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Nov 2018 · 251
Tadhana
Michael Joseph Nov 2018
Hapon tayo unang nagkita at pareho tayong nag-iisa
dinadamdam mo ang lamig ng kahapon, ang paglisan
minamasdan ko sa layo ng araw ang iyong halina

Mahirap mag-intay sa ilap ng mga sulyap,
tanglaw sa tuwing naghahanap-kayakap
sa mapangakit na halina ng mga ngiti sa labing
malabong magdikit kahit sa pangarap

Sana’y sapat na ang mga awit
ng mga tulang binigkas sa hangin,
nagbabakasakaling maipadama ang lalim
at tugma ng pag-ibig na nilihim

Sa gabi, mag-isa na naman at dama ang lamig
yakap ang unan, hawak ang kumot
nag-iilusyong kasama ka

Sana’y maulit muli ang sumpa
sana’y walang takot sa halina
‘pagkat sanay na tayo sa lamig ng gabi
alam na natin ang ingay o init
at takot na tayong mabighani

Sa umaga, mag-isa na naman at dama ang init
masaya na sa halik ng kape sa labi
nag-iilusyong kasama ka.

Hapon tayo unang nagkita at pareho tayong nag-iisa
dinamdam mo ang lamig ng kahapong kaysakit
ninamnam ko ang tamis ng kalayaan sa pasakit

sana’y tanghali nalang tayo nagkapiling
sana’y di pa sanay o manhid sa pag-ibig.

Tadhana
Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit
6/19/2016
Michael Joseph Nov 2018
Hindi na ako muling uulit sa mga saglit ng pagiging makata
sapagkat mahapdi sa tenga ang magkaroon ng isang bagong awit
kahit pa walang mabulaklak na salita ang paliparin
dinig pa rin ay ang bulaang himig ng pagiging batang ganid

Sapagkat musmos pa, at isinumpang maging mahina
dapat na laging maniwala sa mga sabi-sabi
sumunod sa paikot-ikot na pagkirot na dulot ng pagiging salot
naniniwalang kami’y uod ganid sa mga pangarap na dulot ng paglaki
Ngunit ang totoo’y hangad lang namin ay lumipad, at maging malaya

Bakit nga ba ganid at mapangangkin ang tingin sa mga makata?
dahil ba ang kanilang mga awit ay tungkol sa pagbibigay laya?
Bakit nga ba mayabang at mapagmataas ang tingin sa mga bata?
dahil ba sa kanila’y nag-aabang ang panibagong bukas?
O lahat ay dahil sa mga sabi-sabi ng mga matatanda.

Ito na nga ang huli kong awit
Sapagkat ang pagiging makata
At ang pagiging bata
Ay ang pagbabakas
ng bagong paniniwala.

Nagsalita na Naman ang Baliw
Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit
Nov 2018 · 4.7k
Sa Ilalim ng mga Ipil
Michael Joseph Nov 2018
Sa tag-init tayo nagkatagpo dala ang uhaw
nais mapawi ang pagkatuyot sa tag-araw
mga lalamunang di nadadaluyan
hanap ay tubig, mga umiibig sa lamig
sa daloy ng awit ng mga Ipil
at sa mga aalalang nabuo
sa bawat paglagok, sa bawat isa
mga alaalang nabuo sa tag-araw.

alaala pa ang pagpalakpak ng mga dahon
minsan lang masiyahan sa pagpapalit-panaog
ng tag-araw at tag-ulan
panga-pangakong binuo sa ilalim ng araw
pinagdarasal ng mga kahapon
di pa rin nalilimot,
mga tuyong ugat ng mga pusong sawi
sa pag-ibig na tubig sa tag-init
minsan lang magkaniig

dahil ikaw at ako ay minsan ng nanirahan dito
bumuo ng mga alaaalang impit na itinago
sa ilalim ng mga punong saksi sa mga uhaw na puso,
sa marahang pag-indayog ng mga dahong maririkit
sa bawat pag-ihip ng hanging mainit
sa katawang binalot ng mga sala
at sa bawat pagbabalik sa alaala
ikaw pa rin ang tanging nakikita
sa bawat paglampas ng liwanag
sa maririkit na butas ng kahapong
sa ilalim ng ipil nakatago

Heto na naman ang tag-init
hudyat ay muling pag-udyok
sa uhaw na pusong may pangangailangan
tuyot ang daloy sa bawat paghinga
sa bawat pag-ihip  kulang ang haplos
bawat hagod ay paos.


Alaala ka sa mga sinag ng araw
umaalpas sa mga dahon ng ipil
mga hapong napawi ang init ng tag-araw
nakakulong pa rin sa mga alaala
sa ilalim ng punong puno ng pagmamahal
sa kahapon at ako na di pa rin nagsasawa

sa ilalim ng mga Ipil
maghihintay sayo

Sa Ilalim ng mga Ipil
Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit

04/11/2016
Nov 2018 · 117
Simula
Michael Joseph Nov 2018
Ito ang huling hapon ng mga alaala,
kupas na larawang sinikap maipinta
mga araw at gabing lipas na ng panahon
sa pag-indayog ng abo, at pagkaway ng damo
paalam sa mga nakaraang siphayo
paglubog ng araw, at ang buwan ng pag-ahon
sa hapon, at sa paglamon ng dilim sa liwanag
ang pagwaksi sa sariling naging duwag

Tapusin na ang dalita sa iyong gunita
Mga araw na unos ng paghihikahos
pagkapaos sa bigong pagsusumamo
sapagkat ito ang oras ng pag-agos
pagdaloy ng tubig, pagpawi sa kapos
sa agos, sa pagpaparaya, sa mga alaala

Bagamat tayo ay binuo ng mga pagsubok
at may mga lamat ng pagkapusok
alalahanin, tayo ay mga piraso
ng isang buong sining ng Maylikha
pagsamasamahin, tayo ay buo
magkakahiwalay man ay nabubuklod
hangaring mabuti ang maglingkod.

Simula
Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit
May 2018 · 216
Rosewilt
Michael Joseph May 2018
Let the colors fall off
a deep unbecoming
of a hundred stories
ended with a dot.

a black blot consuming
deep in the heart
let petals feel the wilting
like a dying art

death is unbearable
though a hundred masks worn
each faces wilt, with smiles undone
for a soul has never been alone

this was a story inside of this cage
of a hundred tales untold
visions of death and mourning
now knowing fear uncalled

with a thousand chants to pray at night
let this troubled heart be brave
with a thousand chance to fear the grave
be the hand that lead my fate
Rosewilt
11/02/2016
May 2018 · 216
hahanapin din
Michael Joseph May 2018
hinahanap pa rin kita
sa bawat araw na lumipas
mga gabing kaakap ang lamig
sa mga nakatagong larawang kupas
pinamarisan ng mga alaala
nakapinid sa’king damdamin
hinahanap pa rin

ang mga haplos at yakap
nakakulong sa mga kahapong
naglaho kasabay ng mga ulan,
at sa pag tila ng mga patak
ay siyang pag-agos ng aking luha
para sa mga alaalang
hinahanap kita

sa simoy ng tag-ulan
sa mga bakas ng agos ng luha
sa malamig na hanging dulot
ng mga madidilim na ulap
at sa mga naiwang alaala
hinahanap kita

kahit saan man mapunta aking mga paa
sa pag-iisa at sa paghahanap-karamay
sa walang hanggang agos ng kalungkutan
hinahanap pa rin
ang mga alaala
ng kahapong

hahanapin din
sayo.

Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit
04/07/2017
This is an entry for my post-baccalaureate degree in Creative Writing. I am planning to take a new step in poetry.
Michael Joseph May 2018
Friendly were their smiles, they do not bite,

They stay and fly and lie until they might;

Till they choke you they will hear your song,

Crimson black, a heart as dark as gold.


Lonely and their chantings made me sway,

In my heart and mind I let them play,

The bleeding: stays forgotten and in vain,

The winged: still fly and not even in pain.


True lies lies through a fooling craft:

A blade, a word that strikes the back

Eye the lonely scarecrow-no grace in fall

-pity not the act but help my soul.


Now the black winged seized the day,

Chase another living song to play;

Still moments still chase my stolen dreams:

This is death bound to eternal pain.


Friendly were the crows they do not bite,

Only make you bleed your life, and die.

Will I grow tired of pain, will I grow old?

I rest embraced by death, embrace the cold.


The Day I Bid the Crows Goodbye
11/11/17
This is a poem written when I was feeling berated by my thesis partners.
Nov 2017 · 290
Summertime
Michael Joseph Nov 2017
It struck me, like the heat underneath
my palms and the love we shared
under the glare, beyond the beats
I long to feel, now snared.

Wish the clock can stop its tick
with roses, thorns, and ******
the heat, another magic trick
going deep, going quick, a strong kick

is fading. yet I ravish you today
with a kiss, or a bliss of bites
with a tease, or a wistful play
a fading, yet no regret.

for I loved you like this heat
with its embrace and curse
I loved you for the beat
but the water quenched my thirst.
I was trying to upload a lot since I was inactive because of the workload of teaching literature.
Nov 2017 · 297
Rain People
Michael Joseph Nov 2017
like raindrops when the storm passed
with no rainbows, but still gray skies
let make the path on window panes
let live a trace, but leave no face
on silent deaths becoming clear
of the dark paths made from tears

feel the cold embrace of this cage
of the thousand cries unheard
and a hundred wounds still fresh
with every path on window panes
that lead to the cold hard ground,
with a crash that leads to a loss
but gives life to dear earth

we  are dancers of a feast of stories
of life and death and our momentary clouds
like the paths we made  that meets the ground
after the rain has passed
For all who loves the rain, and the freedom that it brings to a burdened soul
Michael Joseph Nov 2017
Sa’yo ko unang narinig ang katagang “mahal kita”,
sa labi **** mapula at sa salitang
sinambit nang una tayong magkita
tag-ulan, sa ilalim ng tagpi-tagping ala-aala
“Mahal na mahal kita”.

mahirap at malabo ng mabuo ngunit sapat na ito
ang mga ala-alang kasama ko pag malamig
at ramdam ang paglampas ng hangin sa pinto
at sa anino **** palayo ng palayo

Ngunit nandito pa rin ako para sa’yo
dahil sa mga katagang mahal kita
at sa bawat paglipas ng oras
lagi kong nilalasap ang dati mo ng binigkas

Sa’yo ko unang narinig ang katagang “mahal kita”,
at mahal talaga kita, sapagkat ikaw lamang
wala ng dahilan pa, hanggang
(“Mahal, minahal kita’)
tapos na ang tag-ulan.
Oct 2017 · 213
The Beating
Michael Joseph Oct 2017
The beating started from one to two
once an unending chant for you,
with love and hate and all its colors
speak soft then strong with rings of dolors

the beatings went from three to four
till roses turned to violet skin
she was blindfolded and never keen
till she was left to jump a hill

the beatings went from four to fire,
she knew she loved a liar,
she played her last song of curses
till the beatings stopped
and her strings were veins of blue

The beating was a broken chord
she ended the last note for her pyre
not a tear shed for her cursed lyre
This is a poem dedicated to the victims of abusive relationships. I always post my poems on my Facebook account, you may try to browse and pm me before you add me if you have time. I am willing to talk. xoxo
Jun 2017 · 115
Untitled
Michael Joseph Jun 2017
Monodies

There were songs left lost with chords
of lonely aims, of hearts unclaimed
of things like death off-beat.
like doom of keys now breaking
or doors kept sealed kept screeching.

The poem,

This heart that lost its melody
and stopped its pace but not its peace;
of caged laments, unbreathing,
self-poisoned, imprisoned
still not unhoping.

The poet,

The voice of a silent noise,
kept sealed with unheard poise
of love, kept locked, forgotten;
remembered duets, of you and I
of the beats and the claps and the vow
of a written song unsung, till now
was a beating never present;
and we are never one but two
melodious but no harmony
together, alone.

The lines,

All connected, but not you,
and I was left still singing

The love,

still not unhoping.
This is a poem written for a friend who lost hope to life, and killed himself
Jun 2016 · 428
Defining Fred
Michael Joseph Jun 2016
Fred has to be a male,
so, he must be masculine,
a muscle man, an alpha bag,
with a core made of ego.

Fred as a noun is something known,
He must be working with his hands,
not with his mind, no thinking.
He must be strong, and fit and sporty,
not a kid who is *** for not lifting
- a kid is a *** if his not sporty.

Fred is a guy so he must smoke,
adore the feeling of the coke,
Drink his beer and get a toast,
he must be **** smelling dope.

Fred is a man so he must have pride,
Never cry, never try to apologize,
and he must think he is always right;
like the way fathers, brothers,
often won an argument,
as punches and fists were persuasive.

Fred is a male so he must love women,
women as in **** ladies in bikinis,
**** ladies as in ****, making love,
so he must love ***, love as in having fun,
having fun as in playing with everyone,
and he is macho for doing that.

Fred is a name who is always feared,
of his tounge and cursing,
acting tough, controlling,
like a god, he is supreme,
his words ****** every being,
with hurt, and dissappointment.

Fred is a dude so he must be a champ,
he must be the first in every rank,
he is the strongest and toughest guy,
and he must be vain for looking tough,
looking at the mirror, self-adoring,
“Who’s the fairest of them all?”

Fred is a man, so he must always be mad,
mad as in angry, always ready to fight,
his enemies were himself if his outsmarted,
her girl if she’s disobedient,
her wife if he thinks she’s unfaithful,
the **** for they are sinners but cowardly;
and all his anger is a real strong punch,
or a slap, or a curse, or a high-sounding insult,
or the smoking of a pack of coke or puff.

Fred?
He is a guy, so he must fail to express himself.
Jun 2016 · 259
Bedtime
Michael Joseph Jun 2016
It was all about her and I, separated
by the sheets and the **** of my ego,
and the scratch that left a scar
bleeding once again.

Tonight is a night of cold stares,
of I talking to the wall,
her eyes darting on the door,
a soul wandering what’s left to hold,
but there is none and I’m alone.

The bed is a cage for forgotten sorries,
with the pillow as the lock,
and our tears, the key
to our broken hearts,
It will flow till we regret,
what we don’t know,
Till we are united
by the fluids
of our love,
again.

Love is formed from spoken thoughts,
of disgust, or remorse,
or *** and love,
Jun 2016 · 490
Angels
Michael Joseph Jun 2016
There are no lights after sunsets
no small talks, no masquerades,
no wavy lights pretending,
no hazy smokes, no darkness.
everything circling reality.

with echoing laughter at night
once slaughtered sights of sleep
undressed the veil, unveiling horns
I was walking in the dark to deep
-there I lost my wings, and fell

for once, we are one in the dark
in memories too soon forgotten
no vivid sights, but echoes
to the heart or to the soul
inside our small earth, enveloping

the night, once innocent
with the dawning of every soul
once a place of redemption
now with fire burning beatings
of  hearts unwinged uncoiled.

and our laughters kept going
like a duet of curses in the air,
a song of the world, of reality
of the unweaving of the soul
once masked, now true.
I wrote this poem to the love I was hoping to have.
Jun 2016 · 607
White walls
Michael Joseph Jun 2016
There are things hidden behind walls of homes
seemingly perfect allusions- illusions for living
with peace, or pretending, just to keep ties together
-blood-drenched ribbons of red or violet for silent grievances

for souls once screaming prayers in the day for the night to stop
as nightmares keep ruining, and stabbing the trying to be healed
by illusions that people grow with love, not pain, and changed
in time, not painted, by colors of  black and white, pretending
to be good or bad like riddles, trying to get rid of the other devils

not the angels, but monsters, or the devil, or the demon in a nightmare
frightening the child inside the cage, of seemingly strong bonds of love
preventing cries to be heard, shoo to the bad spirits, shoo away the ruins!
but the cracks are still there, thrown far to be forgotten, or to believe
that demons can grow wings of angels, and break their horns in time
-for the need to keep the ribbon tied, and bleached to keep clean from stains.

but the feeble child was still there, behind the walls, weeping
a weak angel screaming curses from his heart, remembered
though I’ve grown horns and tails for breaking His laws.
now I am awakened, but the white walls are still there
and the ribbon still tied, but the stains are marred, still fresh
like the demon  still not forgotten.
This is a poem addressed to victims of abuse by parents, older brothers and sisters and other relatives, like I.
May 2016 · 361
To Love a Bird
Michael Joseph May 2016
To love a bird, you must let it fly,
for it belonged up in the sky,
always flying, wings flapping
always touching  heavens
but not I.

To love a bird, don’t cause its death
don’t cause it hurt or curse its birth-
wings are meant to fly,
hands are made to reach the sky
like love forever hanging.

To love a bird, just set it free,
just take a look for you to see:
a flight so beautiful without an owner,
wings of freedom, unchained forever.

To love a bird, learn to let go,
and never shed a tear or so,
birds are never caged after they’re freed,
learned to seek another single tick.

To love a bird is not to own,
to love a single day, but not the nights
to kiss a bit of heaven, but not the sprite.
May 2016 · 209
Mute
Michael Joseph May 2016
Loved you in my thoughts
for there I found no rejection;
a dream surreal no pain is felt
-a dream so real that love is meant

by words savored, my thoughts
in pursed lips imagining:
we walked together,
drink our thoughts,
shared our bodies
-redemption.

Inside, our lovelocks never rust,
in dreams of bond and trust:

Beating one not two or three
no pace, no race unfelt
breathing steady, I’m  unfree
of words of love unsaid

Of illusions fooling the man
in failing search of an embrace:
no heat is felt on painted hugs,
no beat is present in your stares.

The blind, in love, will never care.

The mute, in love, still waiting.
May 2016 · 209
The Spell
Michael Joseph May 2016
The spell was a spell of words half meant,
half truth, half lie
half fooled, half loved;
Like blades half struck,
In a beating heart,
half dead, still beating,
in an unending hymn
of a sonorous howl.

The spell was a spell of love half spent,
half joy, and hatred;
of pain of blindness;
Till his eyes saw,
That the paths lead,
to a half-made pyre
for him, alone.

The spell was a spell of lies unmasked,
half strangled glares
of smiles, of smirks,
for the silly man
who fully gave his love
but have no rose to keep.

To the dark lady, wearing pearls
Rich and dark, and foolish,
half living, half happy
in her throne of hearts:
the witch, and mad
of her vengeful thirst.

I the victim, I the cursed
half forgetting; halted thirst
for her blessing,
for her; her spell
an unending chant of a man's doom.

— The End —