jornales

for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

figuring out

One more for NaHaiWriMo on Stella Pierides’ weather prompt. Autumn, one of my favorite seasons, has figured out in quite a number of my haiku and free verse. The colors fascinate me no end, coming from a country where trees turn brown only if they finally die with no blaze of reds and golds. And when after autumnal winds strip the trees of leaves in a crazed dance, their bareness transform the landscape into pencil drawings where I find myself wandering, looking for the now lost sky. Under oak trees once, this haiku came.

December 10, 2011 Posted by | haiga, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

red (for One Shoot Sunday)

photo prompt by Walter Parada

the truth about red:

my heart is like a man’s
although it flickers not throbs
as the Sun I am absent at the zenith
but in living things i lend my flare

my color is red not gold
as Red i seep in or withdraw
i blossom vermillion in camellias, azaleas,
or metamorphose into the rose

when blossoms shed petals,
leaving a litter of brown scraps
i desert the flowers
or blaze in berries, persimmons—
when juiced i spurt red

after coupling with Earth
i, as the Sun, leave it with
fire for smoldering births

find me, Red,
on chipped off terra cotta bricks
a mitt of rust on stray feet
a red organdy dress
to lift the shroud off grieving
i drip red on tubs of basi
shared after evening prayers
flaring on a monsignor’s cheeks
chanting a Te Deum

i pull Red out of my chest
to cloak archbishops
in carmine the color of fresh blood
the blaze of martyrs
who bleed for others
drain their heart out

but locked in self
i dry out a heart turn it black
blood when it dries up
that’s me, a two-faced Diablo
the apparition sneaking in at night
death masquerading as love

a bouquet of red carnations on Fridays
seething trees through bumpy rides
a stone in the moonlight rooting on a mango tree
a branch for a splint on broken bones
a face bruised by kisses
scarlet spears in childhood dreams
your name on my breath
a deep breeze

i, Red, am also the Sun swirling down
on a violent hand
but soften on pink tulle over the fields
coaxing you to reach up to me
scooping you to turn in my arms
switch off your fears
to smoother you with my most tender tinge
i, the Diablo slung in your heart:
you‘re freed

*basi, fermented sugar cane, native wine in the northernmost edge of the Philippine archipelago.

Posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry where I can’t resist the challenge as the other poets and artists who congregate to share their love of art and poetry in this site. Check us out!

May 22, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Sunflowers (for One Shot Wednesday)

Field of sunnflowers courtesy of wikipedia

She folds her arms on the table
and turns a limp head to the window

the gray sky fills her sad eyes.
She crumples on her slack arms and sighs, what lonely weather.

Her head drops on sunflowers blooming
on the vinyl kitchen cloth; the blossoms blaze.

She looks back at the sky, eyes pooling tears.
I tell her, it’s only rain.

But I wail at the weeping sky:
Who is it that came snuffing out the sun?

It’s only rain, like baby hair.
How could it hurt?

Look how it falls, a touch. And watch how it splatters like sweet
crystals, scraping off grime that saddens the air.

The sky tautens soon like the skin of a man’s arm.
The woman laughs at the thought of a man’s arm

crooked around her, scented rain.
She laughs splaying her arms over the tilting sunflowers

the sun has blinded.
The gray sky sobs with the sun.

Posted for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry where poets and artists share their love for their art and nurture each other.

March 9, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments