"aping" poems
Naalala ko noong tayong dalawa pa.
Ikaw at ako ay laging magkasama.
Magkahawak ang kamay at hindi nag-iisa.
Walang makakapaghiwalay dahil tayo ay iisa.
Kahit munting kubo lamang ang ating tahanan,
Puno naman ng pagmamahalan ang buong kabahayan.
Walang pag-iimbot, walang pinagdududahan.
Pagka't nasa gitna ang Diyos sa ating puso at isipan.
Aliw na aliw kang ako'y pagsilbihan, tinalikuran ang karangyaan,
Sumama sa akin sa kabukiran, at pinagsaluhan ang matamis na pag-iibigan.
Payapang namuhay malayo sa mapanghusgang mata at mapang-aping bayan.
Nagbungkal, nagtanim, nag-araro at nagdilig sa lupa upang gawing ating sakahan.
Ngunit malupit ang tadhana at tayo ay pinaghiwalay.
Ninakaw ang ating kabuhayan at ika'y nilapastanganan,
Ng mga hayok sa laman, pinagpiyestahan ang iyong katawan,
Hanggang sa dugo mo'y dumaloy sa tigang na lupa at ako'y iniwan.
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
Our bare, brief escape begins at the dance.
Steaming, smoking animals moving chance
that this ***** dancehall can yield loving.
Drug crazed pickers rev up their machined
Six string-ed orchestral Gibson guitars;
Yow! All the hipsters are making the scene
just now arrived in their late models cars.
Adults aping adolescents boldy down
drinks, belch bad beer and sweetly perspire
while you seething, hot and so sensuous
put my hand to your breast showing your fire.
Baby let's dance! Let's have our fun!!
Our brief escape has just begun.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
I'm born
Airborne
Forlorn
In war torn
Discord
My ripcord
I pull for liberation
Alienation aviation
Away from a station
Of no relation
Where their elation
Lies in degeneration
The fright fair
Nightmare
In sight there
Is a right scare
But light flares
From an illuminated theater
I dive into art
To fill my meter
I consume
Darkened tomb
Screen in room
Is where I loom
Inspiration blooms
From a sense of doom
My separation reparation
That will lead to veneration
My artistic fervor
Drifted further
Drifter's murmurs
Lifted learners
But gifted murderers
Shifted girders
Of shame and honesty
To my grave of modesty
Where they prey upon me
This plagiarism
Layered schism
Cratered rhythm
Of great decisions
Now I make incisions
With repetition
And the definition
Of words stolen from me
They're all I can see
And I can't get free
Or just let it be
Consumption disruption
At this junction
I can't function
A plagiarist
****** mist
Grips my fist
Makes me wish
I don't exist
I must resist
Before I miss
My chance at bliss
They're ****** me
By aping me
Making me
Shaking trees
Of bumblebees
With rumble pleas
On humble knees
Drinking antifreeze
Nobody cares
What's fair
They bear
And share
Blank stares
Up stairs
Of artistic compromise
Integrity lost in lies
They're not that wise
I hypothesize
My baby
Caught rabies
From Hades
Now ladies
Flock to a thief
Giving me grief
Beyond belief
In my coral reef
Sword in sheath
I drown discreet
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
Manggagawa ang tatay ko at manggagawa din ako, lumaki ako sa lugar na ang mga kapit-bahay ko ay puro mga manggagawa. Dati pangarap ko’ng maging labor lider, maging unyonista na tulad ng tatay ko. Manggagawa mga taong pinalalakas ang katawan dahil ito ang kanilang tanging puhunan. Katawan, dugo at pawis ito ang kailangan dahil wala silang ibang masasandalan. Mga isang-kahig at isang-tuka at mga alipin ng gutom at pangangailangan, mga modernong alipin.
Mga factory workers, bodegero, baradero, construction workers, OFW, mga sekyu, mekaniko, latero, karpintero, katulong, hardinero, kubetero, tsuper, kargador, estibador – lahat sila mga manggagawa. Gumagawa araw at gabi kapalit ng maliit na kita, hindi sapat na benipesyo at walang dangal sa harap ng among kapitalista. Mga inuupasala at pinagsasamantalahan, mga gatasan na laging tinatampalasan ng mga walanghiya at mga tampalasan.
Manggagawa na walang dangal na laging busabos ng mga mayayaman at makapangyarihan kailan mo kaya makikita ang araw ng iyong katubusan? May mga dambuhalang mahilig kumain ng laman mga halimaw na walang kabusugan, mga bampira na sinasaid ang dugo ng biktimang walang kalaban-laban. Ganyan ang mga kapitalistang ating pinaglilingkuran. Mga walang pakialam sa buhay ng iba ang mahalaga sa kanila ay ang kumita ng limpak-limpak na pakinabang.
Mga kapwa manggagawa may araw din na tayo ay lalaya. 'Wag mainip sapagkat nakatunghay ang kasaysayan ang batas nito ang magsasabi kung kelan tayo lalaya sa tanikala ng mga mapang-aping panukala.
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 8:15 PM UTC
Oh sharp diamond, my mother!
I could not count the cost
of all your faces, your moods--
that present that I lost.
Sweet girl, my deathbed,
my jewel-fingered lady,
your portrait flickered all night
by the bulbs of the tree.
Your face as calm as the moon
over a mannered sea,
presided at the family reunion,
the twelve grandchildren
you used to wear on your wrist,
a three-months-old baby,
a fat check you never wrote,
the red-haired toddler who danced the twist,
your aging daughters, each one a wife,
each one talking to the family cook,
each one avoiding your portrait,
each one aping your life.
Later, after the party,
after the house went to bed,
I sat up drinking the Christmas brandy,
watching your picture,
letting the tree move in and out of focus.
The bulbs vibrated.
They were a halo over your forehead.
Then they were a beehive,
blue, yellow, green, red;
each with its own juice, each hot and alive
stinging your face. But you did not move.
I continued to watch, forcing myself,
waiting, inexhaustible, thirty-five.
I wanted your eyes, like the shadows
of two small birds, to change.
But they did not age.
The smile that gathered me in, all wit,
all charm, was invincible.
Hour after hour I looked at your face
but I could not pull the roots out of it.
Then I watched how the sun hit your red sweater, your withered neck,
your badly painted flesh-pink skin.
You who led me by the nose, I saw you as you were.
Then I thought of your body
as one thinks of ******
Then I said Mary--
Mary, Mary, forgive me
and then I touched a present for the child,
the last I bred before your death;
and then I touched my breast
and then I touched the floor
and then my breast again as if,
somehow, it were one of yours.
1.6k
sobrang hinahangaan Kita dahil napakagaling **** gumawa ng mga istorya,
mga istoryang tila talo na pero sa huli ay naipanalo Mo pa.
sa una'y aping api ang bida
pero di nakakapagtaka na sa huli sila ay naging masaya
dahil pangako Mo na hindi kami mag-iisa.
Hindi kami magiisa dahil Ikaw ay kasama,
kasama sa hirap at ginhawa, sa lungkot at tuwa,
talikuran man kami ng madla Ikaw ay hindi mawawala.
Ikaw ang napako hindi ang Iyong mga pangako
kasalanan naming lahat ay Iyong inako
Iyong pagmamahal ay damang dama saan mang dako.
Daan mang tinatahak ay bako bako
Direksyon mang sinusunod ay liko liko
Walang sapat na rason para kami'y sumuko
Dahil pinaglaban mo kami at hindi isinuko.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 11:43 AM UTC
My tongue sharpened today
Angles fell off it like classroom fancies
Rationalised to a point, its first act
Was to knock out my fangs from behind.
I stumbled about the house
Slopped through the bathroom door
And foamed at the toilet seat, a
Wave broken over a rim of briny coral.
My salt winked about the walls, around the tap, between the wiped tiles
In the shower head of porous sponge
The seaweed in the pipes crawled up
And drowned me in the sickly sweet.
Downstairs smelt the same, logically the sea dumped down
Underwater fish glided past my window, all with the same
Grim face against the mirrors, aping the ocean
With me trapped inside.
I turned on the same song, fifteen times,
The sound tried to reach me with such ambition
But it floated to the top, belly up in its bubbles
Ridiculous, I scratched the date on the seafloor and entered the kitchen.
Drips everywhere, grease stalactites, from the tiles, the yawning oven, the spatulas
A Cretaceous museum where savagery is kept
In little plastic boxes, with clear peelable lids
A fresh, messy ****
In the hall the grey light descends through slit windows
Colour settling at the bottom like grit, all the greys so tall
Give the narrow rectangle an aftertaste of dust
Just one keeper before me
It devours my key, hacking as it gobbles
But it does not anticipate my twist
I gut it from inside, it spits its meal back at me
And I swing its limp, dead frame 90 degrees.
Stepping out feels like a moonwalk, with Houston's neutral formulas
Unheeded in my ear, finally I can greet the clouds, that probably escaped,
Like me, fumes from the chimney
Pale and fading away from lack of auspicious sun.
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 1:15 PM UTC
Woolgar peered
through the wire mesh
at the girl’s playground
can see that girl you like
down there
he said
you walked
to the wire mesh
and stared through
see her?
he said
no can’t see her
there over by
that fat girl
with the blue
ribboned hair
you stared harder
they keep moving about
you said
she’s there
he said
poking his finger
through mesh
her with the dark hair
you peered
at where his finger poked
Jane was by the fence
playing jump rope
with two other girls
yes I see her now
you said
what’s she like?
Woolgar said
like?
you said
what do you mean like?
Woolgar sniggered
and gazed stupidly
through the mesh
you know
does she kiss
and such
and what’s it like?
that’s for me to know
and you to guess
you said
some say
girl’s lips
are like peaches
Woolgar said
or that they kiss
all wet and warm
you watched Jane
move the rope
around and around
with some other girl
while one other
jump high and laughed
does she have *******
Woolgar asked
peering like
some peeping Tom
or is she flat as board?
Or don’t you know?
he asked
looking round at you
his eyes brown
and round
and aping dung
what’s it to you Woolgar?
you still ****
your mother’s dugs
or so I’ve heard
you said
seeing Jane
play skip rope
once again
you leave my mother
out of this
he said
rubbing his fingers
going red
walking off
muttering
and moaning
turning round
and *********
you turned
to gaze at Jane
once more
but the skipping girls
had gone away
to some other place
to skip and play.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
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Jane of the Jungle (she’s all good)
charmed our world as Darwin’s daughter.
Anglican primates notwithstood,
her leaky theories held some water.
Streams of ngombe, sacred cows
were celebrated. What were these
to which the simian cosmos bows?
Irrelevant hypotheses.
Selecting great apes (naturally)
Miss Misanthrope researched, with love;
her theories, stated factually,
were hailed as truth from God above.
Hoping for reason, shadowing Man
the graybeards came for tempting fruit
unaware of their part in the plan:
to be used, like tools (but more hirsute).
Termites on a slender stalk
delighted hungry primate souls.
Her ripe bananas were the talk
of primatological controls.
peeling off; mzungu starkness
starred the Tanzanian night.
Chimping out, she lit the darkness
claiming scientific right.
Sweating out the Tarzan fever,
naming names while hugging apes
let us, laughing, love and leave her
to her anthropoid escapes.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 9:18 AM UTC
Maybe it's two years feeling lonely,
or I'm juiced from drinking way too much coffee.
But, when the Springtime shows its Joker's face,
I'm less likely to sneer and turn away
Than I was this time last year,
when I had lost all ******* bearing,
while I was swearing at the stars,
aping Oneida's* navigating.
And, now, I'm on the eastern side,
I'm walking slow, it's early morning.
I don't even want a brush,
to paint a blackout on the sun.
Well, I've had a few false starts,
I've made an art of second guessing.
Finally don't need a crutch
to clear the days of all their must.
'Cuz I think I'm aware, now...
that the frost is gonna thaw real fast
and trickle down
into the topsoil 'neath my feet.
Well, maybe we should lay off the whiskey,
or maybe it's two years in this city.
But, when the Winter creeps down 'round our heads,
we should welcome her just like a sneering friend.
'Cuz the other shoe will fall
and we'll be walking halfway barefoot.
Frozen roads'll get gridlocked,
we'll ***** for months that we can't stand it.
For now, I'm drifting through downtown,
I'm striding fast, it's early evening.
Ask a stranger for the time
and wonder what's been on your mind.
And I'm always running late
but make an art of playing catch-up.
I'll catch up with you next week,
we'll kick the pattern off repeat.
'Cuz lately I've been thinking...
that the frost is gonna thaw real fast
and trickle down
into the topsoil 'neath my feet
and green things up!
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
Or, I Loved You.
The clouds did not look in any way oppressed that morning
when a table held teacups and saucers all scattered about,
Staining light brown on the fine bone china.
Scraping cutlery, cutting deep.
Leaves of a crisping newspaper thumbed through.
Polite guffaws and 'gentle' conversation.
A man lay out a map
*at the table and smoothed it down.*
Slurp, clink, ah.
Whips lash, sweat breaks.
Backs break.
Skin glistens, brown grunts muffle into screams across millions of miles.
Lakhs of kilometres?
It's the weather that's oppressive, I'm sure.
while: "Spices and gold b y t h e f i s t f u l,
get your bags of gold and spices here!"
Tea, poured into saucers from cups.
Thickly accented words, in a foreign dialect,
sitting oddly on strange, dark tongues.
Men that, years later, were imprisoned for keeping silent
Hanged those that did not.
What are we aping?, echoing in the streets.
Shattered cups and splintered saucers,
strewn neglected on the ground.
A heel crushes out a stub of ashy clove
and the bitter smell of stale coffee
lingers overheard.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
replicas oft go on display
reproductions of the real thing
recast in an aping array
ripping off the principle's ring
every now and then they'll be seen
espousing that they're genuine
e'en taking credit for the breen
ergo this be not of true line
verily stealing other's word art
very little conscience do they show
villains are those of thieving cart
vilification we pour on their glow
eyes on the look out always glean
embezzling plagiarist's grotty hands
ever looting original bean
endlessly making phoney grands
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
Splayed out atop the the table, stupefied,
Etherized, dreaming anything but excision,
Witness the specimen's unnatural habitat.
Life stains the whole of its existence -
See the sacrament of its entirety, its divinity,
Its flesh made manifest and merely flesh.
It mocks this menagerie with every breath
And, aping its peers, struggles, strives, dies
For the pittance this world lends it.
Confronted with the end, it spits derision.
Confronted with the start, it cries in awe!
What a nonsense of a creature we see here,
This enigma we recognize in ourselves:
The human, being.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
of a million paddies fed by Mother Mekong, one he knew best
one where he waded knee deep at noon, naked except for a **** cloth
though double wrapped in pain, after the ****** left his family frozen in black
only a mad night before, in a war his dozen years could not comprehend
he still heard them calling his name from the razed ville, the muddy waters
where he sloshed in half circles, aping a reverse arc of the sun
as if moving from west to east, he could rewind time to yesterday
when they hunkered with him, and took shelter from the dry season sun,
unawares what else under a pure white sky could birth fierce fire
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 8:42 PM UTC
it was easy to laugh at cartoons
cartoons laden with the misfortunes of creatures aping Man,
Man and all the haphazard stupid plans he makes and tries to put into action
it was easy to laugh at the cartoons of ourselves, so easy,
and still we wish to be taken seriously in all we endeavour to say, and do,
its easy to laugh at cartoons, rather than ourselves.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
even when i lived in barrels i was stung by pre-Euclidean geometries
aping right angles, askew of a laminar flow of Time.
even when i stutter like butter on a lightning bolt
my collisions resolve dormancy
wherever i evict a conspicuous
ascetic tenet.
i twist The End where The Beginning buds;
and watch for spontaneous eruptions-
for Origins, mapped to a powder keg
with a damp fuse.
[ it’s steam engines now… ]
AND
the moon’s belly
is a bright eclipse
clamor-locked in the beastly
barrage of our tuneless
arias…
coping with despotic realities
with aplomb; birthing sunshine
from a myth mirror
emblazoned where harm refracts
exact moments-
tumbling magnetic…
as your eyes
Yahtzee the Forbidden
like a rogue.
with
blunt force
Rama.
as Fore-
told.
II
infinity pools are finite if you swim like a rock.
or fall asleep when a lullabies’ on fire.
just so you Know.
Jan 24, 2021
Jan 24, 2021 at 12:07 AM UTC
weightlessly
the squirrel
frolics,
aping one
luft balloon
of 99.
a mighty oak
it climbs,
coming to rest
in the
lush canopy
along with
the balloon.
deflated,
the balloon
falls to the ground
while
the squirrel
looks down
at the
deflated balloon,
snickers,
and
continues
its frolicking
from tree top
to tree top.
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 8:23 AM UTC