1.
Noong unang panahon, may lupaing walang makapapantay
Sa kariktan at kasaganahan nitong tinataglay
Ito ang “Ibalon” na kilala ngayong Bikol, Albay
Subalit ito’y iniiwasan ng mga manlalakbay
(Once upon a time, a land was known
For its beauty & bounty nothing outshone
It was Bicol, Albay which was then, Ibalon
Yet, travelers to there had been withdrawn)

2.
Dahil ito ay pinamumugaran
Ng mga halimaw na hayok sa laman
(Because it was teeming
With monsters to flesh were starving)

3.
Walang nangahas doon makapasok
Maliban sa lalaking si Baltog mula Boltavara na ubod ng lakas at pusok
(No one dared to enter in there
Except for Baltog, a daring & brave man from Boltavara yonder)

4.
Sinalanta niya ang mga halimaw na parang delubyo
Una si Tandayag, ang dambuhalang baboy-ramo
(He wiped out the monsters like a deluge
First was Tandayag, a warthog so huge)

5.
Mula noon, sa lupain na dating kinatatakutan
Mga tao’y dumayo at doon nanirahan
(From then on, in the land once feared
To flock & reside, people dared)

6.
Subalit hindi pa wagas na masaya
Dahil may mga halimaw pang natitira
(But it was not yet the happy ending
There were still monsters remaining)

7.
Si Baltog na matanda na ay labis nabahala
‘Pagkat siya’y mahina na at ‘di na makalaban pa
(Baltog was bothered now that he’s older
For he’s already weak and could fight no longer)

8.
Mabuti nalang at may binatang nagkusa
Siya si Handiong – matapang na, malakas pa
(Good there’s a young man who presented at last
He was Handiong so valiant and robust)

9.
Kanyang pinatumba ang duling na Sarimao
Pating na may pakpak at higantedng kalabaw
(He crushed down the cross-eyed Sarimao
The winged shark and the giant carabao)

10.
Subalit may nilalang na hindi niya nagapi
Ito ay mapanganib at tuso kasi
(But he cannot defeat a certain creature
For it was so dangerous and clever)

11.
Siya si Oryol, ang babaeng ahas
Lumalaban ba siya ng patas?
(She was Oryol, the snake lady
Does she fight impartially?)

12.
Sa kanyang mga yapos, walang nakapipiglas
Maging si Handiong na kaylakas, hindi nakaalpas
(On her grip, no one could break free
Even strong Handiong couldn’t escape from thee)

13.
Swerte ni Handiong, hindi siya binalak patayin
Bagkus ay ginamit nalang sa matagal na mithiin
(How fortunate was Handiong, there’s no plan to **** him
Instead, she just used him for her long-time dream)

14.
Laban sa mga mortal na kaaway, dapat tulungan siya ni Handiong
Na lipulin ang mga buwaya sa Ilog Ibalon
(Against her mortal enemies, Handiong must help her
To annihilate the crocodiles in Ibalon River)

15.
Matapos tuparin ang mapanganib na misyon
Si Oryol ay naging kapanalig sa Ibalon
(After fulfilling the dangerous mission
Oryol became an ally in Ibalon)

16.
Si Handiong ay naging mahusay na pinuno
Bangka, araro, alibata – kayraming naimbento sa kanyang pangungulo
(Handiong became an excellent ruler
Boat, plow, alphabet – many inventions were made during his tenure)

17.
At sa mga sumunod pang henerasyon
Naging mapayapa’t maunlad ang Ibalon
(And on the succeeding generations
Peace & prosperity reigned over Ibalon)

18.
Hanggang sa may sumulpot
Na panibagong kinatakutang salot
(Until there appeared
A new abomination so much feared)

19.
Siya’y nagtataglay ng katakut-takot na kapangyarihan
Hindi rin maipaliwanag ang kanyang kaanyuan
(He possessed a terrifying power
No one could even describe his feature)

20.
Siya ay isang mangkukulam na kilabot
Na tinatawag nilang Rabot
(He was a sorcerer fearsome
Called Rabot by some)

21.
Mapalad ang Ibalon, may natira pang bayani
Siya si Bantung, matalino’t maliksi
(Lucky was Ibalon, a hero was still there
That was Bantung vigorous and aware)

22.
Siya’y lumikha ng isang payak na plano
Pinaslang niya si Rabot habang natutulog ito
(He just devised a simple planning
He murdered Rabot while the monster was sleeping)

23.
Si Rabot ang pinakahuling halimaw sa Ibalon
Nang siya’y mapuksa, naging payapa na doon
(Rabot was the very last monster in Ibalon
Upon his death, peace reigned there from then on.)

-03/10-11/2012
(Dumarao)
*for Lit. Day 2012

sino ba nag kinakita sa imo
ikaw sa akin ko mata
kasi nag mamata ako
dito para sa imo lang

sa oras hasta sa langhit
o sa akin ko otak
a’yun aking ko inisipon
ang trabajo nang carabao
diri sa dupa nito

ang isda nag lumipad sa tubig
a’yun pispis na malapit sa cahoy
kasi ang dahon nag tuktuk

sa kamut ko nag pabalhasan
sa sarap nang kabuhi
ang kawi mo nag pula
kasi mayong adlaw
ang tini-tikman mo

dugay naman ang hapon
karon lang, pagtulog ako

Her crown reigns short
But stands out from among the trees
Her bark is soft
She is unmatched in beauty
When I drew near
Her flowers were clear
No shade of color worthy

so it begins when it begins
    blasé grass serrates
past herds of carabao dreaming anxiously
  of the day's toil;

the countryman stilts through
   mounted in gray mountain
with dippers, casserole, mirrors
with imprints of ******* clad women
    and women who are (really ******* clad) ready for bathing work,
    collections of red days and even
    tenderly the ***** sing attenuated songs of rooming-houses —

  the crunch of basil over the afternoon.
waft of a pasture's death my eyes well
    up rivers and ponds of elation. dog days, feral nights limp behind rusted
   kennels and makeshift asylums

   there is nothing left of the world
(this small world
            that only rises when bellows
  of festivities harangue the many streets
             bending in them, the curve)
  men moving from neck to neck
    of bottles — (in the north there
      is only four corners of bottle: gin,
   pristine brook; in the Visayas is
      the redolent Vino Kulafu of the same
   potency) plucked out of the vermilion
   and on benched careening on half-painted gates crooning Sinatra
     gets stabbed, bloodied on the floor,
named after elegies; native chicken held
     upside down and beheaded as many blacker days stifled; what do you make
    out of this?
    
      carabaos, equines, hens line up
   the slaughterhouse behind the
      TODA; you know a fine day when
         it happens — breaking eggs
  against the lip of the kaldero. crumbled
    archaic sensurround, barrage of
      simmer round the clock cycling
before the child wakes and wails to suckle
          our mothers, faster than repose
  of milbrightlions of stars falling asleep
      to silent radios, leaving windows
   open revisited by the eve of cold.

In Tibiao,
My childhood’s home
I remember riding on a karosa, a cart
Being pulled by my grandfather’s carabao
While watching the setting sun
As we go home
After his day’s work,
I, accompanying him.

Tonight,
Seeing vehicles
Plying EDSA, lugging tons of passengers,
With their back lights, neon red, glaring
I think of hundreds and hundreds of bull frogs
Being pulled on their hind legs
With their smoldering eyes
Looking at me.
The night
Is my grandfather
Walking me home.

To the childhood unforgotten--

Take me back again
To the games of siato, tumba-lata,  and tagu-taguan
with playmates whose faces I long to remember.

Take me back again
To the carabao rides on the muddy ground
The smell of the rain on the rice paddy and the laughs of my cousins as we tumbled down.

Take me back again
To the dining table lit by a kerosene lamp as we feasted on May's salted fish and mamok
With the cold, fresh water from the earthen jar
and the coconut and pili conserva in banana leaves.

Take me back again
To  May's lullabies with the crickets and the river's song in the background
To Pay's playing of the old guitar at siesta
and the passionate storytelling at night.

(c) Glenn Sentes
05.20.23

after Ansel Elkins

Carabao **** isn't permafrost,
temperature, disdain — climates
stirring into a tornado soup
of force, melting, seclusion.
In the heartbeat of gulls,
the waves gargled froth and
spat on charred limestone.
Then the grass beneath our
wet feet writhed in the
slice of wind atop the hills
of Hiyop, in Catanduanes
where roads go unmoored from
their skiffs like violin
strings curling under sharp
slide. You can invent a new
word to describe transformations,
but these will never catch it
in the act — the moment
vibration somersaults into
howl, when swinging grass
is louder than jetplanes
then suddenly quieter than
prayer. I like to dig my thumb
into the soft marsh, dirt
occupying the folds, creases;
labyrinthine pathways of skin
blanketed with Earth.
At this point the mountain
knows me;
and I dare to know the
mountain but come short, reaching
only its narrow berms,
pockmarks,
and ****-ridden sheath of
dry flowers cooking the
words to a song of its
people.

Then it has fallen
Now it was sunken
Unmoved like bedridden
Enchained and sullen

During its loneliness
In this somber place
Life found a space
The seed experienced solace

Downwards creep the roots
Upwards grow the shoots
Alongside carabao boots
Hope not to be crushed by coots.

-04/23/2012
(Dumarao)
*for Agri. poem in Salingsing Issue of 1st Sem., AY 2011-12

Obtained thee at noon
When lunch was so soon
We step upon it
Toes it can meet
A “carabao grass”

I’m with First Sectors
Four village neighbors
Whose dress were all red
We’re under a shed
All Dumaraonons

First day of August
It’s lunch time almost
Eleven thirty
It was so sunny
While Gov. was speaking

Inside a large tent
Where I sat and bent
Dumarao Central
School Playground Oval
Right side facing stage

Behold Opening
Fiesta happening
A colorful one
Everyone has fun
Rejoice, Dumarao!

-08/01/2013
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection

Plucked thee while sitting
While Mayor speaking
Unlike the first four
You’re not for décor
Lo! “Carabao Grass”?

CapSU family
And unknown to me
Crowd – far and near
Cluster – there and here
Fiesta spectators

PM August One
Start of feast on town
There’s not enough sun
Not hot, not cold – fine
Mayor gives message

Parade to playground
Crowds and sounds around
Audience view – right side
Itchy grasses side
Kneel and Indian seat

It was eight years past
Since I was there last
Take part Padagyaw
Rejoice Dumarao
Our Lady of Snows!

-08/01/2011
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection

Consider that I’m not a pest
As I am subject to thy behest

Perhaps I’m a rooster
Who wakes up earlier
To tell my master
I’m ahead him/her

Perhaps I’m a cat
Who incurs my wrath
On every destructive rat
In my keeper’s hut

Perhaps I’m a canine
Who barks even past nine
When someone crosses the line
I can even break a spine

Perhaps I’m a pig
Who just lay fat and big
Can’t even do a graceful jig
Only comfort it wants to dig

Perhaps I’m a carabao
Friend of iron plow
Machine for more than just an hour
Works with even humble bow.

If I’m all or none above
I hope to me you have some love.

-11/29/2011
(Dumarao)
*confused about career disposition