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Marge Redelicia Feb 2014
Viva Sto. Nino!
Come let us celebrate
The boy Jesus
Our King, our Savior!

Colorful banderitas drape
This town street.
Here comes the
Pagan parade
Going to the church,
Lead by gay majorettes
Flaunting their legs while
Blowing kisses to the priests.

There is a river
Of people each holding
A portrayal of the living God,
A glossy Sto. Nino statue
Dressed in peasant clothes,
A chef's uniform,
A crisp black suit,
A traditional Chinese costume,
And a striped swimwear even.

Some people are masked
As zombies and ghouls
Quite like Halloween in January.
Their face paints start to get
Smeared in their sweaty cheeks
In this scorching 2 pm sun.

At the middle of the parade comes
A pick-up decked with a stereo.
A portrait of lady in a bikini is
Taped on one of its speakers.
As the parade moves on
The kids moshed and fist pumped
To tribal rhythms and hiphop hits
With cuss words in every beat.

The sun is setting and
The celebration finally arrives
At the crowded church plaza.
People make their way,
Inching slowly to the grand church door.
The great parade ends in a bang, well
A slap rather.
A ***** boy hits
A lady's behind
In yellow micro shorts.

A brawl erupts
In the midst of the crowd,
In front of the saints
Petrified in the stained glass windows.
The mass starts soon after
As if nothing happened.

*Viva Sto. Nino!
Come let us celebrate
The boy Jesus
Our King, our Savior!
A documentation of a parade I saw somewhere in Laguna last year. It's the most ironic thing I have ever seen...
Marge Redelicia Feb 2014
I'm scared that I might trip,
Fall ******* my hard head,
And sink deep into
Oceans of my own tears so
I'm trying to get to you as fast as I can
But I'm not rushing
I'm not rushing, no.

Take heart to wait longer,
As I take time to get stronger
Because right now I'm not ready
But when that day comes
I'm certain I will be.
And I'm really sorry
For taking so long but please
Wait eagerly,
But wait patiently
And most of all,
Wait faithfully.

Until that day
We see each other
Wait, Love
Just wait for me.
To whoever you may be.
Marge Redelicia Apr 2015
makalipas ng daang-daang araw
ikaw ay nagbalik,
nagtagpo muli ang mga mata, bisig, at ngiti.
'di nila mapigilang magtaka
kung ano ang pasalubong
dala mo sa iyong pagbisita;
kung anong mga damdamin at alaala
ang mahuhugot mula sa mga puso nating
'di malaman kung
nagtataguan ba o naghahanapan,
basta
siguradong nawawala.

ang surpresa mo kaya ay
kaba?
sabik?
takot?
hiya?
hiwaga?

hindi.

pinunit ang balot at
binuksan ang kahon.
natagpuan ko ay

wala.

oo,
wala lang.
wala na pala
tayong natira para sa isa't isa.
baka tinangay na ng bagyo,
ninakaw na ng iba,
o 'di kaya'y
naglaho lang talaga na parang bula.

'di nila mapigilang magtaka
at napaisip din ako kung bakit.
natagpuan ko ang sagot
at ito ay
*wala.
Marge Redelicia Nov 2014
he is a winter lake,
embraced by white,
snow-capped shorelines.
his clear and pristine waters
are topped with smooth stillness:
inches of ice
that glows along with the moonlight.

she is a summer sea
with vast warm waters
and wild waves
that crash on yellow sandy shores.
she glistens with the pink rays
of the afternoon sunset
while hiding dark mysteries
for hundreds of feet.
i forgot why i wrote this. such vagueness haha.
Marge Redelicia Dec 2013
in the morning
we struggle with the bed sheets that
wrap us, bind us

in the afternoon
we crawl to our desks
and burn our faces
with radiation
from our phones, from our laptops
reasoning, pleading, typing, and clicking
away the words and sentences
that could decide our fates

in the evening
the voices sharing laughter and stories are
nowhere
to be found in the dinner table
there is only the hurried clanging
of forks and knives against porcelain
we swallow several morsels of reheated leftovers
and just drown our stomachs with coffee and pills
the breath of our sighs fill the air
and bring us to suffocation

we drag our limbs
to wherever
the answers and solutions may be
with all our might,
we anchor ourselves against the world's spin

our sunken weary eyes
glance at each other from time to time
no words are spoken
but from those fleeting moments
we know the burdens that the other carries
as much as our hearts ache to
we can't help each other
because we're already too lost helping ourselves
Edited! Just noticed that I accidentally deleted an entire stanza of the poem!
Marge Redelicia Apr 2014
I've already died a thousand deaths
For my heart would
Stop
From every time
You called my name
So, no
I don't mind at all
Dying one final time
For **Yours
Marge Redelicia Nov 2013
You are not the width of your hips
You are not the shade of your skin
You are not the fabrics in your closet
You are not the electronics that you own
You are not the papers in your wallet
You are not what you possess
You are not what you look like

You are the songs that you sing to in the shower
You are the shows that you stay up watching
You are the books that you read for hours
You are the poems and stories you make
You are the art you create, the strokes of your fingers
You are the subjects in school you enjoy learning
You are the dreams you have for tomorrow
You are the people you look up to
You are the friends you spend Friday nights with
You are the boys that you kiss
You are how you talk to your parents
You are what you love
**You are how you love
Marge Redelicia Jan 2014
You are my
December because you seem to
     emanate a golden glow,
          quite like of parols swinging from tall streetlamps
December in how you
     brush through my hair like a cool, gentle breeze
          brought by the northeast wind of
               clear blue skies and fair weather.
December also in the way you
     wrap your arms around me
          tightly, it
               reminds me of my favorite warm, woolly sweater that
                    my dear grandma knitted for me.
        You are my
December in how you
     light up my eyes like
          the Christmas lights that twinkle on the Christmas tree
No, actually, more like the
     fireworks that set fire to
          the midnight sky on New Year's Eve
December because
     you are a great gift
          like the secret surprises tucked under the Christmas tree
     you are a sweet treat
          like a gingerbread coated with colorful sugar,
               freshly baked and toasty
     you refresh me
          like the much needed break that lasts for two weeks
    You are my
December because
     you leave me melting
          like the mini mallows sprinkled  
               on my hot choco steaming
     You are my
December because

  
I love December
A parol is a Christmas ornament in the Philippines that's shaped like a star. Just google it; it's pretty.
I know that it's January already but Christmas in the Philippines lasts until February anyway so here you go ** ** Merry Christmas!

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