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AUGUST Sep 2018
Sino ba ang modernong vincentiano?
Ano ba ang kanyang pagkatao?
Nagtatanong sa sarili ko
Habang pinagmamasdan ang mahinanang kamay
Kung anong magawa ko
Dito ba sa munting palad nakahimlay
Ang lahat ng kakayahan ko?

Anong meron ako, anong meron tayo? kundi kaalaman.

Kaalaman na di galing sa sabi sabi nilang “hugot”
Kundi sa piraso ng mga aral na ating pinulot
Dahil sa disiplina tayo y nililok
Ang kabutihang asal sa diwa ay pumasok

Mula sa Mga **** nating tinuturing na magulang,
Mga mababang tao na ating ginagalang,
Mga taong nakilala mula ng tayo’y musmos pa lang
Ipinamana sa atin ang pananampalataya, pagpapakumbaba, at kabutihan

Ang tanggapin ang katotohanan,
At hangganan ng kakayahan
Ang malaman ang kahinaan, kahit may kasimplehan
Pilit inaabot ang makatulong ng buong kalooban

Ng walang hinihintay na kapalit
Tulad ng modelo nating si San Bisente (st. Vincent)
Na sa pagtulong ay di napagod
Kaya sa mata ng Diyos naging kalugod lugod

Salamat sa  Amang nasa itaas
Na nagbibigay ng lakas
Ang lakas na di nauubos
Para sa aming misyon na di pa rito natatapos

Sandata ay ang panalangin
Lakas ng loob at damdamin
Dahil sa Diyos na mahabagin
Walang pagsubok sa buhay ang hindi kakayanin

Ating misyon, ang tumulong sa mga kapus palad at nawawalan
Hindi lang sa taong nawawalan ng materyal na kayamanan
Kundi para sa mga taong naliligaw, nalilito at nagugulumihan
Pagkat ating ramdam ang bawat hirap
Ang bigat na tinitiis ng bawat taong may pinapasan

Handang makiramay at ibigay ang anuman
Para lamang ang paghihirap sa pighati ay maibsan
Pagkat sa bawat taong ating natutulongan
gantimpalang pangkaluluwa ang dapat ipagyaman

Sino ang gumagawa nito?
Sino ba ang modernong vincentiano?
Isa ba ako sa mga ito?
Ang modernong vincentiano ay di lang ako kundi tayo
Ang modernong vincentaino ay nagsasakripisyo at mapagpakumbabang nagseserbisyo
Ang modernong vincentiano ang magpapatuloy ng ating kwento.
Ang tula kong ipinanalo ng first runner up sa isang slam poetry competition ng event na may temang "Ang Modernong Vincentiano" noong September 26, 2018.
050916

Minulat tayong may sukli ng kasaysayan,
Saksi sa matinding gisahan ng rekado sa Tahanan.
Pangako'y iniukit ng mga Anak na payak
Nagbabasagan ng plato, nagtitilamsikang tubig,
Pagbili ng lakas ng loob
at talas ng dila sa Pulitikang Tindahan;
Luha't dangal, pawang huling hain
Ng Ama't Ina ng Lipunan.

Nakakangalay makisabay sa uso
Kung nawalay pati ang yupi-yuping puso.
Hindi tayo nagpaampon sa Lipunang mapanukso,
Yakap ang Langit, uhaw lamang sa pagbabago!

Sumisigaw ang damdaming nilusaw ang galit,
Ang pait ng kahapong sinabuyan ng panlalait.
Minsan, sobra ang demokrasya kaya't may kapalit.
Kaya't minsa'y susulong bagkus panay ang subalit.

Hindi natin kayang palayasin ang Ama't Ina,
Kung ngayon pa lang, may mga multong rebelde na.
Hindi natin kayang itaboy ang kamay ng Hari ng mga Isla,
Pagkat tayo'y ibinigkis, iba't iba man ang pananampalataya.
At higit pa sa pulso ng Bayan ang nagluklok sa kanila.
Mainam na ngang masaktan sa una,
Kung saan dunong at talino'y maituon sa pagpapakumbaba.
Masakit sa loob kapag tinatama ka,
At bawat palo't kusang pagdidisiplina.

Kung hindi susundin silang Ama't Ina,
Kung hindi magpapasakop sa babaguhing sistema,
Kung hindi huhubarin ang estadong may ibang klima,
Hinding-hindi bubuhos ang pagpapala.

Umaasa tayo pagkat di natin kayang mag-isa,
Sandigan nati'y hindi na Pulitikang Balisa,
Sana'y pag-iisip ay mabago ng Amang may grasya,
At tayo'y maging bahagi ng paghilom ng bansa.
Eugene Oct 2018
"Anak, ilang oras na lang, aakyat ka na sa entablado. Proud na proud ako sa iyo, anak" wika ng kaniyang ina habang inaayos ang suot niyang toga. Isang matamis na ngiti naman pinakawalan ng binata at niyakap nang mahigpit ang ina.

Ito na ang araw na pinakahihintay niya.

Ang araw na magtatapos na siya sa kolehiyo.

Ang araw na pinaka-pinanabikan niyang dumating sa buong buhay niya.

"Anak, mauna ka na muna roon sa unibersidad at ako ay susunod na lamang. May tatapusin lang ako rito sa ating tahanan. Hindi puwedeng hindi maganda ang iyong ina kapag akay-akay kitang nagma-martsa,"  Isang halik sa pisngi ang iginawad ng ina sa anak.

Lumipas pa ang dalawang oras, isa, at hanggang sa naging tatlumpung minuto na lamang ay hindi pa rin nakikita ng binata ang kaniyang ina. Kabadong-kabado na siya nang mga sandaling iyon.

"ROGEN! ROGEN!" sigaw ng isang tinig. Hinanap ni Rogen ang pinanggalingan ng tinig at doon ay nakita niya ang kaniyang matalik na kaibigang hingal na hingal na tumatakbo patungo sa kaniya.

"Bakit tila hapong-hapo ka, Arwan?" aniya.

"Ang--ina. Ang-- iyong ina! isinugod sa ospital ang iyong ina,"  agad namang kumaripas ng takbo si Rogen, suot-suot ang togang mayroon siya upang puntahan ang pinakamalapit na ospital sa kanilang bayan nang marinig ang tungkol sa ina.

Habang tinatakbo ang daan patungo ay hindi napigilan ni Rogen ang pagpatak ng mga luha sa kaniyang mga mata. Nang marating ang ospital ay agad niyang pinuntahan ang information desk. Sinabi ng nars na nasa emergency room ang kaniyang pakay at hindi pa nakakalabas ang doktor.

Pinuntahan niya ang emergency room at doon ay natagpuan niya ang sariling kausap ang kaniyang amang matagal niyang hindi nakita.

"Rogen, anak," agad siyang niyakap nito. Hindi naman nakapagsalita si Rogen dahil ang puso at isipan niya ay nasa kaniyang ina.

"Anak, patawarin mo ako kung ngayon lamang ako nakauwi at hindi ko inasahang sa muling pagkikita namin ng iyong ina ay aatakihin siya ng kaniyang sakit sa puso," mulagat ang mga mata ni Rogen nang marinig ang salitang iyon. May sakit ang kaniyang ina at hindi niya alam? Inalalayan siya ng kaniyang ama na umupo at doon sinabi sa kaniya ang lahat.

"Anak, graduation mo ngayon. Kabilin-bilinan ng iyong ina kanina bago siya atakihin ng kaniyang sakit na kailangan **** daluhan ang pagtatapos mo. Wala man siya o nasa tabi mo man daw siya ay dapat personal **** abutin ang diploma mo at ang medalya **** apat na taong mo ring pinaghirapang makamit," patuloy ang pag-agos ng mga luha sa mga mata ng kaniyang ama habang siya ay humahagulgol na. Ang medalyang iyon sana ang sorpresa niya sa kaniyang ina pero mukhang nalaman na rin niya pala ito.

"Mayroon ka na lamang sampung minuto upang bumalik sa unibersidad at kunin ang iyong medalya at diploma, anak. Ako na ang bahala sa iyong ina. Alam kong bibigyan pa siya ng Panginoong makita ang medalya at diploma mo. Tuparin mo ang bilin niya, Rogen."

Kahit mabigat sa kalooban ay pinahiran ni Rogen ang kaniyang mga luha at tumayo. Sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon ay ginantihan niya ang yakap ng kaniyang ama at mabilis na tumakbo palabas sa ospital .

Sampung minuto na nang makalabas siya sa ospital.

Siyam na minuto nang pumara siya ng masasakyan at dali-daling sumakay dito.

Walong minuto nang magsimulang umandar ang dyip.

Pitong minuto nang biglang bumagal ang usad ng mga sasakyan.

Anim na minuto nang iabot ni Rogen ang bayad sa drayber at naghintay pa ng isang minuto.

Limang minuto at hindi na nakatiis si Rogen. Bumaba na ito ng dyip.

Apat na minuto na at hindi na niya ramdam ang init nang mga oras na iyon maging ang mga nakabibinging busina ng mga sasakyan sa kalsada.

Tatlong minuto na at nasa tapat na siya ng unibersidad. Ang lahat ay nasa loob na ng convention hall.

Dalawang minuto na at kailangan niyang magmadali dahil dinig na dinig na niya ang pagtawag sa mga apelyido ng magsisipagtapos na nagsisimula sa letrang "B".

Isang minuto na at sa wakas narating din niya ang convention hall. Tamang-tama lang dahil buong pangalan na niya ang tinawag ng EMCEE.

"Batobalani, Ujuy Rogen, MAGNA *** LAUDE!"

Basang-basa na ng mga luha ang togang suot ni Rogen nang mga sandaling iyon pero taas-noo pa rin siyang naglakad upang umakyat sa entablado. Nanalangin sa isipang sana ay huwag munang kunin ang kaniyang ina.

Nang makaakyat ay binati siya ng mga naroon at isinabit sa kaniya ang kaniyang medalya.

"Everyone, let us hear the message of success to our first ever Magna *** Laude of West Visayas University - College of Education, Rogen Ujuy Batobalani!"

"Isang maikling talumpati lamang po ang aking ibibigay sa kadahilanang hindi ko po nakasama ang aking ina rito sa entablado upang magsabit sa akin ng aking medalya. Nasa emergency room po siya ngayon at nag-aagaw buhay." muli na namang pumatak ang kaniyang mga luha.

"Sa aking ina, nais kong malaman mo na walang araw na hindi ko inihahandog ang mga gantimpalang nakamit ko sa unibersidad na ito. At itong medalyang ito at ang diplomang kukunin ko ay para sa iyo. Para sa walang sawang pag-suporta mo sa akin. Para sa araw-araw **** pagpapaalala sa akin na ang buhay ng isang tao ay parang isang mahabang tulay na may iba't ibang uri ng balakid sa daang kailangang suungin, at lagpasan ng may lakas ng loob, tiwala, at malakas na kapit sa ating Panginoon upang makita ang dulo nito. Walang hanggan ang aking pasasalamat sa iyo, mahal kong ina. Mahal na Panginoon, maraming salamat din po at nagkaroon ako ng isang inang katulad niyang mabait, maalalahanin, maalaga at mapagmahal. Alam Niyo po ang iniiyak ng aking puso at nawa ay Iyo po itong pakinggan."

Ang hindi alam ni Rogen, matapos ang maikling talumpating iyon ay siya namang pagtigil ng tibok ng puso ng kaniyang ina sa ospital.
Mundo'y kayganda,
Puno ng hiwaga,
Ng pasimulang likhain
ng AMANG DAKILA!!!

Ngayon ay saksihan,
Ganda ng sanlibutan
Di malirip na kagandahan at kayamanan,
Na ibinigay sa atin ang karapatan.

AMA NA DAKILA!
Lahat kami ay pinag-pala,
Sa aming kasalanan
Ay nagpatawad ka!

Nagbigay pag-asa
sa kaluluwang dukha!
Dukha sa Liwanag
ng Iyong Ganda!!

AMA NA DAKILA!
kami ay Iyong pinag-pala,
Binigyan ng pag-asa, sa
Di malirip na pagkakasala!!!

Sa ngalan ni JESUS NA IDINAKILA
Dahil sa pagsunod sa AMANG DAKILA!
Hindi nag-alinlangan
Hanggang katapusan,

AMA sana'y bigyan kami
Ng pusong masunurin
Pag-iisip na puno ng dunong
Mula sa Iyong katwiran na puno ng katotohanan,

JESUS na aming PANGINOON,
Bahala kana po sa amin,
na LIWANAG sa amin ng DIYOS!!!
Kami ay Iyong dalhin,
Upang AMA ay aming KAMTIN
Hanggang sa katapusan ng aming Lakarin,!
A Tale

“Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke.”
                              —Gawin Douglas.

When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neebors neebors meet,
As market-days are wearing late,
An’ folk begin to tak’ the gate;
While we sit bousing at the *****,
An’ getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o’Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter,
(Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses).

O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise,
As ta’en thy ain wife Kate’s advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum,
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was nae sober;
That ilka melder, wi’ the miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev’ry naig was ca’d a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roarin fou on;
That at the Lord’s house, ev’n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi’ Kirkton Jean till Monday.
She prophesied that, late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon;
Or catched wi’ warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway’s auld haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthened sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale: Ae market-night,
Tam had got planted unco right;
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi’ reaming swats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony;
Tam lo’ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi’ sangs an’ clatter;
And aye the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi’ favours, secret, sweet, and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord’s laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E’en drowned himself amang the *****;
As bees flee hame wi’ lades o’ treasure,
The minutes winged their way wi’ pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O’er a’ the ills o’ life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white—then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow’s lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm.—
Nae man can tether time or tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o’ night’s black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he tak’s the road in,
As ne’er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as ‘twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed;
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed:
That night, a child might understand,
The De’il had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro’ dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet;
Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet;
Whiles glow’rin round wi’ prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford,
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoored;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Whare drunken Charlie brak’s neck-bane;
And thro’ the whins, and by the cairn,
Whare hunters fand the murdered bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Whare Mungo’s mither hanged hersel’.
Before him Doon pours all his floods;
The doubling storm roars thro’ the woods;
The lightnings flash from pole to pole;
Near and more near the thunders roll;
When, glimmering thro’ the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seemed in a bleeze;
Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing;
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst mak’ us scorn!
Wi’ tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi’ usquabae, we’ll face the devil!
The swats sae reamed in Tammie’s noddle,
Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle.
But Maggie stood right sair astonished,
Till, by the heel and hand admonished,
She ventured forward on the light;
And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance;
Nae cotillion, brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge:
He ******* the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl.—
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shawed the Dead in their last dresses;
And by some devilish cantraip sleight
Each in its cauld hand held a light,
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer’s banes in gibbet-airns;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a ****,
Wi’ his last gasp his gab did gape;
Five tomahawks, wi’ blude red-rusted;
Five scimitars, wi’ ****** crusted;
A garter, which a babe had strangled;
A knife, a father’s throat had mangled,
Whom his ain son o’ life bereft,
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi’ mair of horrible and awfu’,
Which even to name *** be unlawfu’.

As Tammie glowered, amazed and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious:
The Piper loud and louder blew;
The dancers quick and quicker flew;
They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleekit,
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linket at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans,
A’ plump and strapping in their teens;
Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flainen,
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!—
Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush, o’ gude blue hair,
I *** hae gi’en them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o’ the bonie burdies!

But withered beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags *** spean a foal,
Lowping and flinging on a crummock,
I wonder didna turn thy stomach.

But Tam kenned what was what fu’ brawlie:
‘There was ae winsome ***** and waulie’,
That night enlisted in the core
(Lang after kenned on Carrick shore;
For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perished mony a bonie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear);
Her cutty sark, o’ Paisley harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho’ sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little kenned thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi’ twa pund Scots (’twas a’ her riches),
*** ever graced a dance of witches!

But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was and strang),
And how Tam stood, like ane bewitched,
And thought his very een enriched;
Even Satan glowered, and fidged fu’ fain,
And hotched and blew wi’ might and main:
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a’ thegither,
And roars out, “Weel done, Cutty-sark!”
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied,
When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi’ angry fyke,
When plundering herds assail their byke;
As open pussie’s mortal foes,
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When “Catch the thief!” resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi’ mony an eldritch screech and hollow.

Ah, Tam! ah, Tam! thou’ll get thy fairin!
In hell they’ll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!
Kate soon will be a woefu’ woman!
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stane of the brig;
There at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the key-stane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi’ furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie’s mettle—
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the ****,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o’ truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother’s son, take heed:
Whene’er to drink you are inclined,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys o’er dear,
Remember Tam o’Shanter’s mare.
JOJO C PINCA Nov 2017
“Uncle **” utang sa’yo ng Vietnam ang kanyang kalayaan,
Ikaw ang amang mapagpalaya na sa kanila ay gumabay.
Ikaw ang dakilang liwanag na sa kanila’y pumatnubay,
Kahit sa gitna ng laksang lumbay hindi mo sila pinabayaan.
Wala kang katulad sa buong Vietnam, ikaw ang bayaning tunay.

Sa ilalim ng iyong pamumuno walong taon ninyong nilabanan
Ang mga Pranses sa mga palayan, bundok at lansangan. At
Matapos ang walong taon ng nakakapagod na pakikibaka sa
Wakas ay napasuko ninyo ang mga kaaway.

Subalit di-naglaon lumitaw ang isang bagong kaaway,
Ang Estados Unidos na s’yang bagong halimaw na gustong
Humalili sa mga kolonyalistang Pranses. Lahat ng kalupitan
Sa inyo ay ipinadanas subalit sa udyok at impluwensya mo
Hindi kayo sumuko. Matapos ang labing-anim na taon ng
Madugong pakikipag-tuos natalo din ang dambuhalang kaaway.
Isa kang tunay na rebolusyunaryo na karapat-dapat na mamuno.

Subalit isa rin palang makata na sumusulat ng mga tula,
Mga tulang gumigising sa puso’t kaluluwa ng bayan.
Sumusulat ka ng mga tula habang nakahimpil sa gubat,
Habang pinapanood ang pag-aani ng palay at nung ikaw ay
Nabilanggo dun sa Tsina sa loob ng labing-apat na buwan.
Wala kang ibang kapiling kundi ang iyong mga tula.

Binasa ko kahapon ang mga tula mo, ramdam ko ang
Bawat mensahe nito. Alam ko na sa bawat paghalik ng pluma
Sa papel ay kasama nito ang kaluluwa mo at ang sigaw ng puso
Mo. Mga tulang rebolusyunaryo ang tema at dating.

Ang dahon at bulaklak ay tiyak na malalanta pero hindi ang iyong mga tula; mananatili itong buhay at naka-kintal sa puso ng Vietnam. Wala kana nga Uncle ** pero lalagi kang buhay sa puso ng mga kababayan mo at sa bawat puso ng makatang rebolusyunaryo na tulad mo.
O Prince, O chief of many throned pow’rs!
        That led th’ embattled seraphim to war!
                      (Milton, Paradise Lost)

O thou! whatever title suit thee,—
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie!
Wha in yon cavern, grim an’ sootie,
     Clos’d under hatches,
Spairges about the brunstane cootie
     To scaud poor wretches!

Hear me, Auld Hangie, for a wee,
An’ let poor ****** bodies be;
I’m sure sma’ pleasure it can gie,
     E’en to a deil,
To skelp an’ scaud poor dogs like me,
     An’ hear us squeel!

Great is thy pow’r, an’ great thy fame;
Far ken’d an’ noted is thy name;
An’ tho’ yon lowin heugh’s thy hame,
     Thou travels far;
An’ faith! thou’s neither lag nor lame,
     Nor blate nor scaur.

Whyles, ranging like a roarin lion,
For prey a’ holes an’ corners tryin;
Whyles, on the strong-wing’d tempest flyin,
     Tirlin’ the kirks;
Whyles, in the human ***** pryin,
     Unseen thou lurks.

I’ve heard my rev’rend graunie say,
In lanely glens ye like to stray;
Or whare auld ruin’d castles gray
     Nod to the moon,
Ye fright the nightly wand’rer’s way
     Wi’ eldritch croon.

When twilight did my graunie summon
To say her pray’rs, douce honest woman!
Aft yont the **** she’s heard you bummin,
     Wi’ eerie drone;
Or, rustlin thro’ the boortrees comin,
     Wi’ heavy groan.

Ae dreary, windy, winter night,
The stars shot down wi’ sklentin light,
Wi’ you mysel I gat a fright,
     Ayont the lough;
Ye like a rash-buss stood in sight,
     Wi’ waving sugh.

The cudgel in my nieve did shake,
Each bristl’d hair stood like a stake,
When wi’ an eldritch, stoor “Quaick, quaick,”
     Amang the springs,
Awa ye squatter’d like a drake,
     On whistling wings.

Let warlocks grim an’ wither’d hags
Tell how wi’ you on ragweed nags
They skim the muirs an’ dizzy crags
     Wi’ wicked speed;
And in kirk-yards renew their leagues,
     Owre howket dead.

Thence, countra wives wi’ toil an’ pain
May plunge an’ plunge the kirn in vain;
For oh! the yellow treasure’s taen
     By witchin skill;
An’ dawtet, twal-pint hawkie’s gaen
     As yell’s the bill.

Thence, mystic knots mak great abuse,
On young guidmen, fond, keen, an’ croose;
When the best wark-lume i’ the house,
     By cantraip wit,
Is instant made no worth a louse,
     Just at the bit.

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord,
An’ float the jinglin icy-boord,
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord
     By your direction,
An’ nighted trav’lers are allur’d
     To their destruction.

And aft your moss-traversing spunkies
Decoy the wight that late an drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkeys
     Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
     Ne’er mair to rise.

When Masons’ mystic word an grip
In storms an’ tempests raise you up,
Some **** or cat your rage maun stop,
     Or, strange to tell!
The youngest brither ye *** whip
     Aff straught to hell!

Lang syne, in Eden’d bonie yard,
When youthfu’ lovers first were pair’d,
An all the soul of love they shar’d,
     The raptur’d hour,
Sweet on the fragrant flow’ry swaird,
     In shady bow’r;

Then you, ye auld snick-drawin dog!
Ye cam to Paradise incog,
And play’d on man a cursed brogue,
     (Black be your fa’!)
An gied the infant warld a shog,
     Maist ruin’d a’.

D’ye mind that day, when in a bizz,
Wi’ reeket duds an reestet gizz,
Ye did present your smoutie phiz
     Mang better folk,
An’ sklented on the man of Uz
     Your spitefu’ joke?

An’ how ye gat him i’ your thrall,
An’ brak him out o’ house and hal’,
While scabs and blotches did him gall,
     Wi’ bitter claw,
An’ lows’d his ill-tongued, wicked scaul,
     Was warst ava?

But a’ your doings to rehearse,
Your wily snares an’ fechtin fierce,
Sin’ that day Michael did you pierce,
     Down to this time,
*** ding a Lallan tongue, or Erse,
     In prose or rhyme.

An’ now, Auld Cloots, I ken ye’re thinkin,
A certain Bardie’s rantin, drinkin,
Some luckless hour will send him linkin,
     To your black pit;
But faith! he’ll turn a corner jinkin,
     An’ cheat you yet.

But fare you weel, Auld Nickie-ben!
O *** ye tak a thought an’ men’!
Ye aiblins might—I dinna ken—
     Still hae a stake:
I’m wae to think upo’ yon den,
     Ev’n for your sake!
Nang mawala ang pangalawa kong trabaho
Parang ‘di ko alam kung saan uli may bago
Hanggang sa ang CapSU ay naalala ko
Walang atubili’y akin siyang tinungo
At sinubukan bago kong palad dito

Sa TED kung saan una akong itinalaga
Mga batikang **** dito aking nakasalamuha
Sa Amang Hall kung saan araw-araw silang kasama
Kayrami kong natutunan mula sa kanila
Minsang itinuring ko na parang mga ina

Sa Crim. na huli ko ditong tinuluyan
Para ko naring naging ama si Sir Hapitan
Kung sa TED puro kababaihan, sa Crim. puro kalalakihan
Akala ko noon ay mahirap silang turuan
Sa huli ay akin pa silang ipinaglaban

Akin ding naturuan ang taga-ibang departamento
Agri., Vet.Med., Computer – ang 5 ay kumpleto
Kaya ang naging tingin ko sa mga ito
Ay parang sa Encantadia na mga engkantado
Taglay ang katangian ng 5 elemento

Dito rin sa Encapsudia, ako’y naging estudyanteng ****
Nang mag-Uniting, mga estudyante ko’y naging kaklase ko
May mga kaklase din ako sa highschool na naging estudyante ko rito
Kaya dito ay parang mahiwaga ang naging tadhana ko
CapSU-Dumarao o Encapsudia…ikaw ang Kapuso kong CapSU!

-10/14/2017
*a tribute to CapSU-Dumarao who is now having its
3rd Alumni Homecoming this 35th year of its existence
My Poem No. 556
A note of seeming truth and trust
                      Hid crafty observation;
                And secret hung, with poison’d crust,
                      The dirk of defamation:
                A mask that like the gorget show’d
                      Dye-varying, on the pigeon;
                And for a mantle large and broad,
              He wrapt him in Religion.
                   (Hypocrisy-à-la-Mode)


Upon a simmer Sunday morn,
     When Nature’s face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn
     An’ ***** the caller air.
The risin’ sun owre Galston muirs
     Wi’ glorious light was glintin,
The hares were hirplin down the furrs,
     The lav’rocks they were chantin
          Fu’ sweet that day.

As lightsomely I glowr’d abroad
     To see a scene sae gay,
Three hizzies, early at the road,
     Cam skelpin up the way.
Twa had manteeles o’ dolefu’ black,
     But ane wi’ lyart linin;
The third, that gaed a wee a-back,
     Was in the fashion shining
          Fu’ gay that day.

The twa appear’d like sisters twin
     In feature, form, an’ claes;
Their visage wither’d, lang an’ thin,
     An’ sour as ony slaes.
The third cam up, hap-step-an’-lowp,
     As light as ony lambie,
An’ wi’ a curchie low did stoop,
     As soon as e’er she saw me,
          Fu’ kind that day.

Wi’ bonnet aff, quoth I, “Sweet lass,
     I think ye seem to ken me;
I’m sure I’ve seen that bonie face,
     But yet I canna name ye.”
Quo’ she, an’ laughin as she spak,
     An’ taks me by the han’s,
“Ye, for my sake, hae gien the ****
     Of a’ the ten comman’s
          A screed some day.

“My name is Fun—your cronie dear,
     The nearest friend ye hae;
An’ this is Superstition here,
     An’ that’s Hypocrisy.
I’m gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair,
     To spend an hour in daffin:
Gin ye’ll go there, you runkl’d pair,
     We will get famous laughin
          At them this day.”

Quoth I, “With a’ my heart, I’ll do’t:
     I’ll get my Sunday’s sark on,
An’ meet you on the holy spot;
     Faith, we’se hae fine remarkin!”
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time
     An’ soon I made me ready;
For roads were clad frae side to side
     Wi’ monie a wearie body
          In droves that day.

Here, farmers ****, in ridin graith,
     Gaed hoddin by their cotters,
There swankies young, in braw braidclaith
     Are springin owre the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,
     In silks an’ scarlets glitter,
Wi’ sweet-milk cheese in mony a whang,
     An’ farls, bak’d wi’ butter,
          Fu’ crump that day.

When by the plate we set our nose,
     Weel heaped up wi’ ha’pence,
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws,
     An’ we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show:
     On ev’ry side they’re gath’rin,
Some carryin dails, some chairs an’ stools,
     An’ some are busy bleth’rin
          Right loud that day.


Here some are thinkin on their sins,
     An’ some upo’ their claes;
Ane curses feet that fyl’d his shins,
     Anither sighs an’ prays:
On this hand sits a chosen swatch,
     Wi’ *****’d-up grace-proud faces;
On that a set o’ chaps at watch,
     Thrang winkin on the lasses
          To chairs that day.

O happy is that man and blest!
     Nae wonder that it pride him!
Whase ain dear lass that he likes best,
     Comes clinkin down beside him!
Wi’ arm repos’d on the chair back,
     He sweetly does compose him;
Which by degrees slips round her neck,
     An’s loof upon her *****,
          Unken’d that day.

Now a’ the congregation o’er
     Is silent expectation;
For Moodie speels the holy door,
     Wi’ tidings o’ salvation.
Should Hornie, as in ancient days,
     ‘Mang sons o’ God present him,
The vera sight o’ Moodie’s face
     To’s ain het hame had sent him
          Wi’ fright that day.

Hear how he clears the points o’ faith
     Wi’ rattlin an’ wi’ thumpin!
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath
     He’s stampin, an’ he’s jumpin!
His lengthen’d chin, his turn’d-up snout,
     His eldritch squeal and gestures,
Oh, how they fire the heart devout
     Like cantharidian plaisters,
          On sic a day!

But hark! the tent has chang’d its voice:
     There’s peace and rest nae langer;
For a’ the real judges rise,
     They canna sit for anger.
Smith opens out his cauld harangues,
     On practice and on morals;
An’ aff the godly pour in thrangs,
     To gie the jars an’ barrels
          A lift that day.

What signifies his barren shine
     Of moral pow’rs and reason?
His English style an’ gesture fine
     Are a’ clean out o’ season.
Like Socrates or Antonine
     Or some auld pagan heathen,
The moral man he does define,
     But ne’er a word o’ faith in
          That’s right that day.

In guid time comes an antidote
     Against sic poison’d nostrum;
For Peebles, frae the water-fit,
     Ascends the holy rostrum:
See, up he’s got the word o’ God
     An’ meek an’ mim has view’d it,
While Common Sense has ta’en the road,
     An’s aff, an’ up the Cowgate
          Fast, fast that day.

Wee Miller niest the Guard relieves,
     An’ Orthodoxy raibles,
Tho’ in his heart he weel believes
     An’ thinks it auld wives’ fables:
But faith! the birkie wants a Manse,
     So cannilie he hums them;
Altho’ his carnal wit an’ sense
     Like hafflins-wise o’ercomes him
          At times that day.

Now **** an’ ben the change-house fills
     Wi’ yill-caup commentators:
Here’s cryin out for bakes an gills,
     An’ there the pint-stowp clatters;
While thick an’ thrang, an’ loud an’ lang,
     Wi’ logic an’ wi’ Scripture,
They raise a din, that in the end
     Is like to breed a rupture
          O’ wrath that day.

Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair
     Than either school or college
It kindles wit, it waukens lear,
     It pangs us fou o’ knowledge.
Be’t whisky-gill or penny-wheep,
     Or ony stronger potion,
It never fails, on drinkin deep,
     To kittle up our notion
          By night or day.

The lads an’ lasses, blythely bent
     To mind baith saul an’ body,
Sit round the table weel content,
     An’ steer about the toddy,
On this ane’s dress an’ that ane’s leuk
     They’re makin observations;
While some are cozie i’ the neuk,
     An’ forming assignations
          To meet some day.

But now the Lord’s ain trumpet touts,
     Till a’ the hills rae rairin,
An’ echoes back return the shouts—
     Black Russell is na sparin.
His piercing words, like highlan’ swords,
     Divide the joints an’ marrow;
His talk o’ hell, whare devils dwell,
     Our vera “sauls does harrow”
          Wi’ fright that day.

A vast, unbottom’d, boundless pit,
     Fill’d fou o’ lowin brunstane,
Whase ragin flame, an’ scorching heat
     *** melt the hardest whun-stane!
The half-asleep start up wi’ fear
     An’ think they hear it roarin,
When presently it does appear
     ’Twas but some neibor snorin,
          Asleep that day.

‘Twad be owre lang a tale to tell,
     How mony stories past,
An’ how they crouded to the yill,
     When they were a’ dismist:
How drink gaed round in cogs an’ caups
     Amang the furms an’ benches:
An’ cheese and bred frae women’s laps
     Was dealt about in lunches
          An’ dauds that day.

In comes a gausie, **** guidwife
     An’ sits down by the fire,
Syne draws her kebbuck an’ her knife;
     The lasses they are shyer:
The auld guidmen, about the grace
     Frae side to side they bother,
Till some ane by his bonnet lays,
     And gi’es them’t like a tether
          Fu’ lang that day.

Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass,
     Or lasses that hae naething!
Sma’ need has he to say a grace,
     Or melvie his braw clathing!
O wives, be mindfu’ ance yoursel
     How bonie lads ye wanted,
An’ dinna for a kebbuck-heel
     Let lasses be affronted
          On sic a day!

Now Clinkumbell, wi’ rattlin tow,
     Begins to jow an’ croon;
Some swagger hame the best they dow,
     Some wait the afternoon.
At slaps the billies halt a blink,
     Till lasses strip their shoon:
Wi’ faith an’ hope, an’ love an’ drink,
     They’re a’ in famous tune
          For crack that day.

How monie hearts this day converts
     O’ sinners and o’ lasses
Their hearts o’ stane, gin night, are gane
     As saft as ony flesh is.
There’s some are fou o’ love divine,
     There’s some are fou o’ brandy;
An’ monie jobs that day begin,
     May end in houghmagandie
          Some ither day.
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow’r,
Thou’s met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow’r,
Thou bonie gem.

Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet,
The bonie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee ‘mang the dewy weet,
Wi’ spreckled breast!
When upward-springing, blithe, to greet
The purpling east.

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,
Scarce reared above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield,
High shelt’ring woods and wa’s maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield
O’ clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field,
Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawy ***** sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Sweet flow’ret of the rural shade!
By love’s simplicity betrayed,
And guileless trust,
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid
Low i’ the dust.

Such is the fate of simple Bard,
On Life’s rough ocean luckless starred!
Unskilful he to note the card
Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o’er!

Such fate to suffering worth is giv’n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv’n,
By human pride or cunning driv’n
To mis’ry’s brink,
Till wrenched of ev’ry stay but Heav’n,
He, ruined, sink!

Ev’n thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate,
That fate is thine -no distant date;
Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till crushed beneath the furrow’s weight,
Shall be thy doom!
Parang ako yung nag-aabang sa kanto
Yung ang tagal makasakay
Yung umulan, umaraw makapaghihintay
Yung kahit naiinitan na, mag-aabang pa rin.

Aasa pa ba ako sa muli **** pagdating?
Pano pag dumaan ka’t hindi pala nakatingin?
Pano pag bumalik ka pero may sakay na pala?

Kaya nga ayoko ng laro
Minsan madaya kasi
Seryoso na, pero ba’t nakikipagbiro pa?

Hindi laruan ang puso
Na pwede may mag “Time First”
Pag na-checkmate na ang isa.

Pilit ko mang ikubli sayo
Pero sana hindi na lang
Tinanggap ang hamon
Ang hirap pala mag-move on
Tutulak ka nga
Pero may pasan pa rin.

Walang pasintabi,
Katapusan na pala.

May nabibigo pala talaga sa laban
Hindi man lubos na maintindihan
May istratehiya pala
Pero sa bawat laban, bawat laro
May sasalo pa rin pala sa bawat kabiguan.

Titingin pa rin sa Kalangitan
Titiklupin ng Hari ng Sanlibutan
Ang pahinang walang saysay
May maisusulat pa rin pala
Kahit sa pusong naging sugatan.

Ang Amang may Likha, nagbigay-pag-asa
Patuloy na iibig nang tunay
Pagkat simula pa lang nang pagsagwan
Hindi ko alam kung kailan hihinto
**Pero alam kong may mararating ito.
INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ.

        Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
        Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
        Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
        The short and simple annals of the poor.
                  (Gray, “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”)

  My lov’d, my honour’d, much respected friend!
      No mercenary bard his homage pays;
    With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end:
      My dearest meed a friend’s esteem and praise.
      To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,
    The lowly train in life’s sequester’d scene;
      The native feelings strong, the guileless ways;
    What Aiken in a cottage would have been;
Ah! tho’ his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween!

  November chill blaws loud wi’ angry sugh,
      The short’ning winter day is near a close;
    The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh,
      The black’ning trains o’ craws to their repose;
    The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes,—
    This night his weekly moil is at an end,—
      Collects his spades, his mattocks and his hoes,
    Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,
And weary, o’er the moor, his course does hameward bend.

  At length his lonely cot appears in view,
      Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
    Th’ expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher through
      To meet their dad, wi’ flichterin noise an’ glee.
      His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonilie,
    His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie’s smile,
      The lisping infant prattling on his knee,
    Does a’ his weary kiaugh and care beguile,
An’ makes him quite forget his labour an’ his toil.

  Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in,
      At service out, amang the farmers roun’;
    Some ca’ the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin
      A cannie errand to a neibor toun:
      Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman-grown,
    In youthfu’ bloom, love sparkling in her e’e,
      Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown,
    Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee,
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be.

  With joy unfeign’d, brothers and sisters meet,
      An’ each for other’s weelfare kindly spiers:
    The social hours, swift-wing’d, unnotic’d fleet;
      Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears.
      The parents partial eye their hopeful years;
    Anticipation forward points the view;
      The mother, wi’ her needle an’ her sheers,
    Gars auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new;
The father mixes a’ wi’ admonition due.

  Their master’s an’ their mistress’s command
      The younkers a’ are warned to obey;
    An’ mind their labours wi’ an eydent hand,
      An’ ne’er tho’ out o’ sight, to jauk or play:
      “An’ O! be sure to fear the Lord alway,
    An’ mind your duty, duly, morn an’ night!
      Lest in temptation’s path ye gang astray,
    Implore his counsel and assisting might:
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright!”

  But hark! a rap comes gently to the door.
      Jenny, wha kens the meaning o’ the same,
    Tells how a neebor lad cam o’er the moor,
      To do some errands, and convoy her hame.
      The wily mother sees the conscious flame
    Sparkle in Jenny’s e’e, and flush her cheek;
      Wi’ heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name,
      While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;
Weel-pleas’d the mother hears, it’s nae wild, worthless rake.

  Wi’ kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben,
      A strappin youth; he takes the mother’s eye;
    Blythe Jenny sees the visit’s no ill taen;
      The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye.
      The youngster’s artless heart o’erflows wi’ joy,
    But, blate and laithfu’, scarce can weel behave;
      The mother wi’ a woman’s wiles can spy
    What maks the youth sae bashfu’ an’ sae grave,
Weel pleas’d to think her bairn’s respected like the lave.

  O happy love! where love like this is found!
      O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare!
    I’ve paced much this weary, mortal round,
      And sage experience bids me this declare—
    “If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare,
      One cordial in this melancholy vale,
      ’Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,
    In other’s arms breathe out the tender tale,
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev’ning gale.”

  Is there, in human form, that bears a heart,
      A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth!
    That can with studied, sly, ensnaring art
      Betray sweet Jenny’s unsuspecting youth?
      Curse on his perjur’d arts! dissembling smooth!
    Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil’d?
      Is there no pity, no relenting truth,
    Points to the parents fondling o’er their child,
Then paints the ruin’d maid, and their distraction wild?

  But now the supper crowns their simple board,
      The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia’s food;
    The soupe their only hawkie does afford,
      That yont the hallan snugly chows her cud.
      The dame brings forth, in complimental mood,
    To grace the lad, her weel-hain’d kebbuck fell,
      An’ aft he’s prest, an’ aft he ca’s it guid;
    The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell,
How ’twas a towmond auld, sin’ lint was i’ the bell.

  The cheerfu’ supper done, wi’ serious face,
      They round the ingle form a circle wide;
    The sire turns o’er, with patriarchal grace,
      The big ha’-Bible, ance his father’s pride;
      His bonnet rev’rently is laid aside,
    His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare;
      Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
    He wales a portion with judicious care;
And, “Let us worship God,” he says with solemn air.

  They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
      They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim:
    Perhaps Dundee’s wild-warbling measures rise,
      Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name,
      Or noble Elgin beets the heaven-ward flame,
    The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy lays.
      Compar’d with these, Italian trills are tame;
      The tickl’d ear no heart-felt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they, with our Creator’s praise.

  The priest-like father reads the sacred page,
      How Abram was the friend of God on high;
    Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage
      With Amalek’s ungracious progeny;
      Or how the royal bard did groaning lie
    Beneath the stroke of Heaven’s avenging ire;
      Or Job’s pathetic plaint, and wailing cry;
    Or rapt Isaiah’s wild, seraphic fire;
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

  Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,
      How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
    How He, who bore in Heaven the second name
      Had not on earth whereon to lay His head:
      How His first followers and servants sped;
    The precepts sage they wrote to many a land:
      How he, who lone in Patmos banished,
    Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand,
And heard great Bab’lon’s doom pronounc’d by Heaven’s command.

  Then kneeling down to Heaven’s Eternal King,
      The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
    Hope “springs exulting on triumphant wing,”
      That thus they all shall meet in future days:
      There ever bask in uncreated rays,
    No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear,
      Together hymning their Creator’s praise,
    In such society, yet still more dear,
While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere.

  Compar’d with this, how poor Religion’s pride
      In all the pomp of method and of art,
    When men display to congregations wide
      Devotion’s ev’ry grace except the heart!
      The Pow’r, incens’d, the pageant will desert,
    The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
      But haply in some cottage far apart
    May hear, well pleas’d, the language of the soul,
And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enrol.

  Then homeward all take off their sev’ral way;
      The youngling cottagers retire to rest;
    The parent-pair their secret homage pay,
      And proffer up to Heav’n the warm request,
      That He who stills the raven’s clam’rous nest,
    And decks the lily fair in flow’ry pride,
      Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best,
    For them and for their little ones provide;
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.

  From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs,
      That makes her lov’d at home, rever’d abroad:
    Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
      “An honest man’s the noblest work of God”:
      And certes, in fair Virtue’s heavenly road,
    The cottage leaves the palace far behind:
      What is a lordling’s pomp? a cumbrous load,
    Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin’d!

  O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!
      For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent!
    Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil
      Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content!
      And, oh! may Heaven their simple lives prevent
    From luxury’s contagion, weak and vile!
      Then, howe’er crowns and coronets be rent,
    A virtuous populace may rise the while,
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov’d isle.

  O Thou! who pour’d the patriotic tide
      That stream’d thro’ Wallace’s undaunted heart,
    Who dar’d to nobly stem tyrannic pride,
      Or nobly die, the second glorious part,—
      (The patriot’s God peculiarly thou art,
    His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!)
      O never, never Scotia’s realm desert,
    But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard,
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard!
Donward Bughaw Apr 2019
Umalingawngaw
ang huni ng mga ibon
sa bukang liwayway.
Ilang minuto rin akong naghintay
hanggang sa kumulo na
ang tubig;
at nagsalin ako
sa baso,
nilagyan ng kape't asukal
saka maingat na kinutaw
gamit ang malamig na kutsara
saka hinipan ang pinakaunang nasandok
at nang aking malasahan
ay unti-unting nagbalik
sa akin ang nakaraan
kasama si amang nabubuhay pa't
tanaw kong umiinom
ng kape...
sa lilingkuran.
Masarap ang kape. Minsan naranasan kong magkape ng mag-isa at wala akong ibang maisip kundi ang aking pamilya na nasa bahay lang. Malayo sa akin. Nag-aaral kasi ako no'n
Hinawan niya ang sarili
Buhat sa duguang mga kamay.
Ang amang pinipitaga’y
N-a-p-a-t-i-r-a-p-a!
Humahalik sa balkonaheng may agiw.

Siya’y nangingilak ng barya sa lansangan
May retasong kasuotan
At latang kumakalansing pagka nagkalaman.
Siya’y may mapungaw na mata,
Musmos na kaawa-awa.

Ang relikyang isinusumpong sa salamin,
Panghilamos niya sa umaga’t
Pampunas sa sugat
Na hindi mahilum-hilom sa selda.

Kinitil niya ang pagtutungyayaw
At ang laso’y sinipat sa pagkatao.
May ilaw na nakabubulag –
Yapak ay sa entablado,
Naroon ang susunod na paghuhukom.
Ca’ the yowes to the knowes,
      Ca’ them where the heather grows,
  Ca’ them where the burnie rows,
      My bonnie dearie.

Hark! the mavis’ evening sang
Sounding Clouden’s woods amang,
Then a-faulding let us gang,
    My bonnie dearie.

We’ll *** down by Clouden side,
Through the hazels spreading wide,
O’er the waves that sweetly glide
    To the moon sae clearly.

Yonder Clouden’s silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours
O’er the dewy bending flowers
    Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou’rt to Love and Heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
    My bonnie dearie.

Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die—but canna part,
    My bonnie dearie.

While waters wimple to the sea;
While day blinks in the lift sae hie;
Till clay-cauld death shall blin’ my e’e,
    Ye shall be my dearie.

  Ca’ the yowes to the knowes…
Ca’ the yowes to the knowes,
Ca’ them where the heather grows
Ca’ them where the burnie rows,
      My bonie dearie.

Hark! the mavis’ evening sang
Sounding Cluden’s woods amang,
Then a-fauldin let us gang,
      My bonie dearie.

We’ll *** down by Cluden side,
Thro’ the hazels spreading wide,
O’er the waves that sweetly glide
      To the moon sae clearly.

Yonder Cluden’s silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours,
O’er the dewy-bending flowers,
      Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou ‘rt to love and Heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
      My bonie dearie.

Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die—but canna part,
      My bonie dearie.
Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O!

There’s nought but care on every han’
In every hour that passes, O;
What signifies the life o’ man,
An ’twere na for the lasses, O?

The warl’ly race may riches chase,
An’ riches still may fly them, O;
An’ though at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne’er enjoy them, O.

But gi’e me a canny hour at e’en,
My arms about my dearie, O,
An’ warl’ly cares an’ warl’ly men
May a’ *** tapsalteerie, O!

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this,
Ye’re nought but senseless *****, O;
The wisest man the warl’ e’er saw,
He dearly loved the lasses, O.

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O;
Her ‘prentice han’ she tried on man,
An’ then she made the lasses, O.
O Mary, at thy window be,
It is the wished, the trysted hour!
Those smiles and glances let me see,
That make the miser’s treasure poor:
How blythely *** I bide the stour,
A weary slave frae sun to sun,
Could I the rich reward secure,
The lovely Mary Morison.

Yestreen, when to the trembling string
The dance gaed thro’ the lighted ha’,
To thee my fancy took its wing,
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Tho’ this was fair, and that was braw,
And yon the toast of a’ the town,
I sighed, and said amang them a’,
“Ye are na Mary Morison.”

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace
Wha for thy sake *** gladly dee?
Or canst thou break that heart of his,
Whose only faut is loving thee?
If love for love thou wilt na gie,
At least be pity to me shown;
A thought ungentle canna be
The thought o’ Mary Morison.
solEmn oaSis Dec 2015
sa lahat ng aking
napa-ngiti
o sa iba naman na
napa-ngiwi
meron din namang akong
napa-ngisi
dispensa kung
ano man ang
namutawi sa aking
mga labi
sa larangan ng
kritisismo
hinde ko hinangad
ang pumlahiyo
sa mundo ng
patas na media
kakayanin natin
anumang trahedya
kung na-batikos ka na
sabay na-sawata ka pa
tapos hindi rin naman inaasahan ng ilan,,
pa'no na etong isusunod ko na ipapaulan
*" supil " pagyabong ng pinong puno

hindi na nga papipigil
o Amang Kagubatan..
manitili kang luntian!
sa manlulupig ,,,
hindi na kita pasisiil
sa bawat pilantik ng daliri,,,
adbokasya nito ay kapatiran






6 DAYS before X'mas
sawata ~~~ forbid
6-letter word
[7 of 12 marked voices of a dozen clusters of letters]
© copyright 2015 - All Rights Reserved
A flat board with a handle used to administer physical punishment.
Or also known as the brotherly hood disciplinary action through a just spank called PADDLE (six-letter word used also for welcoming new member in fraternity)
Jun Lit Nov 2017
Matalinhaga ang kahapon,
ang nagdaang panahon:
kapeng mainit na pinalalamig, hinihipan
pero di malag-ok, nakakapaso sa lalamunan
Tila alon sa dalampasigan
itinataboy ng pampang
ngunit bumabalik ang mga ala-alang
pilit itinatapon, kinakalimutan.

Mga tagpong akala’y isang dipa lamang
tila ang pagitan
ng lupa at kalangitan
ngunit nang tatawirin na’y
bangin pala ang kailaliman
walang tulay na magdugsong
sa sanlibong katanungan
sa mga gumuhong moog
at nadurog na diyos-diyosan.

Sa sulok ng balintataw
isang paslit ang natanaw
tumatakbo’t humahabol, sumisigaw
tinatawag niyang “Tatay!”
iyong nakalagak, isang bangkay
sa kabaong na ipapasok, ihihimlay
sa nitsong pintado ng puting lantay
- labi ng aking amang hinagilap na suhay

Sa lamay ng patay,
ang kapeng barako ay buhay
bumubukal, walang humpay
maalab ang pakikiramay,
sawsawan ng tinapay
          Sa lamay ng patay
          nagsisikip man ang dibdib
          magkunwari’y kailangan
          nagdurugo man ang puso
          lakas-loob ang kaanyuan

Habang umaagos ang litanya
sa labì ng punong magdarasal
pumapatak ang ulan ng luha
walang puknat ang “Bakit?”, nag-uusisa
Hindi napapahid ng panyong pinipiga
ang hapdi ng sugat sa naulilang diwa
lalo’t ang bayaning inakala
ay pasang-krus pala ng inang dinakila

Matalinhaga sadya ang kahapong nagdaan,
pelikulang kulay sepya, kumupas na sa kalumaan:
Lumamig na ang inuming sa burol ay itinungga
Tahimik na silang nagtungayaw ng sumbat at sumpa
Sa malayo’y kumakaway ang palaspas ng payapa
Nagpahinga na rin ang ilaw na sa aki’y nagkalinga

Sumisilip sa alapaap ang impit na sinag
Naglalaho na ang mga bituin sa liwanag
ng unti-unting pagsabog ng araw na papasikat
At sa pagbangon, bagong umaga’y may pahayag

Gigisingin akong lubos, tila tunog ng gong
ng bagong-luto **** pagsalubong
Isang lag-ok muli, aasa, susulong
kung saan man hahantong . . .
To be translated as "Brewed Coffee IV"
1 Isang prinsesang bawal yumapak sa lupa
Siya ang binukot na si Dara

2 Ang kanyang edad ay labimpitong taong gulang
Natatanging anak ng mga magulang

3 Matuwid at makintab ang maitim na buhok
Mana sa amang hari na mapusok

4 Maputi at makinis ang balat
Mana sa inang reyna na madalaing magulat

5 Tapang at nerbiyos sa dugo nananalaytay
Matapang sa buhay, natatakot mamatay

6 Sukdulan sa proteksiyon at pagka-sensitibo
Kaya ‘di pa nakalalabas ng kwarto

7 Subalit mayroon din naman siyang libangan
Kumanta at manood ng mga mangingisda sa durungawan.

-06/22/2012
*Gintong Lupa Series
My Poem No. 141
Got thee at ‘bout four-thirty
While clouds are gray & rainy –

Oh how I missed my real plan
TED Orientation was gone
Flower there must be better
Event’s worth to remember
It was because of nonsense
Momentum near decadence

This time I was in hurry
So I must be not sorry
Slip not oh flower of June
Despite bad weather, there’s boon
And oh I can’t imagine
There’s something red & glowin’

While alone in Amang Hall
A little drizzle, befall
Sitting in front computer
Door’s open, saw I flower

Went out for awhile to get
Red santan bundle that’s wet.

-06/30/2011
(Dumarao)
*Ode to the 7 Flowers of 2011
My Poem No. 45

— The End —