From the R08

Paradise by Janella Alix

2006-03-16T00:26:00.000-08:00

Writing is something I’ve always liked doing rather than solving problems or mixing chemicals. It is because I like to think and imagine about things that I am passionate about; these thoughts inspire me to write. I consider myself a hopeless romantic; I’ve never been in love but I always enjoyed hearing, reading, seeing it, and even writing about it.

This is a short poem that describes the kind of place I consider as my paradise. The worst part of having problems is the paranoia about what may come. This is why I think of my paradise as a place where I am assured that everything will be alright. No matter what I do, I will not be judged and I do not have to worry. I wrote about this is because I have been going through a lot of challenges in life, as everyone does, and even for just a while I want an escape. It does not necessarily have to be somewhere special; it can be my room where I can have fun watching a good comedy film while eating potato chips or even at school just hanging out with my friends. What matters is that inside there is a feeling of relief and contentment.

Paradise

No golden houses are needed
Just peace and happiness
No conflicts nor misunderstandings
Pain and worries don’t exist

A place where I can dance around freely
I can sing as badly as I want
How I wish I could be there,
Even just for a day
My El Dorado, my paradise
Where I want to stay

Frozen by Joana Tirados

2006-03-15T00:01:00.000-08:00

The author is currently a freshman at the Ateneo de Manila University, taking up AB Communications. She’s into music and sports. She loves reading books during her spare time.

The poem “Frozen” pertains to a tragic end to young love. In every relationship, there comes a point where the couple must decide whether to they should take their relationship to a higher level. Unfortunately for this one, everything ended; with no closure what so ever. It is one of the tragic ends wherein everything that has happened will come to an end and all will be forgotten. It’s as if nothing really happened in the first place. The poem itself was inspired by the true story of the author’s close friend.

Frozen

by: Joana Tirados

so distant, so far

what has happened?

we’ve become as cold as ice

memories buried under a thick blanket of snow

nothing is left, but a white slate remains

empty

bitter silence fill the distant gaps

the piercing sound echoes

forever trying to break through the ice

all has been abandoned

the cold, barren wasteland is soon forgotten

cracks on the surface

signs of trying to reach the bottom

a slight glance

moving on

to think it all started because of the warmth of your hands

Deep in her hands by Quino Baterna

2006-03-14T17:05:00.001-08:00

A freshmen from the Ateneo de Manila University, started out writing “rap” songs when he was in 2nd year high school. After getting into trouble for very graphic lyrics he has changed his art into song writing. Hard work paid off during his high school graduation as he composed his batch’s graduation song. Only 17 years of age, he has proven himself capable not only academically but also in sports as he is one of the members of the Ateneo golf team. Second in a group of five siblings, and being the only male, he is very much attached to both his parents.

This poem basically is a reflection of man who shares a very intimate connection to a certain person. Sensory details would entail the reader that the man was experiencing this feeling of abandonment and isolation. But in this isolation is where the man feels closest to that person. Though time came that he was to live alone, the emotions that he knew not of (because of the isolation) has become a harsh reality to him. In the end, it is still that isolation he craves for this is where he first felt that closeness to a certain persona. This person was someone who knew us inside-out; a figure who has been there for us in almost every possible. She is the mother that we have shared our soul with for a brief but vital moment in our life.

From a deep slumber I wake, bloodied and crying
With tears that fall, not for pain nor emotion
Though I may not know what it is
For months I have been secluded
In my own world, a heartbeat away from her
For longer than a moment we shared one soul
And I knew how every speck of her existence felt
But in time I knew I was to live alone
With my hands I would build my own world
To be a man and be on my own
But what I didn’t know is that now I knew how it was to feel
Tears fall in pain and great emotion
As I seclude myself, deep in her hands
A heartbeat away as we share one soul
For it is only her who knows what every part of my existence felt

Restless Slumber by Jean Mendoza

2006-03-14T17:05:00.000-08:00

I am someone who takes pleasure in reading books and watching movies. I also enjoy lip-synching to tunes by Queen, The Who and The Cure among others. Having twins (a boy and a girl) is one of my many wishes. I also hope to be a professional clown someday.

What inspired me to write this poem is the many sleepless nights I have. I would lie awake in bed and after a lot of tossing and turning, I realize that it’s time for me to wake up. During these moments, I take the time to reflect on my day, sometimes on my life and sometimes it gets to a point that I think sleeping is a waste of time. The poem is very personal and it shows a little bit of who I am. It conveys the ugly side of being an insomniac.

Darkness consumes the nest that I inhabit
as I hear the deafening silence
There is a single wish, a simple request –
to slip into a temporary coma

All the sheep have jumped the fence,
they all are tired and have gone to bed.
The Sandman has retired for the night
even he should have his time for rest

The body is weak but the brain is busy
conjuring different images
hoping to face a red stoplight
hoping to glide into oblivion

the darkness gradually fades
signaling a new day
but one question remains:How do you start today without ending yesterday?

Poetry by an Essayist

2006-03-14T12:20:00.000-08:00

Kathleen Subijano is an eighteen-year old Communications major at the Ateneo de Manila University. She does not write poetry at all. If she did, she would vehemently object to its publication.

I wrote this poem because poetry had always been a bit of a mystery to me. I do not think I know the first thing about poetry and if I were to write a poem, I thought it would be best if I wrote about that. I thought it would be nice to write a poem that other non-poets could relate to. I would like to dedicate it to anyone who has written bad poetry and is maddeningly aware of it. This also goes out to Naya S. Valdellon because I just love her, but I sincerely hope that she does not ever come across this.

Poetry by an Essayist
by Kathleen Subijano

Why I cannot write Poetry:

I’m terrible at it.

I could never content myself with a couple of words.

Others have Poetry flowing in their veins
But mine just contain blood.

And most of all,
No one ever showed me how.

I mean,
I was shown the works of the Great
Then expected to shine on my own.

But what about the process?
Does Poetry just come to you?
Or do you have to find it yourself –
– in which case, where do you go?
What makes a poem, a poem
And as a follow-up, is this it?

That Thing Called Faith

2006-03-14T12:14:00.000-08:00

Marie Eloise Antoinette G. Pena (19 July 1987)

I am a girl who has dreams of making a difference in this world and who, in my own little ways, tries to get people to listen. Writing is a passion of mine and since I find difficulty in expressing my feelings verbally at times, I use writing as a tool to get my thoughts across. Poetry to me is a sanctuary I find myself in when no other place in this world can bring me peace of mind and heart. Poetry leads me to my inner self.

I wrote this poem above out of my love for one person in this world who I cannot live without. More often than not, I feel the world closing in on me and I feel like there’s no escape. Many times I come to the verge of losing all hope and I just crash. I try to find the words to express all that is really going through my mind and heart but there are times when no words can ever merit the understanding of this world. it is during these times that I feel all alone and that nothing in this world would be able to heal certain wounds of mine. Many trials I have come across in my life…trials meriting exactly this—darkness, despair, loneliness, hopelessness. But through it all God has been with me. It is because of Him that I am here sane and always hopeful. It is because of His light that I am still able to dream despite the darkness that surrounds me.

That Thing Called Faith

By Eloise G. Pena

Darkness—suddenly overshadows me

Blinded…falling into despair

Frantically! My arms…they reach out

I scream! But…there is no one out there…

No one…no one seems to hear me

And amidst Nothingness…I cry…

No entity seems to understand

This creature—left alone to die?

My being lies there—abandoned

Sh…shivering in the bitter cold

Then…I recall…that one message

“He…he never leaves us” I was told.

I gather…all…the strength…that’s left

I urge myself to stand

With steadfast Faith within my heart

I see Him smile and take my hand.

The Coward

2006-03-14T12:13:00.000-08:00

Marc Yee was born on Aug 11 1988 in Manila, Philippines. He has been a student in the Ateneo for 5 years, including 4 years in The Ateneo High school and now a year in the Loyola Schools. He has been writing poems since his 2nd yr high school and still currently making works that he posts in his blog.

This poem was written because of a line in Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. In the play, There was a Line said be Julies caesar himself "Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once." This inspired me to write this poem, which tells something about what a coward is, and what he or she deserves. This somehow shows my hate for people who stays away from the risk, who can't give up things, it show my disgust from them. I also wrote this because it projects the change in me,how I hated the coward inside me, and how I got it out of my system.

The Coward

We buried you years ago
So stay in your grave
I'll killed you Before
And I'll Kill you again
So dont go act so brave

Weakling
Look me in the eye
I'll take away your sanity
I'll throw you in to the fire

Cowardice of society
You're just a pinch of sand
I'll take you on
And Break all your legs
Now you're going down

SUMMER

2006-03-14T12:10:00.000-08:00

Czarina Dorelle L. Recto Lit 14 – R08
052745
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cza is an MIS student at the AdMU. She enjoys lots of things like swimming, fencing, painting, reading, watching, eating and sleeping. She claims that she finds a hard time writing- putting her ideas into words. Quoted from her: “I’d rather paint than write!” This means that it is rare that she writes for fun. But when she does, most of the time she comes up with melancholic pieces even though she is extremely happy at the time she wrote it.
ABOUT THE POEM
This poem is basically about the pressure of hell week and the desire for the beach. The first half of the poem speaks about what I am feeling right now, with all the things needed to be done also given by the fact that this is my/our hell month. Exams, deadlines, the pressure is a burden to my back like carrying a big boulder of stone. All its weight may cause me to fall (asleep ). What burdens some more, if not all, including me, is knowing the fact that summer is just around the corner. Summer vacation [for some, MIS students not included.] is just two weeks away! Time passes by ever so slowly. One would rather escape into oblivion than have burden… You escape… You dream......about summer!!! =D But then again, it is a dream. Only a dream (for the mean time anyway). Again you find yourself waking up...back to reality.

The idea behind this poem was inspired by my block mate, Tin. 

SUMMER

Crushed
I am.
Trapped
In a little black hole
No where to be found.
Then I fell.

Down…
Down….
Down…

And then I wake.

Sun is shining.
Hot sand between my toes.
Water hit the shore.

Relaxing

Then again,
I wake.

www.downelink.com/member/Aboutme.htm

2006-03-14T12:08:00.000-08:00

Amos Francia is a well-known gay guy who meets a lot of guys through clubbing and the internet. For him, meeting guys online isn’t a bad idea, and can just be as effective as meeting someone through personal affiliations. He is open about his sexuality but believes that people must learn to go beyond that label, and not let it be the sole “definition” of himself and people like him.

Overview. The poem is about the persona’s resolve to find his one true love, and cease hunting for guys aggressively. It serves as a profile or an “about me” portion in the online profile of the persona. It aims to impart the significance of online dating as a contemporary medium in finding love today.
The persona hopes to find something true and meaningful in the form of a monogamous relationship, even though most relationships formed via the website may purely be out of pleasure. This hope symbolizes the belief of the author that it is possible to find love through such a medium, because precisely, its just another medium – an improvement of earlier mediums like talking on the phone or even earlier still, soirees and grand balls. The poem, through its passionate decision to “sieze the day”, tries to solicit a kind of change in people who think chatting is of a lower class. Like other means of finding a partner, it’s not perfect, but at least you can screen people and meet someone you’d actually like, thanks to the larger opportunities that one can maximize.

www.downelink.com/member/Aboutme.htm

Sieze the day, they say. I say sieze the day-
Everyday, hell, why not the cyber way

Life is too short, so I love till my heart is empty
I hate none, deprive none nor envy
Cry, bleed, be weary; its all about love,
Life, moments that hold dearly.

Now I’m back in the link-of-downe
To cease hunting all kinds of hounds
And bound myself to the sweetest of sounds

That of sheer silence

When eyes meet eyes, where no real silence abounds;
Where sleep is henceforth never lonely
Because one is two, when the day is siezed
When the heart trembles, and soul is pleased

Tear.

– And I tear across convention for chat is crowned
When I lie down
On him I found in the link-of-downe

Ticket to Purgatory

2006-03-14T12:03:00.000-08:00

MARGOLLES, Mikaela, E.
R08

About the poet:
18 year old Mika Margolles is an achieved rice devourer and devotee, nonchalant about the way the starch just makes her belly rounder. Beef and chicken teriyaki donburi, magic wok, rice with toyo, KFC gravy, Campbell’s soup, Milo, tinola and sinigang broth, kare kare peanut sauce, and Ramen are just some of her favorite rice dishes. She believes that rice is a gift that must be treasured, never wasted, and always celebrated, just like poetry.

About the poem:
Just how poets try (and some actually achieve) to write and rhyme about life, I decide to write about something which gives me life everyday: Rice.
Yes, rice is so much more than a white carbohydrate from the ground. It is what gives me energy everyday. Without rice, I wouldn’t have the strength to work, to study, to play, to party, to love, to live, and to write poetry. Rice also has what it takes to, believe it or not, bring me peace. Yes peace! After eating a cup or two of rice, I have the best feeling. I feel full, satisfied, and pleasantly lethargic. With these sensations combined, I feel an utterly overwhelming feeling of peace. As if nothing could ruin my day or mood because I have eaten my share of rice.
It is no wonder why people say one will perish in purgatory if he throws away his rice. Rice is very much worthy of celebrating. It has brought energy and life to me, and everyone else similar to me. It has awakened people and brought them to their feet so they could revolutionize the world, and it inspired many to cherish and use their own energies within themselves. It deserves more than a poem.

Ticket to Purgatory

Mikaela Margolles

Didn’t our grandmothers used to warn
That for every grain of rice we fail to eat
Would be a year in the torments of Purgatory?
Another year of boils, tears, blood, and wounds.
Another year of fire eating through scabbed skin
Leisurely, the flames relishing every moment.
Another year hearing cries of despair;
But despair has no sound.

Imagine what unappreciated rice can do to the soul.
Thus finishing our rice is not even questionable.
It is obliged.

Just ask old Lola Dali.
She appeared to me while I was at prayer.
She asked for prayers.
She never used to finish her rice.

Where Are You? by Charl Andrew P. Bautista

2006-03-14T04:39:00.000-08:00

Charl Andrew P. Bautista is a student of Ateneo de Manila University taking up the course BS Health Science. Though having ambitions of being a doctor, he also invested his time in music and sports. He is a quick learner and seems to be a jack-of-all-trades.

This poem is about a persona who have lost hope. Without hope, people loses their sanity and becomes drunk with despair. As his despair slowly engulfs him, he searches for where hope is. Then realized that hope was there all along, behind him, ever since he started searching for it. When the poet was writing this, he had lost all hope of making the deadline. Yet he realized that the only moment the he loses hope is when he gave up.

Where Are You?
by Charl Andrew P. Bautista

I’m so tired and exhausted

Not an inch of energy left

Not a drop of water to sweat

Not even a breath to spare

I seemed to have lost it,

my will,

my ambitions,

my sanity,

The once raging flame,

Ended up as cinder in the never ending shadows

I never felt to be this helpless

This drunk with despair

I forgot what hope meant

It has seemed to be a fantasy

Long lost forgotten

And it was not there from the very beginning

I searched for it

Never found where it was

Seconds, days, years have passed

Not a trace of hope in this devoid of light darkness

As I turn back miserable and disappointed

I slowly realized

Hope was behind me all along

Now I completely Awake by Emil Rodrigo Zaballa

2006-03-14T04:36:00.000-08:00

About the author:

Emil studies at ADMU, and is a product of the Ateneo High School system. He is basically a person who never forgets and is normally a cheerful person. Although he believes in self-restraint and patience, he does not and will never tolerate organisms who are blabbermouths, liars, obsessively annoying people, freeloaders and backstabbing pricks and intends on slaughtering each and everyone of those fools who chose to play with fire.

About the poem:

The poem is about a prisoner who is salvaged from the treacherous routines of daily life yet is enslaved again by the fairest of all maidens. Ironically, the maiden isn’t aware of this.

I wrote this poem in the midst of hell month and it was a means for me to vent out emotions that were restrained for a very long time. It was also a means for me to express how I feel. This poem was also a way of thanking the person who gave me a reason to go to school everyday (apart from the fact that it was a requirement and I needed to study), who gave me inspiration to go through hell and who revived my OC tendency to be very meticulous with the slightest of details.

Now I completely awake
by Emil Rodrigo Zaballa

Emptiness. Nothingness. My mind is a void.

Stuck in this abyss of repetition

Condemned to suffer in IT’s hands

Then she came

Though cocooned in silence

And draped in simplicity,

The maiden of unspeakable beauty

Unshackled me from the chains of anguish.

The great mist, shattered by her radiance.

A joy, brought forth, that seemed eternal.

All else obsolete; all else forsaken.

Yet this freedom is but a mirage

For I found myself bound in this senseless adoration,

Powerless to muster strength to escape.

But in that state I chose to remain,

For it is only then, I can marvel at beauty divine.

Highway by Sunshine Villanueva

2006-03-14T02:57:00.000-08:00

Sunshine Villanueva (1988--) is currently a student of the Ateneo de Manila University. She watches a lot of TV and is quite fond of doodling on anything she gets her hands on.

My idea for this poem was from a grim accident scene I saw last year while I was riding another jeepney on my way to school. It was a really disturbing sight to start the day with. While I was on my way home I had been expecting to see at least a police line on the site but it seemed that whoever was responsible for cleaning the place did it fast. It was a bit upsetting for me to see the spot being passed by other vehicles like nothing horrible had ever happened, and whose drivers probably most had no idea whatsoever. The point that I’d like to make in this poem is that at times we may be so occupied with our lives, with ourselves, thinking about how much we affect other people with what we do. But the sad thing you will realize when you are gone is that you can’t do anything about other people moving on and doing fine even if you are no longer part of their lives.

Highway

My hands gripped the wheel before me as I stepped on the gas
and gazed at the long busy road ahead.
There was so much to think about:
getting back home, what to eat, when to sleep, and what time to wake up again.

I wonder what would happen if I stop in the middle of the street and block one whole lane.
Will cars pile up behind me and honk their way through?
Or will the drivers step out and throw angry curses at me?

But I decided instead to kick the accelerator, and was hurled backwards into a pool of blissful frenzy and everything
outside my car was blurred and smudged with a black and purple paint and—Crash!

I blinked. Nothing was moving.
Then, That stirred
very slowly, almost menacingly
and stabbed exactly at the right place. My whole life flashed before my eyes as the world spun
around my house that birthday my friends that dog my clock my late grandpa, and his hair
that had once been black, black…black…

And night turned day, and day turned night again, and cars sped through the busy highway, still.

Base Jumping by Francis Monfort

2006-03-14T02:54:00.000-08:00

Francis is a freshman at the Ateneo de Manila University where he is taking up a degree in Communications. He likes to watch a whole lot of films. He writes a lot of cheese, too.

The poem is based upon personal experiences, a whole bunch of them. It’s about doing something without actually thinking about the consequences. It could be applied to a lot of various topics. But if you choose to pertain to love, then it’s exactly about falling in love without considering the other person’s feelings. This has happened to me quite a lot of times already, but I never learn. I’m really stubborn.

Base Jumping

I could not take it no more.

This bubble, made of seventeen phone calls and a
Yes!,
burst.

So, from the peak
of an anonymous mountaintop,
I jump, and fall.

Down the ravine,
a sharp stone pierces my heart
and I bleed
to death.

The girl (from the mountains) shrieked,
Of horror? Or delight?
I do not know.

I will never know.

Tonight's Journal by Dana de Guzman

2006-03-14T02:28:00.000-08:00

Bizarre thoughts are revealed to this innocent girl from the south through her dreams. Though not quite good in putting them into words, still she tries. And she hopes that most of her dreams won’t come true.

I smile to myself and think that my mind is so twisted to have strange dreams like this one. But I like it, I love my dreams. They are like short films, with me as the star of every show of course. In my sleep, my mind comes up with new storylines along with a new set of characters. Each is always a unique adventure for me. So now I try to give you a little peek of my dream - my journal.

Tonight’s Journal

the moon is up but is nowhere to be seen
eyes see four corners unknown to me
tears run down my cheeks
now be haunted by what has just past
cold tainted sheets hide the nakedness of my body
while my skin is still covered by a stranger’s sweat

self stripped of dignity and sanity
eyes dried out
too numb to feel disgust
nothing...nothing is left of me

the sun wakes from its slumber
I open my eyes back to reality
and smile

Arid by Angela Cuasay

2006-03-14T02:25:00.000-08:00

Four years ago, she discovered the therapeutic effects of lollipop. Last year, she vowed never to eat longganisa again (because it’s too artificial). Currently, she’s busy playing with her slinky spring and magic love ball.

Okay, it’s about love, again. It’s not the most unique poem in the world, that’s for sure. I admit I have written far better poems, which have no taint of mushiness at all but I chose this one because it’s the latest one I made, that’s why it makes the most sense to me at the moment. To explain it simply, it’s abut two people who are so close to each other, so attached and spend so much time together that the relationship has fizzled out because it has lost the excitement it once had. This causes them to make little “dishonesties.” They’re still in love with each other but somehow, something seems to be wrong.

Arid

Emerging from an arid gap
your face
yours eyes
half an inch away,
waterfalls flower on both sides
of the aridness between the two of us.
I can easily reach for the warmth
of your lips embrace
just as those eyes faint
before mine
tormenting me with your beauty
that still speaks even when the answer has gone
down to the chin of your deceit
crumbling neatly against mine.

The Last Stake by Oliver del Rosario

2006-03-14T02:15:00.000-08:00

Ross is a freshman and is soon to be the champion of the Philippine poker tour. He is also a future winner of the Carlos Palanca Awards for Literature.

At least once in a lifetime, there will always be that time when one’s asked to sacrifice what he loves for something unknown. And one has to make a decision without knowing all the factors. One has to go in blind, just running on feel.

The Last Stake

To give up one thing
for another, is a gamble.
The stakes are high,
but the reward promises
more than the stars.

I take my chance with her
my chances are solely up to her.
She just need to tell me
to throw myself
from the Schlangenberg
and I would.

Misery by Edwin Marlon Basmayor

2006-03-13T07:52:00.000-08:00

Edwin Marlon C. Basmayor (1988 - ,Philippines)
Edwin Marlon was born on the 28^th of April, 1988 to a family of four. His hobbies include writing and acting. Currently, he is freshman college student at Ateneo de Manila University.

The poem is all about a person’s search of a better and happy life that is very different from his present condition which is in a state of unhappiness. This unhappiness is apparently due to the inability of the society around him to give a fair or just treatment. He has been deprived of that and instead given punishments, hardships and other painful things. The only thing that he can do now is to hope that one day, his life would change for the better and find that elusive happiness that he has dreamt of for so long. But unfortunately, his wish for a good life is still not granted.

Misery
by Edwin Marlon C. Basmayor

Where, where can I find this happiness

that has evaded me for so much time?

Oh, this kind of life is not what I’ve envisioned for!

Taking punishment when it’s not appropriate

pain when it’s not due.

I want to wake up from this nightmare

Wake up! wake up

to the reality of fantasy

to a different reality of hopeful permanence

But the dream has not been found...

Flat by Cha-Cha de Asis

2006-03-13T07:42:00.000-08:00

Charina de Asis. Cha-Cha or Cha, never anything else. You stare at me from head to foot. Curly hair, big and loud accessories, out-of-the-box outfits, a skirt one inch too short, a smirking face, IPOD headphones on ears and a smirk on my face. I stare at you back. I'm neither a skeptic or critic. I'm neither black nor white. I'm just TOO loud, TOO noisy, TOO outspoken. That's all you need to know. To define is to limit. And the limit does not exist. Thread will snap. You'll get lost in the Labyrinth. Writing is my querenthia.

Flat is for someone. Unrequited love. Crushed dreams. Mixed feelings. Vague, hazy and a little confusing--- that's how love is anyway. We either run away from it, or face it head on. This poem tell you to face it head on, kick ass while you're at it... even though you know you're going to hurt afterwards.

Flat

I wish I could say
that
a tree is just a tree
but it is not for me.
My tree is a flower
with crushed butterfly wings
beneath it.
Out, the buds go
sprouting from nowhere
and
the black and white picture
would be colored once again.
A tree maybe a tree to you
but to me
it's a flower.
A pretty flower--- a rose maybe---
with torns
and blood stains on it.
My blood.
My tree.
My flower.

Wonderland by Frances Mondiguing

2006-03-13T07:40:00.000-08:00

Frances Mondiguing is a BS MIS undergraduate student. Her one wish at this present year is to pass all her classes. Also, Frances is someone who doesn’t like having to refer to herself in the third person.

Why I chose to write this poem is because I’d always found it strange that Alice never wondered about her wonderland. She didn’t dwell too much on the peculiarity of what she was dreaming. Her quick way of adapting and believing was so curious for me that I always wanted to ask why. Having still a child’s curiousity, and belief in the unimaginable, I found it charming.

Wonderland
by Frances Mondiguing

White fur that passed you by

The endless fall that followed

Bottles and dough that changed you,

What was it like?

Questing for that garden

Walking through a riddled land

Weren’t you troubled?

That child’s curiousity…

You were only delighted

Seeing the very queer,

You didn’t become frightened

Why was that so?

Was it so much fun dreaming

your Wonderland?

The Warning by Julie Alberto

2006-03-13T07:38:00.000-08:00

I am a straight forward writer and also hopeless with incorporating ambiguity in my poems. My style complements me though because I tend to write from very specific experiences. I add twists to my poems by placing sinister/dark imagery. It’s not to be morbid or anything, it’s just the way I write.

This poem was inspired by a certain incident dating back when I was ten years old. A man named Atoy, drunk and without permission, went into our house and started saying mean things about my family. His face was scarier than any comic book villain I’ve seen, especially when he pointed at me and he told my father to take good care of his family because “bad things” happen. It was a traumatizing moment.

Right now, I can’t help but direct my anger at his child because I know that whatever sour relationship my father and Atoy had in terms of land property will continue with me and Atoy’s children.

The Warning

The next time, Atoy jr., you use

poverty as an

excuse,

I shall not hesitate to shove into you

the soil you claim as yours.

The next time you deem

legal papers

worthless,

I shall remind you that they are with me.

The next time, Atoy jr., when history is ready

to repeat itself,

when just like your father, you would

trespass into our peace, drunk and scandalous,

I shall be ready with my spoon, spade and shovel.

But for now sleep for you are still a child

and I, your nightmare, will be here.

A Frog or A Prince? by Claire Ongcangco

2006-03-13T07:36:00.000-08:00

Claire Ongcangco is a first year student of the Ateneo de Manila University and is taking up Management Information Systems. She belongs to the no boyfriend since birth society. Many see her as Ms. Pihikan, but actually she is not, she is just looking for his right man and waiting for the right time.

The poem is about finding your true love, specifically the right one. As we reminisce, “Someday my prince will come” was a common phrase or song for us. But it’s a different case in this poem because in the lives of some people, frogs do come first before them finding their prince or princess. I think the message of this poem is, do not easily commit. We should all think before we act. Always aim for your, if I may call, “one and only”. We could also see the emphasis showing that there are a number of frogS while there is only A single prince with Rose. We should not be like Daisy, instead we should be like Rose who just bloomed in the right time with the right person.

A Frog or a Prince?
by Claire Ongcangco

Someday my frog will come, Daisy said.

Someday my prince will come, Rose said.

Days and days, Daisy blooms,

but Rose still never blooms.

Days and days, frogS smell Daisy

but in millenniums and millenniums, A prince picks Rose.

A hundred frogs have smelled,

but only a single prince has picked.

Rose has finally bloomed,

but Daisy in truth never bloomed.

I Don't Care by Cybele Garrucho

2006-03-13T07:33:00.000-08:00

Cybele Garrucho is currently a freshman taking up AB Psychology in the Ateneo de Manila University. She thinks that poetry is a means of expressing the complexity of human emotions, which is why the poetry she writes provides images which reflect the different emotions/ feelings that people encounter in everyday life. Cybele’s other interests include reading books, watching foreign films, traveling, and playing soccer.

This poem entitled, “I DON’T CARE.”, gives us an idea that many times, we actually mean what we don’t say. Sometimes, our actions actually speak louder than our words.

The poem gives us an image of someone who, in spite of her saying that she doesn’t give a care to what this person is telling her, actually cares. This person realizes in the end she actually starts to miss that person, in spite of all the times he/she found this person pretty annoying.

It’s funny how humans actually encounter such emotions in everyday life. This poem goes to show us that there’s always this person/s who we may have not realized after quite sometime, has/ have always been there for us in spite of everything that has happened. Sometimes we fail to realize that we need not look too far for those who’ll be there for ushttp://community.livejournal.com/t_shirt_surgery/3920667.html#cutid1
And then there was one..., when throughout all this time, they’ve always been there in front of us.

“I DON’T CARE.”

I’m making it clear to you,
That I don’t care.

I don’t care how your day went,
And what’s up, what’s been new--
What with the stories you tell me,
Your laughter that easily comes out, it’s all too funny.

I don’t ever want to do stupid things that I wish I had never done,
But all because of you, I’ve done it all, and it’s been done.

Though it seems pretty often like I don’t care,
Once you leave, I actually start wishing you were right there.

(untitled) by Regina Arcilla

2006-03-13T07:19:00.000-08:00

At eighteen, Regina is a college freshman currently enrolled in the AB Pscyhology program at the Ateneo de Manila University. Regina has lived in four different countries and has attended eight different schools, the most recent being Concordia International School Shanghai from which she graduated. In terms of her literary career, Regina no longer writes in her free time, but her past works include quite a few short stories and a handful of poems. Career-wise, Regina hopes to specialize in early childhood education.

People come and go in our lives, whether they be romantic partners, close friends, family, or even strangers. This poem refers to experiencing loss, especially that of the hurtful kind. When we lose significant others, we can’t help but reflect on the experience and analyze every little part of it. In the end though, no matter what happens, we are our own people and yes we may be ‘alone,’ but experiences like that are what define our lives and make us who we are.

(untitled)
by Regina Arcilla

Lies and lust and hate

in the end it’s just too late

all the tears that were wept

all the friendships that were swept

was it worth it, was it well?

Only time and death can tell.

After all is said and done

and we’ve reached the final sun

take your heart in your hand

and alone,

you will stand.

The Wait by Mylene Chung

2006-03-13T07:07:00.000-08:00

I’m Mylene, Mye for short. I’ve been writing poems since the age of 10. I consider it a way of venting one’s emotions, not that this poem is my own feelings though. Aside from poems, I have written quite a few songs, since I am an avid fan of music and I believe that poetry and song are very much intertwined. In my opinion, songs are simply more heartfelt since the tone is there to solidify the emotions you had in writing. I actually wrote a song for our class play not long ago, the song was entitled “The Line” which I very much enjoyed composing. It speaks of how people should learn to wait in line and not insert themselves in the middle to aggravate those who have been waiting for so long. This was actually the main plot of the play we portrayed, so the song was more or less attuned to it. This poem (The Wait) on the other hand, was written as an aftereffect of listening to a friend’s guy problems. It just so happens that I culminated my day sitting on Xavier Hall’s benches that I posed a parallelism of my friend’s problem to the act of “waiting” for my ride home.

This Poem wishes to portray a person tired of waiting yet couldn’t seem to break from the habit. She sits on a bench and thinks of something else other than him but ends up writing this poem instead. Heaven and Hell are two opposing decisions she wishes to make, to let go or to hold on. Since the guy won’t open his eyes to the inner beauty she willingly gives, she can’t help but suppress the multitude of emotions she feels and drown in tears. She holds on the shallowest of things and tries to disregard her every crying session, constantly convincing herself that it will pass, or that everything may culminate in a greater sublime plan. Yet in the end, all she has is the empty little bench she couldn’t get herself to leave, for in her heart she is but weak and foolish to have fallen into such a mess. She also considers herself a coward, for she couldn’t get herself to speak her mind which in effect, leaves her with only one plan of action, to wait.

The Wait
by: Mylene Chung

Sitting on an empty bench

I clear my thoughts off you

For you are one that hurts me so

Believe it or not its true

I stand alone in this arena

Choosing between heaven and hell

For to you I am but the shadow of death

While to me your all St. Peter could spell

I hold on to things I dare not look into

And discard what tears you made me shed

For when you’re gone I’m helpless of what to do

And dare not imagine what I could have had

I wouldn’t leave my empty bench

I am but a weakling and a fool

I’d see my world and cower at its side

And so the wait goes on

Who Ever Said The Joke Is On Me? by Pamela Ty

2006-03-13T06:58:00.000-08:00

I can say that I am a cheerful person; my love for life extends to my seeing it in a positive way, even amidst hardships. I occasionally write whenever I feel I have to express my emotions and the things that are troubling me. However, I see writing only as a hobby, and prefer to keep it private.

Sometimes in life, we encounter things or people that have a capability to blind our judgments and our goals. Letting go of these things or people may be hard but oftentimes, it is what is necessary. The most essential thing about reality is accepting it for what it is, together with all its flaws. This poem serves as encouragement at times when I need to release myself of the excess. Initially, this poem was about accepting a lost love. But later on I realized that it can also be applicable to other things in my life, like an ambition or an identity I have to free myself of. It is basically about moving on from the things that are no longer important.

Who Ever Said The Joke Is On Me?

Visions of you and me are now a blur, making me stronger
They are starting to vanish by themselves into far oblivion.
The false hope I've sheltered myself with is growing smaller,
I've grown to become tired of trying to hold on.

As each bitter day of passing has come and hurriedly gone,
I've prepared my heart to let the lingering of your memory vanish
From my future, the depths of my soul, the language of my tongue
Soon will be long forgotten into the past, this unwanted anguish.

I'll get my heart agree with my mind if that is all it takes
And tomorrow I will be able to wake up to a new existence.
I'm over you somehow and that is the true fact that remains,
I'll finally no longer be haunted by your supposed presence.

I'm quite ecstatic to be free from all this torturing burden
Listen carefully, trust me with what I say: this is what's true,
Goodbye and good luck to you in whatever path you've chosen
As for me, I'll be doing just fine traveling without you.

A Lone Hoplite by Ferdinand Villafuerte

2006-03-13T06:17:00.000-08:00

Ferdinand Villafuerte (1987 - …)
A student of the AdMU by way of LSGH, this person does not consider himself to be as “great” as some people proclaim him to be. His stances in life are quite… different and somewhat disagreeable with what is considered normal by the general population. To those who think that he’s sane and normal he had this to say: Go fuck yourselves.

The Poem
Hoplites are Greek heavy infantry armed with a spear, short sword and a shield; wearing a helmet, cuirass and bronze greaves (shin plates). Hoplites form a phalanx; a formidable military formation that consists of people grouped together in rows and columns armed with their spears and shields. It’s unlikely for anyone to see a hoplite alone as they are always trained to be parts of large armies.

I’ve always been fascinated with the Greek, and to some extent, Roman civilizations. I just love the idea of having something to believe in such as honor, responsibility and pride in one’s country. Unlike today where qualities like these are dying or have already died through the course of history. This poem compares the times of old with the status quo and expresses the desire to go back for a better future.

A Lone Hoplite
by Ferdinand Villafuerte

How I wish to have been one of the 300 so long ago.
Oblivion was never met with such valor and honor.
Pain and suffering I would have endured,
Life and love I would have lost, but the reward would have been
Immortality.
Thermopylae! your name never sounded so sweet!
Everything I am cries to the heavens to have been there.

Honor today is lost or ridiculed along with responsibility and pride.
Over and over, I hope that my people still have morals and principles.
Perhaps I was born at the wrong time... the wrong era.
Love for one's country is something dying if not already dead.
I scream for change. I scream for a new beginning. I scream for war!
The time has come to pick up instruments of war, to inspire for a better future.
Endless will my strife be until I fall, covered in my own blood and that of my foes.

Cursed by Hannah P. Quiñones

2006-03-13T02:39:00.000-08:00

She is the youngest among four siblings. Her personality is not an offspring of teen movies and will hopefully never be in horror flicks and slasher movies either. Hannah views the world differently without feeling the need to become an atheist.

I wrote this with a cringe until I found the appropriate title. The poem is about how I see people “in love”. I put myself in a position of a typical girl in love with a guy who is in love with someone else and thought about what she probably was thinking: what she was saying in her head and how she thought she felt. After going through that irksome ordeal, I took a step back and wrote what I thought of what was going on in her head. This is an ode for all the love poems which spilled over from those who feel that “words cannot describe how they felt”. To all those who lived a borrowed love, this is for you…thou hast surely known a life both wretched and cursed.

Who else but you
Could make me feel this weak?
Where else but here
Should love blossom and break?
When else but now
Must our lips touch this close?
How else but quick
Must your mind forget all those?
Why else but pain
Should cause all these my sorrow?
What else but none
Have you left for me to borrow?

Through My Eyes by Bea Camille Santos

2006-03-13T02:35:00.000-08:00

Bea is a freshman student from the Ateneo de Manila who sees writing poetry as her way of releasing all her pent up emotions. She also believes that writing is an extremely personal experience as one undergoes a process of self-discovery and self-creation.

The poem is about seeing and appreciating the beauty of nature through one’s eyes.

It is only through my eyes
that I could possibly capture
the glistening rhinestones of the foaming sea
and the vicissitude of hues painted by the quaint mountain tops
It is only through my eyes
that I could possibly connect
the gleaming spectrum of the rainbow
with the down pour of the tears of heaven
It is only through my eyes
that I could possibly experience
the eeriness and the tranquil atmosphere of the twilight
-- with the golden hues of the sun being engulfed by the sea
and the stark loneliness at the crack of dawn
-- with the irrevocable silence
It is only through these lenses of memory
that such memories will be nothing but imprints left on the canvas of my mind

The Moment the Sun Sets by Andrea Gomez

2006-03-13T02:29:00.000-08:00

I was born the youngest of three children and I graduated high school from Poveda Learning Centre. I enjoy traveling to various places, spending time with family and friends, learning interesting new things, having great conversations and a good laugh. I draw inspiration from the people who have meaning in my life, from my experiences and from the various striking things is see around me.

Sunsets always leave me mesmerized. Whether I see it while I’m ridding a car, looking out from the window of my room, or seeing it from some picturesque location, I never fail to feel at awe with its beauty and the magnificence of the mingling colors it creates. It makes me want to freeze the perfect moment that it’s there so I can perpetually capture its exquisiteness, everything it symbolizes, all the emotions it conveys, and all the feelings it leaves me with. Sunsets remind me of those perfect moments in my life, those moments where I feel like I’m truly living and feeling and not letting anything escape me. However, just like with sunsets, before I know it, the moment has passed. I’ll always be able to picture and remember every detail of that moment. I’ll always be able to reminisce and look back on all the feelings that I had felt but I’ll never be able to live that moment again. Just as with the recurrence of sunsets, I can trust that I’ll experience many other great moments however, none of them will ever be the same.

An explosion of colors
One shade swirling into the next
A sandstorm of fairy dust that grazes each and every one of us
Speaking in a foreign language so understandable

Emotions unravel with every visible color
The redness of passion, the pink blush of love
The hunger of orange, the calming blue
The pensive purple, the hopeful yellow

Captivated by each hue, look closely, stare
Savor the moment it’s there
Gone in an instant
Never to be seen as it was again.

To Write by Stephanie C. Ferrer

2006-03-13T02:21:00.000-08:00

I enjoy reading, writing, watching movies and surfing the net among others. I always try to keep an open mind. I dream of one day traveling the world, and my first destinations would be Italy, Monaco and London.

In the first part of the poem the writer struggles in finding the right words to describe the beauty that surrounds her. She also indicates that she has only written out of necessity for a long time. She misses writing and wishes to once again write just for herself.

I try to find the right words
For the haunting image of the moon,
Or of hope that burns eternal,
Of the cool breeze that consoles,
And the soul that seeks renewal

For lately I have only written
Out of necessity,
More than anything else;
But now I’ve found solace at last,
For tonight, after the long wait,
I have found the right words.

READ THIS FIRST BEFORE POSTING

2006-03-12T23:02:00.000-08:00

To all representatives:

Please ask for PICTURES for the poems that you will post or have posted. If they won't send you one, please place a picture yourself.

Thank you so much.

And oh, please ask at least 5 people to visit the site, as Sir said.

And another thing, aren't we suppose to place our 1x1 pic in our entry? Just asking. The other blocks did theirs, eh.

Much love. ♥
Cha-Cha