Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Carlo C Gomez Jan 12
~
Poor deluded brute
he waves his sword
in orchestration
to a ruthless symphony
played for miserable centuries:
the running of the bulls
"sketches of pain"
some monsters come
decked out in hat and cape
inside the arena of his pride
where he hears the chant
within the arts of
cowardice and cruelty
where he envisions
the feathered crown

Gala! Gala!
"how to see the toreador"
lost as San Fermín
pricked by hairpin
pierced by ragged horn
suerte de la muerte (luck of death)
foreshadowing Hemingway
turns into the troubled sun
and underneath his muleta
a deep red
blood alchemy
his fame spilling out
in drips and drabs
as the crowd sings
'Pobre de Mí (Poor Me)'
to the mystic stab of church bells

~
No rush of the bulls
filled these narrow cobbled streets
where tradition and
songs sounded over pinxos,
and stories of San-Fermin.
Jose Remillan May 2016
Sa tuwing hahapon ka't
Tanaw ng matá, paglao'y
Aagawin ng jeep palayo,
Paulit-ulit kong hinahanda
Ang kilometrong di man
Kalayuan, animo'y madalim
Na ulap pa ring lumulukob

Sa'king kaligiran. Hihintayin
Ka't papayapain, sa pagitan
Ng pangitain at pag-asa, na
Ilang ulit mang ulitin ang
Saglit na paglayo, walang
Makakahadlang, tayo ay

Sasagpang at kukubli sa lingid
Na daigdig upang maging
Mangingipon ng oras, ng rosas.
Ngayon: bagyo sa labas, unos sa
Loob. Sa tuwing hahapon ka't

Tanaw ng mata, paglao'y aagawin
Ng jeep palayo. Ngunit hindi ang
Puso, hindi ang pagsuyo.

— The End —