Iamd1’s Scribbling Desk

Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Various ambitions – to complete the poem, to see it in print, to enjoy the gratification of someone’s comment about it – serve in some measure as incentives to the writer’s work. Though each of these is reasonable, each is a threat to that other ambition of the poet, which is to write as well as Keats, or Yeats, or Williams – or whoever it was who scribbled onto a page a few lines whose force the reader once felt and has never forgotten. Every poet’s ambition should be to write as well. Anything else is only a flirtation.

Advice well taken not just by poets or would be poets… everyone needs to be passionate about life and forget about flirting.

Heart and mind, time, effort and commitment – that’s what real poetry making is all about.

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in a venue of images, thoughts and music;
favorite photos of faces, times and places –
captured moments beyond forgetting…
no speck of gray here,  just some blank canvas for images
seeking definition…

the thoughts are of a lifetime being lived –
that border on the profound
at times even on what may seem for some –  inanities;
it is life after all that one ponders on… and life is a study in constant change.
it can never be static unless one is for the boring uneventful life…

and the music –
who was that poet who wrote that heard melodies are sweet but those unheard are
sweeter (or some lines to that effect)?  We listen to the unheard ones in silence,

and if life were a dance, it is the

beat and rhythm that we dance to…

YOU –

will you come to this venue? 

your comings and goings –

will make this an avenue.

betwixt the hellos  and goodbyes,

we would have connected and touched – 

becoming better persons

for the encounter.

* * * * *

Calvary was a nightmare

ending in a dream  of a luminous cross

lighting the darkest of nights.

Then a glimmer of light-just a faint ray

of a rising sun gilding the grey of dawn.

I wake up to drapes drawn to blooming lilies

and scented roses heralding spring

then the air is heady with the smell of

His unfailing resurrection.

SALIN

 

Nangaturog ako paghinulat

ha imo kagab-i. Nag-iininop,

nga imo ginsinampit.

han kasina ko nga an inop

waray kahuman, gin talikdan ta

ikaw ngan bimalik pagkaturog.

 

Pagmata ko kanina nakalakat ka na.

Didto ha lamesa gin paso mo,

gin upay hin paglatag an magrasa

nga pagkaon para han ak pamahaw.

May lakip pa gud nga plastic nga bukad

An im halipot nga surat nangangaro hin pasaylo.

 

Duro an ak kagutom pero dayon la binalik

an akon gin ininop – hi Nanay nga nagsisinagdon

“Uday, pagsalin bisan la guti-ay.”

Ha ak hunahuna, gin baton ko hiya –

“Ayaw ka baraka, diri la salin nga guti-ay –

Kay bug-os pa an ak pagkatawo, Nanay!”

 

 

Gin limpyohan ko an lamesa

ha plastic bag gin butang an imo dara

Ika-lilipay ini han ayam ni ugangan.

Ngan tikang yana, usa la it ak hangyo –

ayaw ako dad-i hin bisan ano,

kay kun dawaton ko ito

waray na masasalin ha akon.

 

 

*  *  *

(the English translation)

Leavings

I fell asleep waiting for you to come home.

Then in the midst of a dream

you woke me up.

I was so mad at the interruption –

I turned away from you and slumbered on.

When I woke up, you had left.

Breakfast was waiting at the table

– the warmed up left-overs you brought home

Pleasantly set with a plastic bloom

And I-am-sorry note….

I was so hungry but the dream I had came back.

It was Mom advising me to leave even just

a bit for myself. In my mind, I replied –

‘Don’t worry Mother, I have – not just a bit

– all of me is still here’.

I cleared up the table, the food

I stuffed into a plastic bag.

It will make mom-in-law’s puppy happy.

And do me a favor –

no more bring-home please –

I do not want your leavings

because if I do

I’ll have nothing left.

 


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