"betamax" poems
Sa labing-apat na araw na nakilala kita
Minahal ka ng buo
Puso'y napahinto, natulala
Dahan-dahang bumilis ang bawat pintig
At sa bawat pintig na ginagawa nito
Dala'y dugo na umaasang sana mahalin ako
Namumulang pisngi
Namumulang labi
At kagaya ng dugo sa katawan
Akoy pinaikot-ikot, ikot, ikot...
Hanggang sa maubos ang enerhiya
Na baon-baon mula ulo hanggang paa
At sa dahon ng saging ako ay ibinalot
Na parang betamax
Iniluwa ng hindi nasarapan
Ikinamuhi dahil sa lasa
'Di ko alam kung ako'y tanga o nagmamahal lamang
At kung alin man ako sa dalawa
Hindi na mahalaga dahil alam kong mahal kita
Sa labing-apat na araw na nakilala kita,
Pinaglaruan mo ako
At kagaya ng mga bata sa lansangan
Ako ay naging kalsada
At ikaw, ikaw ang trak
Na piniling di pansinin ang mga butas sa ibabaw ng dibdib
Dinaanan lang
Hinayaang bukas
Nakabilad sa araw
At sa pagbuhos ng ulan
Tinulungang lunurin ng tubig na may dalang putik
Sa labing-apat na araw na nakilala kita
Minahal ka ng buo
Nang walang halong pag-aalinlangan
Na di inisip kung mahal din ba ako o hindi
Pero sa ating munting panahon
Nalaman ko na ikaw ay isang relihiyon
Na piniling isantabi ang agham
At ako, kagaya ng lahat ng bagay sa mundo mo
Ay isang bersikulo lamang ng iyong bibliya
Na kung hindi maintindihan
Gagabayan ang sariling kamay
At ibubuklat ang mga kasunod na pahina
Mahal, sa labing-apat na araw na nakilala kita
Pagod na akong maging kalsada
Ayaw ko nang maging parte ng iyong bibliya
At higit sa lahat
Hindi ako ang iyong dugo
Na gagawing betamax at ibebenta
Kapalit sa kapirasong salapi
Mahal, hindi ako iyon
At ngayong tapos na ang labing apat na araw
Magiging mahalaga ako para sa akin
Nasaktan, nadurog
Pero noon 'yon!
Mula ngayon tatanggi na ako
Tatanggi akong masaktan
Tatanggi akong paglaruan
Tatanggi akong gamitin
At higit sa lahat tatanggihan na kita
Lilimutin ko ang iyong pagkatao gaya ng paglimot mo sa akin.
Masakit, pero kaya.
Matagal, pero kailangan.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
ghosts of slumber parties past.
just a haunted betamax & a stack of oreo sandwiches.
sisters braiding eachother’s hair far past the witching hour,
contemplating life without supervision.
blue house. yellow lawn.
silverback gorilla in one garage.
two garage: empty.
three garage: a woman entombed in exhaust.
[her bloated tongue]
a gang of bmx boys pizza-fed and friday-high,
hopped up on mountain dew and trading card collectible rituals ‘n rhythmics.
they conjure a demon just to **** and dismember it.
for funsies.
for keepsies.
a fang for the shrine at the foot of the old oak tree.
history on the skin, long history, long thoughts, long in the nod like a calm dead frog.
bubbled, boiled, toiled, and troubled.
the woods aren’t haunted.
you are haunted.
you are the conduit through which the darkness displays its vivid colors.
[treefort aflame]
the seasons furrow/
/ the leaves fall.
little plots of land etched out – subdivision and sprawl.
on the avenue, heaven
& hell made tame and tangible.
built, re-built, and refurbished – a lawn and a lantern.
a mortgaged glory of sparkle and decay.
[dead cat is a new cat is the old cat ran away]
pictograms of morning light display on mom’s face
as she instructs us on the gusts of love [scrambed eggs]
& teaches us the truth of nettles sprung
from violent pine.
[toast with raspberry jam]
the television.
the microwave.
the blender beverages.
hymnals of an electric kingdom.
one mom dances, the other expires.
[restless armless girls in orange sunsets]
girl with a gun at the edge of her lawn and selling lemonade.
girl in an old wicker chair.
save her horror story for another day.
boy with a bent frame bicycle limps his way home
from one end of the avenue to the other.
his pockets full of sparkly rocks found in the lime quarry pit.
one boy in a long line of lost planets.
the driveway.
the refrigerator.
the hum of a saturday night commercial-free cassette.
where’s dad?
the glow of an eerie crystal
(continued…)
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
From
the veil of
trees, I can
peer into
your window,
and count
the family,
imagine them
gone to bed,
dreaming of blue,
"underwater, unaware."
Those summer
evaporations tickle
my skin,
bring on such
an observational
itch:
how you,
freshly out
of the pool,
bloomed
brightly on
Betamax.
Dec 20, 2020
Dec 20, 2020 at 10:42 AM UTC
i was a little bit hazy on the details, but you can't find me anywhere.
i am the stranger.
we have Not been to hell and back and spent all our money.
we haven't the faintest idea " who you are "
but my identity is fluid
like a golden shower on Betamax -
for no reason.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 3:30 AM UTC
Like a pack of dogs lounging
in minutes, minutes, minutes, eyeing an endless treacle.
it’s worth the shot.
what is?
I heard he went into a crash,
and that Rey went into the deep blue dreaming of
fins and fish – that ******* Brenn was up in the hills.
it’s a wonderful day to fill this space with the electric frill
of laughter. Open that Emperador held loose in that
cheap, slender bottle. That’s worth the stipend, in exchange for
light – clarity, be it crass, and unsoundly. These ungodly hours
will form a God, trying to go home, slurring, shaking in his gait,
hailing a trisikad or a tricycle back to Philomena’s arms.
it was a magnificent day – you know it is. The squalid canals
are filled with the ******* under the care of a tyrant.
Jon looks like he’s cut up for matrimony. We jeer and give out
no jell so as to ridicule him into chaining himself to a passing.
Empyrean is the mood now: all primed for the blackened chapel’s chase
down the pews towards recognizing the smallest children inside ourselves.
This moment is far from over. Like a skipping Betamax. A gramophone
clamped in the kinked note lost somewhere in the sound byte,
try this matrix for the forgotten. Tomorrow we will curse ourselves
for the proud challenge, rivaling ourselves in the process.
Like dogs in heat. Like dogs aching to **** Like dogs
garroted by the selfish hands of the neighbor. Like old bones
sleeping in troves we have forgotten.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC
Muddy Earthen Derby Day, whateverhapt... time and chance
and sixty-five to one...
just now we agree means just
now, the moment, mortal or otherwise,
right before now, which is alright
ere vcr betamax was gobbled up by berhishitbvshiftingds
shoveitshiboleth. I'd'me, thenVHS
before, just now, back then
no records, no rerung bells, mere
storytellers familiar spirits of the okeh kind
drunken wanderers bumping into waves of
meaning framing ality in ifity as if
we, you and I, me and thee, we just
the two of us and
words alone between us. What
powers this
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 7:35 PM UTC