"barong" poems
i.
Mine Dame
Unfasten mine cream pigment barong;
Scuff the tiny button's, serenadeth me with Tagalog.
ii.
None need for baon
Where we shalt go is not strained by materialism;
This is not a place of Balaam.
iii.
Mother-naked, ourn quiddity's latched
None leviathan demonic's, no human electronic's;
Mine darling, hug closely, none murrain pain's to be hatched.
iv.
Mine foremost, drinketh with me
Amour's Buko juice as a toast;
A barkada of high-up angelic's to guide ourn ghost's.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication/Filipino rose
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
Ang nakaupong tiwali—
siya ang binoto ng masa.
Sa manggas ng kanyang barong,
panganib ng maralita
May kinang ang kan’yang ngiti
mapungay ang mga mata
Sa bawat pangakong lahad
ay pagsibol ng pag-asa.
Pag-asa na tayo'y ligtas
ay naging katakot-takot.
Para raw sa Inang Bayan,
peligro na nakabalot.
Ang salitang bulaklakin
ay daglian ding nalanta
kapalit ang pagtungayaw,
at banta ng direktiba.
Hindi natin inasahan—
bahid ng dugo sa daan.
Mga kamay, nahugasan
ngunit hindi ang lansangan.
Sa lapida nakaukit
ngalan ng mga biktima.
Sunod kayang tatahimik
ang silang may pinupuna?
Hapis ng inang nawalan,
“Crispin, Basilio, anak ko,”
oyayi ng Inang Bayan.
“Pasismo! Peligro rito!”
Aug 22, 2020
Aug 22, 2020 at 10:55 PM UTC
"Isang stored card po."
Sabay abot ng 100piso.
Pinasok sa makina "toot".
Bumaba sa hagdan.
"Hay, nakakpagod."
Nakita ang mahabang pila ng mga taong nagaantay.
Napa-buntong hininga.
5...10...15minuto wala pa din.
Ako'y lumingon sa kanan't kaliwa.
Inobserbahan ang mga taong iritable na sa pagaantay.
Sa kaliwa, nakita ko ang isang lalaki,
Postura, nakasalamin at kagalang galang ang suot.
Mukha nagtatrabaho sa isang malakingkumapanya at may mataas na posisyon.
Abala sa pagtingin sa relos na rolex ang tatak.
Ako'y napatanong sa sarili ko,
"bakit niya mas piniling pumila dito kung saan malulukot ang suot na barong?"
Sa kanan naman ay isang studyanteng binata,
Naka-uniporme, maangas ang dating.
May naksaksak na earphones sa magkabilang tenga at sumasabay ang indak ng mga paa.
Nais ko sana makihati sa musikang kanya naririnig.
Sa likod ko ay isang babae,
Napapamura na sa inis.
Mukhang malalate na sa opisina.
Naka-make up at nakheels.
Gusto ko siya bulangan,
"Ate, kalma lang. Hindi mapapabilis ng pagmumura mo ang pagdating nian."
At sa wakas dumating na,
Ang hinihintay ng lahat.
Inihanda ko na ang sarili,
dahil sigurado ako ay maitutulak, masisiksik,
matatapakan at masisiko sa loob ng train ng MRT.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
I shalt weareth a barong Tagalog, mine tribesgirl in terno dress
A diadem upon her head, hemmed from living amongst the dead;
Her inferno blaze, is satin oriental sheathe, rubies on her Lilly feet, she entranceth me, in serpahim seed, a muse to mine meet.
She's Dalisay, in night and day, her Kinaadman not of earth
A child from tropical tree's, I kneweth her, cherub baby by birth;
The Tadhana of ourn creator, stitches ourn etching realm's
I shalt be her on her side, In death and hell, I'll taketh the ride,
Falling deeper
Into her eye's......
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©あある じぇえん
Aug 6, 2015
Aug 6, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
Who do you call when the police murders?
Who do you call when the murderers rule?
Who do you call for justice and protection
in a den of power-hungry fools?
Remember the woman who sold
her body at a checkpoint just to make the bend?
Remember the war veteran who was shot twice unarmed,
even with a mind unable to comprehend?
Remember the young boy who went outside,
only to get killed by four officers, for a crime no one really knew
Remember the countless “casualties”, unfortunate "accidents"
which never really made it through?
Some as young as six
Some as young as two
Some elderly, some misguided delinquents
while some, well, they never do
Dictators and human rights violators
“too old”or “too frail” to be punished
While Jeepney drivers aged 70 and more
take the whole brunt of the "fair" mallet
As thousands pushed into already cramped prison cells
are unable to eat more than once a day
While those rich enough to buy the law
can still throw mañanitas and “meetings” every single day
Yet these blue shirted and barong-laden fools
sometimes come together in TV
to bumble about civil service with mouths still smelling of
beer and of yesterday’s lechon kawali
Because remember, compassion is only
for those who can sit in a palace-worthy chair
Justice is only for the dead or for those
whose pockets are already filled with blood of the bare
And now who's suffering for the lies?
Who’s already taking the blame?
Who will listen to the cries of the forgotten
When our voices are no longer ours to claim?
As their guns point to our heads
with the smiles of “para sa'yo itong serbisyo”
Take off your blindfolds, your change is never coming
Only hell is here, in disguise of a fiasco
Jun 8, 2020
Jun 8, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC