"calamansi" poems - Hello Poetry

Translation follows mahal kong tequila, iniibig kita. ako'y pinakamaligaya kapag kasama ka. at sa 'yong piling ako'y nahuhumaling walang ibang hinihiling, wala ring nagsisinungaling. mahal kong tequila, mahal ka ngang talaga. kung ika'y naging mura, pagkain ka ng masa. dahil sa 'yong piling wala nang problema calamansi at asin ang tanging kasama. masarap pa siguro kung boyfriend kita. aba, Jose Cuervo.. ang ganda pa sa mata! *Rough translation: My beloved tequila I love you. I am happiest In your company. In your embrace I find extreme closeness appealing No more requests, No one lies. My beloved tequila I've paid for so dear. If you'd have been cheaper, The masses would cheer. Because in your embrace Problems are no more Lime and salt Are our only companions. It would be a treat If you'd be my boyfriend. Hmm, Jose Cuervo.. The name fits!*

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Jul 14, 2011

Jul 14, 2011 at 8:44 AM UTC

mariel-jean-hollis-raymundo

oh, tequila

Translation follows mahal kong tequila, iniibig kita. ako'y pinakamaligaya kapag kasama ka. at sa 'yong piling ako'y nahuhumaling walang ibang hinihiling, wala ring nagsisinungaling. mahal kong tequila, mahal ka ngang talaga. kung ika'y naging mura, pagkain ka ng masa. dahil sa 'yong piling wala nang problema calamansi at asin ang tanging kasama. masarap pa siguro kung boyfriend kita. aba, Jose Cuervo.. ang ganda pa sa mata! *Rough translation: My beloved tequila I love you. I am happiest In your company. In your embrace I find extreme closeness appealing No more requests, No one lies. My beloved tequila I've paid for so dear. If you'd have been cheaper, The masses would cheer. Because in your embrace Problems are no more Lime and salt Are our only companions. It would be a treat If you'd be my boyfriend. Hmm, Jose Cuervo.. The name fits!*

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My previous school’s canteen had a treat called Custard Bun, just worth 20 pesos One of the cheaper snacks, amidst a variety of 25s and 27s There were times I skipped lunch due to a meeting But during the five minutes left going up to the fourth floor, I would dash towards the canteen, just to buy Custard Bun, and pair it with the classic Calamansi Juice What makes it special, you ask? A cheek-like bun, whose only design was a yellow custard swirl on top Soft, and Filled with a pale yellow cream That isn’t too sweet, unlike its choco-bun rivals What made it so different? Perhaps it reminded me of the olden days Which I sometimes reminisce about, between fits of silence In this unfamiliar place I remember, how like its sweetness takes me back to when I was a child When I loved eating this bread called Graciosa, which was just a loaf of bread topped with sugar and butter How simple it always seemed then, how it never needed more How in times when we get distracted by life’s complexities Sometimes an ordinary treat is what we need to get by I remember writing articles for a sports event — it was night at school And someone offered us a big box of abandoned swirl-topped buns Still in their plastics Untouched by the athletes they were meant to serve I thought, how lonely they must be in the night So I took one, and another, which turned to five, Brought some home, ate some along the way It felt like I finally found consolation, eating the bun, Whose taste I could never put my finger to And afterwards, whenever I passed the canteen I always looked for it, for the bun that felt like home And often see one hidden amongst others, just waiting to be Found The bun which I discovered, Was named Custard And I realized, even if I never tasted Custard in my whole life It was like a forgotten friend, who came back from a long journey And I just remembered its name So if you ask me, Why I love Custard Bun so much, If you ever had that feeling of remembering something Seemingly long lost, from eons ago And you find it in the most unexpected of places Bringing with it the most precious of memories You’d understand so In a new place, I hope to find it once again.

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Jun 23, 2020

Jun 23, 2020 at 1:40 AM UTC

Vaampyrae

Custard Bun

My previous school’s canteen had a treat called Custard Bun, just worth 20 pesos One of the cheaper snacks, amidst a variety of 25s and 27s There were times I skipped lunch due to a meeting But during the five minutes left going up to the fourth floor, I would dash towards the canteen, just to buy Custard Bun, and pair it with the classic Calamansi Juice What makes it special, you ask? A cheek-like bun, whose only design was a yellow custard swirl on top Soft, and Filled with a pale yellow cream That isn’t too sweet, unlike its choco-bun rivals What made it so different? Perhaps it reminded me of the olden days Which I sometimes reminisce about, between fits of silence In this unfamiliar place I remember, how like its sweetness takes me back to when I was a child When I loved eating this bread called Graciosa, which was just a loaf of bread topped with sugar and butter How simple it always seemed then, how it never needed more How in times when we get distracted by life’s complexities Sometimes an ordinary treat is what we need to get by I remember writing articles for a sports event — it was night at school And someone offered us a big box of abandoned swirl-topped buns Still in their plastics Untouched by the athletes they were meant to serve I thought, how lonely they must be in the night So I took one, and another, which turned to five, Brought some home, ate some along the way It felt like I finally found consolation, eating the bun, Whose taste I could never put my finger to And afterwards, whenever I passed the canteen I always looked for it, for the bun that felt like home And often see one hidden amongst others, just waiting to be Found The bun which I discovered, Was named Custard And I realized, even if I never tasted Custard in my whole life It was like a forgotten friend, who came back from a long journey And I just remembered its name So if you ask me, Why I love Custard Bun so much, If you ever had that feeling of remembering something Seemingly long lost, from eons ago And you find it in the most unexpected of places Bringing with it the most precious of memories You’d understand so In a new place, I hope to find it once again.

50

“And only the azure painted sky to shake the rain from its sound,” so the plain falls, opening its mouth through a bed of headstones dotted with the hollowed trunks of magnolias and cedar at afternoon and that cameo of calamansi velour interwoven with the softest glaucous velvet. Inside that whirlpool of sacrosanct textiles a blur, that shocking shrill of coolness catches the skin- this hole-covered schmata oozing cesious acronychal threads pull tight across the hooves, branches, and stream. Only the thin repelling flume of winter’s height eschews this ianthine material over the sinews and map-lined bones. A corpse shortening its gaze, eyes stone-free, empty of nictitation. Nothing stings more than autumn’s filemot sins scraping sideways down a tiled balcony, and the dove’s beg like circus rats, shaped by the finite breaths of decade’s old poetry edging its moods like a bold inflammatory conflagration of the de-evolution. While the fulvous trammeled dirt abounds.

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Nov 29, 2017

Nov 29, 2017 at 4:40 PM UTC

martin-narrod

The Surveyor’s Reprieve

“And only the azure painted sky to shake the rain from its sound,” so the plain falls, opening its mouth through a bed of headstones dotted with the hollowed trunks of magnolias and cedar at afternoon and that cameo of calamansi velour interwoven with the softest glaucous velvet. Inside that whirlpool of sacrosanct textiles a blur, that shocking shrill of coolness catches the skin- this hole-covered schmata oozing cesious acronychal threads pull tight across the hooves, branches, and stream. Only the thin repelling flume of winter’s height eschews this ianthine material over the sinews and map-lined bones. A corpse shortening its gaze, eyes stone-free, empty of nictitation. Nothing stings more than autumn’s filemot sins scraping sideways down a tiled balcony, and the dove’s beg like circus rats, shaped by the finite breaths of decade’s old poetry edging its moods like a bold inflammatory conflagration of the de-evolution. While the fulvous trammeled dirt abounds.

1

Some say it widens quick as my fingernails grow and by the time I die the height of me has been added to its width so toss me off the ship slip me past seaweed grasps and test this hypothesis. Some say it can fit in Everest with a mile to spare while I did not find the time or, perhaps, care to feet it’s summit this tick of the Rolex this pound of pressure applied per inch of capillary. But even here where bathyscaphe meets hydrosphere where sunlight is cinema where goblin sharks gobble darkness an anglerfish pours it's torch over basecamp wishing loneliness was an antidote for altitude sickness. My how magnanimous magma makes me miss my mama, subducted and spewed out drawn down from cold to heat and reborn as calamansi cocktails at a shackbar on the beach.

0

Jun 21, 2022

Jun 21, 2022 at 7:05 AM UTC

jopfre

Mariana source

Some say it widens quick as my fingernails grow and by the time I die the height of me has been added to its width so toss me off the ship slip me past seaweed grasps and test this hypothesis. Some say it can fit in Everest with a mile to spare while I did not find the time or, perhaps, care to feet it’s summit this tick of the Rolex this pound of pressure applied per inch of capillary. But even here where bathyscaphe meets hydrosphere where sunlight is cinema where goblin sharks gobble darkness an anglerfish pours it's torch over basecamp wishing loneliness was an antidote for altitude sickness. My how magnanimous magma makes me miss my mama, subducted and spewed out drawn down from cold to heat and reborn as calamansi cocktails at a shackbar on the beach.

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