pedantic pedestrians ii

Ganito nakikiramay ang langit sa atin

Sumusubaybay sa pagsibol Ng pawis sa iyong braso, konsensiya sa iyong ulo, Barya sa inyong bulsa, dahil nililimos ang kita. Isipin niyong ang ulap ang aking mga mata At dito ang simula ng pagmamasid At ang ulan ang aking mga luha Tuwing ang inyong pagdarahop ay aking nababatid (Ganito, ganito ang lahat ng pakikiramay. Hindi ko alam ang pakiramdam ng makasuhan, Kumain ng panis na isda, iwan ng mahal, pero Sasamahan, sasamahan.) Sa akin ang kulog Sa akin ang kidlat Ang kulog ay para ipaalala na may likas na liwanag kahit tagdilim O kung abo ang lahat: ang ulap, ang langit, ang pananaw Wag masindak: alalahanin ang bukang-liwayway, ang dapit-hapon, Ang pagpapalit ng panahon. Ang kidlat ay paalala na wag tutulala Hinahakbang, tinatalunton, ginagapang ang lahat papuntang katapusan Tandaan ang garalgal na tunog Hindi isang kumikinang na opera o konsyerto ang buhay Isiping ang hangin ang aking kamay Dumadampi upang ipaalala ito ito ang meron tayo: buhay. At iyong mga takot, iyong mga mapanglaw, iyong nagluluksa nang lubusan kahit tapos na ang ulan Sila ang nararatay. 1

Nightmare of the grammar nazi

To race against the motions of his legs But this time its no dream Its no dream the little slashes from The blades of grass the curses from behind becaming Louder every step he took proofread verses in his Arms now wets with dew the oozing mixture Of blood and sweat from his head, the greens And browns and blue losing their edges from his eyes Barefoot men behind him he cannot see them of course This makes him shudders he is tempted to look backed To drain a thimble of fear from his stomach but no It only adds more trembling to his knees this looking-backs This mili-second sights of glinting scythes and teeth He felt his legs twisting betraying his will too run He stumbled he cursed but his curse is only one He was met with a multitude of laughs: Lazy boy have you say your prayers? The blades descending on his prostate form the grass he shielded Himself with his arms poor him its no dream unable to read The poem as itself afraid to die ignorant That nightmares are supposed to end.

Ako ang dakilang tagapagmasid

The pounding in his chest seem

This Bed

Nangingilid ang luha sa mata ng buwan

It has been long enough.

Longing for this warm space beside you in this bed.

Nangingilid ang luha sa mata ng buwan habang silay-silay nito ang buntis na mundo at kung paano niya ngasabin ang sariling sanggol.
2. Namimintog ang tiyan niya na para bang dala niya sa sinapupunan ang mundong walang pagpintig ni paghinga. 3. Nauulol ang mga aso tuwing amoy pinipig ang paligid. Kahit ang buwan, astang hibang na hibang.

1.

I housed memories under sheets and pillows Warmth preserved, Preserving memories. Only in such conditions that longing is not that long. In this place of repose, sometimes the cold enters. When the niche between us grows farther. Your back turning against me, the sheets rolling away, the memories wither and this bed becomes just a bed. So calm and still you remain in absence of the coldness and of me. I housed memories under sheets and pillows Warmth preserved, Preserving memories and i think it's time to do life's laundry to remove the memorable mess. and this bed, becomes just a bed. 3

Umiihip ng pulang hangin ang langit

towers of golden penis

vendors would sell them half the price of your mother small versions of them and the big ones are built by little working semen wearing protective hats on their halted heads to the moon is where they follow stretching and scratching between scrapers piercing through the clouds of cotton daydreams penetrating musings they shine vibrant and brilliant and sometimes if a bit thicker, vaguely as they put shadows to the city where you can only find shadowed hearts and each day is a throbbing sensation to do things over and over again until you ejaculate your drive even the sun melts being surrounded by big thick lengthy dicks its liquid yellow light dripping to the streets and concrete walls like ghosts of hope but no everyone everyone everyone everyone eating ordinary blueberry muffins shitting watery skulls and scars of past loves contemplating jazz atop penis heads smoking to the city chaos breathing false beliefs and intentions from corporations of plastic dreams living as tiny as the universe palpitates for saving

Umiihip ng pulang hangin ang langit, nakikiindayog sa sayawan ng

usok at mga kuliglig, bawat pitik ng mga pakpak na sing ninipis ng pagsuyo ko, nagtutulak sa bawat usad ng mundo. Kulay abo ang mga puno, at ang mga hamog na naninirahan sa mga dahon ay malulungkot na asul. Naninilaw ang lupa na para bang yakap nito ang araw habang unti-unti silang naghihiwalay pulgada kada pulgada. Ang lupa, dilaw tungong kayumanggi. Ang araw, dilaw tungong kahel. Nagsisimula na ang Linggo kahit ang Sabadoy inaalimpungatan pa. Ngunit ang pinakamahalaga, sa pagsalubong sa umaga, Ay ang leeg mong amoy agahan.

towers of golden penis they surround the city

Sea Lovers

Sea Lovers
In the watery sheets In the oceanic vastness Of this simple bed. We unite, Sheet to skin, Skin to sheet, Skin on skin, Our love in the tides.

We swim through the night

Greater vastness Of the many waiting beds, To other wanting waves To others like me. To my sea lover and lover of seas, I will always remember the voyages as I offer oceans of tears.

Like the ocean, This tidal passion Crashes into the shoreline Of our slippery bodies. And for each receding moment, We wash away from ourselves The strokes of heat From our desolate Lives beyond the carnal waves. As the rising tides Slowly find stillness and repose, Rivers of sheets Lay calm against The tired bodies. And to quench your love of sea, You dive again another day Not in my calm rivers But in the depths Of the many oceans You dream to voyage. You long to plunge into 7 8

Breakfast

mga bula ang ulo ng tao

I eat all my lovers in the morning

Because they turn out shit in the night. They go down grabbing and pulling Trying to breathe as we all gasp for air Trying to stay when all they do is to choke you And leave (un)wanted love marks all over. Their flavourless flavour, Bitter longing and sweet sweat Of Sunday morning sex Have little to do with how they are made: As they are prepared especially for every day, They are a selection in the grocery All of them ready to eat, to grind and to love And if anything happens, there are no returns But you will always have the option Of the next best thing. Edible, malleable, pocket sized and disposable we love and make love to eat He is a little bit of everything that is too much But better than fried eggs, they are non-fat And non-committal. So you wont have to worry Of any extra fold on your tummy Or breaks in your heart. I resent them my lovers, but I love them still in the end Because there is no better love than selfish consumption What matters is breakfast: The bitter aftertaste of the morning after, And it is always something that you ate.

mga bula ang ulo ng tao kung saan wala itong ibang kahihinatnan
kung hindi pagputok o pagkasira at ang mga mata natin ay mga pares ng kristal na walang ibang kayang makita kundi pira-pirasong imaheng walang ibig sabihin ni matalos ang kabuuan ay hindi nito kayang buuin ni sakupin ang isip sa manipis na kumot na tawag ay mundoy di kayang balutin ang bawat dila ng taoy sunog na goma nakasisirat malansa sa pandinig.

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Conversations with Deleuze

you have said A fancy for the worlds breast At least you have said A faint star at my behest Crumpling a books page Jumping through window panes! You talk too much man I collect stars round the earth But still I cant buy the universe

The lake whose glimmer is

Mirrored in our eyes Serene as souls becalmed The intertwining of hands, too familiar A knot untied with a mere twitch of the thumb A familiar song playing its too familiar ruthlessness Hushed by the orchestrated din of a thousand falling leaves Then the kiss, a familiar sip From the bottle that has lost its spirit, Its family, then your embrace, the limbs of a Decaying angel.

At last

The lake whose glimmer is

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12

On the failure of --

On the failure of -I am not yet tired of metaphors. Sometimes, you are the voice of Norah Jones creeping under my tragedies at night. Sometimes, you are the folds in the bedsheet, the thing I arrange most, I touch last before I sleep. Sometimes you are the wholesome burning at the tip of a cigarette, flickering and fading, fading and dying, like the moon at dawn, yet still listening to my belated songs of sadness. And you are an alarm clock ringing sometimes, pulling me off the bed, the vague meaningfulness of sleep, the anxious escape from the ants on the floor and the realizations of all literature, I wake everyday because you are. Once, we walked together amidst the wetness of streets, under the fated occurrence of treacherous nights. Your pauses were ends of sentences, Mayan predictions, apocalyptic ghosts. Which I accompany with my own fakely innocent breaths. There was air around us. It was the only place where 13 14

Let me begin by saying:

we meet. Sometimes, I dare to feel the spaces Between your fingers, and guess the Shampoo you used in the morning. Sometimes it felt like you were beside me, in 10pm nights where gaps are forever to be understood. I tried to make up metaphors For the stillness, the nebulous nearness, but as all science and religions have seen, there was only, nebula; always: distance. Always: space. So I turn to metaphors. So I always fail So I always fail.

Another poem about shit

S o I opened the lid, sat in excrutiang slow-motion, with monumental force, a force, let us say, a force of nature, the throbbing pain, may Mary pity those who have their brain in their butts, this is what they feel when they have a headache, yet the suffering, god, the labor, their fruit is nothing but a bite-sized mound, a despicable walnut, floating in aquamarine water, but worry not, my friend, this mound is something that even Rommy Garduce will not dare to climb, yes, yes, yes, the tip has just fallen, here comes the iceberg, but no, what is this horror, my god, is my bum playing tricks on me, its my heart! its all warmblooded gory, I fumbled my behind to check, I was tearyeyed, but then, you knocked, Man, its now your part, and I realized its not a heart, poets have a penchant for poos and mendicants, and yes, wait, here comes the iceberg...

PASASALAMAT

Maraming salamat kay Sandra para sa fp pic! At kay Glen para sa paggawa ng posters and shit! Sali na sa pedantic pedestrians! Kontakin niyo kami sa aming facebook page (www.facebook.com/pedanticpedestrians). O kaya i-text ang 09278192897. Oh yeah.. :)

-Pedantic Pedestrians

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Tasteless, callow, brain-neutral, throw in every adjective, you have for a shitty folio...there you have it. -Jose Garcia Villa Okay. But is not essentially disciplined poetry. No regard for traditional poetic forms is evident. Knowledge of grammar is elementary. -F. Sionil Jose One does not merely blah blah blah. -Meme-spouting guy Exquisite verses from such young and voluptuous talents!!! -Stephanie Meyer Nagsusumikap po tayong lumikha ng mga akdang tutulong sa ating bagtasin ang tuwid na daan. Heneral, dukutin ang mga ito! -PNoy