces flashing
they say a little prayer
before partaking
from the small banquet of love
As I sit and watch the evening star
I can feel the moon touches me, from a far
Wanting to taste my Smirnoff vodka, with lime
The worn mind suddenly rhyme
Tonight, it’s on the verge, of unearthing
A treasure, a priceless thing
Eagerness I felt as I saw my toy
Tirelessly blinking, for me, with joy
Waiting the speedy touch of my hand
While my old silvery quill-like pen
On a white papyrus, lies, inkless
On the bedside table, of narra wood, shameless
As I begin to peruse the Latin inscription
I heard the clock chimes, with repetition
Ding…dong…ding…dong …ding…dong
The sound is like from an ancient gong
I know it’s midnight, but when I turned to look
I noticed the blue-eyed princess, still, reading the book
Of Kama Sutra, left by an old transient
From the Pearl of the Orient
When my hand found the coded key
The rhyme’s gone and the mind’s no longer free
For I became, the prisoner, of my sultry princess
Under a spell, I gave her my oriental kisses
“Wow, you write poetry, like Robert Frost!” my friend said,
forcing my faint face turned into an over-ripe tomato.
“Oh, you must be kidding me!’ replied I. Perhaps, you mean
holding a pen, like him. What’s his name again? Robert Frost?
But I still not mastered the perceptible gloss of twisting it,
‘tween my fingers. I couldn’t even perfect hanging wet souls,
nor did I have the ability to put them back on a closet of
loneliness, where their shadows rest, temporarily. At 41, I still
collect them and put to wash. There’s no stopping now though, I
once emptied a can of coke on myself by accident, as I picked
salted sticks, ala McDonald’s, to satisfy my stomach. My wife
laughed, thinking that…you know what I mean? I may not be
of Frost, but the un-bashing type of comment gave me strength
to flaunt my thought on a narra table, buffet style, for
who ever wants to taste my soul can do so. Ah, my heart’s young
and willing-- to dress a naked word to make her splendiferous.
At the corner of the room, where only kerosene lamp’s light glows,
head slightly bent over the ancient narra table, a man, divorced, sits
in solitude, in front of him his grandpa’s gold pen and a block note---
of winter hues. And, in the aroma of a beautiful life, he, too, believes
without doubt he could have written it, his own life, with great love and
glamour when he had the chance. Surely, he sees his ala M. Twain’s
beard silver-grayed and touches it, for awhile. Yet for him, it seems he
was not that old, he feels the strength, of handsome Adonis---the youth,
like the olden years, rhyming fast in a fleeting time of his last days. He
thinks of himself, how his alter ego hurt him in many ways, not abiding
in his own older blood, who once chided him and said: “Oh believe me,
my son, you can not write your life of today tomorrow, you better start
now!” The time lost, smiling back at him, in mirthful caution that makes
him not to dawdle over star wars---vodka with coke, his favorite drink,
as he consumes the scented roll, puffing, the fumes---in delicate rings,
whilst his eyes glued, at his one line-sentence, penned in small letters:
a fictitious poet. Alas, too many unforgiving wives calling get him drunk;
he, soon, falls asleep, his face leaning on the narra table. Smoke, gone.
Once. we trailed a lush forest
Of sweet desire and fiery embraces -
Where writings of eternity strayed
And a riot of fireflies
were circling
Right under a golden narra tree.
Twilight carried us, high up
a Manila moon,
Casting its glint ...we were eternal as time
Throttling off with endless schemes --
One by one, the petals bathed us
With a dewy scent of affection...
Until pile of leaves caught
Our laughter snuffed by thieving winds--
And you fell on a mantle of reeds
Chilled freezing from
a final sense of unknowing :
I remember... that was two decades ago
When all the flowers bowed
As You and I parted as pale shadows,
When love's vow of forever
melted like trickles of clay...