Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
s i r May 9
Ulap sa lupa ang maputlang buhok
Sing kinang ng pilak, sing pilak ng usok
Isang obra maestrang handog ng Panginoon
Sagisag ng nakalipas na halos isang daang taon

Sa balat malinaw ang mga lumipas na panahon
Tigib sa pinong linya at kulubot
Sa mukha nama’y walang kolorete, alahas o pulbos
Kasing kinis ng balat ng masintahing musmos

Sa mga mata’y nakalubog ang karanasan at karunungan
Naipon ng mga pagkakamaling pinagdaanan
At ang mga tala sa langit, bumababa sa lupa
Napunta ang kinang sa mga matang minsan nang lumuha

Ang gaspang ng buhangin sa palad ay ipinasa
Marka ng walang katapusang pag-aalaga
Sa kanilang buhay ay alumpihit, pagod
Upang tayo ay mabuhay ng malugod.

Lahat ng sugat, pagod, galos, at kulubot
Ito’y pagmamahal ni inay na walang pag-iimbot
Sana’y maunawaan mo ang nakikita ko
Sa puting buhok at gaspang ng palad kagandahan ay totoo
John AD May 2018
Malamig ang hangin , kumukulog
Mga taong tulog sa pagilid aking napapansin
Malalakas pa naman sila dati pero napagod nadin
Dating masasama ang motibo , naliwanagan ng positibo

Simula pagkabata trato sayo hindi makatao
Marangyang pamumuhay noon , isa na lamang litrato
Naalala ko pa nga ang boses na galit at imahe nito
Ako'y inis na inis subalit mali ang pagsagot ng apo

Madalas ako mapagalitan siguro matigas nga ang aking ulo
Kung dati madalas ko silang marinig sa mundong ito
Ngayon tila isang panahon na lamang ang pagpaparamdam nito
Lagi nalang silang nagpapahinga para matagal pa namin silang makasama
Cyprian Van Dyke Sep 2017
A masked man
Steps up to the plate,
In front of the umpire.
.
He puts the bat on his shoulder
And swings away.
.
The ball flies covered with fire.
.
Today
This cosplay has turned
Into a masquerade.
But
The pitcher has the game
In the palm of his hand.
He’s the phantom of the opera,
And he’s the fan in the stands.
He looks at the batter with
Tasmanian eyes.
As he holds the bat to his shoulder
The crowd sees his ears are tied.
He’s the only batter that’s
Dating the only cheerleader,
That
Is long-eared crazy hot and funny
And cheering with the daffy duck
Mascot
In front of the team's dugout.
.
Today’s game went into dusk
But by night everything went
Away,
Like it never even ever existed
In the first place.
.
A little boy, George Herman Ruth, Jr,
Is the only human that saw the game
& it put the biggest smile on his face.
But as the moon and stars shone
Upon the empty field
It reflected his dream.
.
He left and then painted
his life…after his dream.
Sep 18, 2017
"Every strike brings me closer to the next home run,"
-Babe Ruth i.e. George Herman Ruth, Jr.
Okay, what made reading this Poem worthwhile for you??
PS May 2016
I know why Lola did it.
And I know she'll do it again.
Someone like me has got to leave
I've just gotta figure out when.

I know why Lola did it.
It wasn't just for fun.
It's taken me two years of tears
But now I've narrowed it to one.

I know why Lola did it.
She'd done it all before.
What a friend I have and then
Nobody will let me know any more.

Lola is the type to stay hidden in the grass,
In the past, in the night
One second I'm stuck here in fright.
She's still so young in her mind,
So unkind, so alive
Let me tell you I'm not a child.
Lola.

I know why Lola did it.
She couldn't stand the thought.
Of him choosing me over her
So she had to let him rot.

Lola.
Lola.
Why?
Lola is a real person who's name has been changed. What a strange lady.
Falling to earth with such a crash,
antenna waves and legs do thrash
as panic fills this quiet place,
invading visitor is fast to race.

It chirps so loud, out into the night
perhaps to explain its weary plight.
In hope that someone may attend
and come to rescue a dear friend.

Alas the latter does not show
but I think that it doesn't know,
as off it stalks with knowledge none,
his fate is not an healthy one.

I sit in such a peaceful state.
Contented just to sit and wait
until this morsel feels secure.
As legs thrash through silky lure.

Until that time with such a gasp,
the critter steps into my grasp.
To struggle now is not of worth
as my fangs intrude throughout its girth.

With a body now so soft and limp,
interior now a lovely drink.
Its frenzied kicks to get away
for this cricket will never pay.

Venoms course, its presense felt,
a life that dwindles with the melt.
All that's left are bones to crunch
As this Tarantula enjoys her lunch
August 2012

— The End —