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Tungkol saan kaya ang isusulat ko?
Dito sa papel at lapis na hawak ko?
Tungkol kaya ‘to sa kapaligiran ko?
O sa nararamdama’t karanasan ko?
Ngayon, nananatiling blangko si papel
Nakasulat palang itong si letrang “L”
Hayy ‘di pa naman tumutunog ‘tong si “bell”
Kaya gagamitin nalang muna si “cel”
At lumipas ang mahigit isang oras
Napansin ko, ako’y nagsayang ng oras!
Hayy nakoo! Bakit  dito  bilis mo oras?!
‘lam mo nang ayokong tumayo sa labas.
Nakoo ‘yan na si teacher [insert pangalan]!
Ay! Itago! Itago si “cel” bilisan!
Ibalik si papel! ‘tong lapis tasahan!
Para ‘di guilty mukha, boses lakasan!
Ay teka’ ba’t si teacher’  dito ang *****?
Parang umaapoy kanyang mga mata
Biglang kinabahan na parang ‘sang bata,
Hayy nakoo! Ako ata’y lagot nanaman!
Nahugot agad si “cel” sa pagalapit niya
At inilagay niya sa drawer ng mesa niya
Itong aking nararamdaman, ‘di kaya
Pawang nan’liliit’ sa labis na hiya.
Kaya kasama ulit si blangkong papel
Kasama narin ‘tong si tanging letra “L”
Ngunit ngayo’y ang lungkot’ wala na si “cel”
At saktong tumunog itong si lokong “bell”.
dedicated to all my fellow Filipinos here in Hellopoetry!

My first and only poem written in my native language.

From 3 years ago.

(07 – 25 – 2013)
Steaming, pale pink, moments ago
these rosebuds were sleeping, dried, unfragrant.

Now, like a single paper flower that blossoms from within
its scrubbed clam shell, held together lightly, then opening slowly
in its requisite, tall, crystalline glass of water,
these tiny buds are softening, unfurling, reviving,
intoxicating me with this heady, womanly scent, and
moistening my face as I lean over this healing brew you sent for me.

Born of humans, linked to me by human blood and a shared, ancient selkie ancestry,
wise, beautiful, deep eyes, flowing dark hair, blessings pour forth from you
in all, and every moment, of your gentle, earnest, worshiping life.

Kinswoman to my open heart,
to our ceaseless inquiries into sacred mysteries,
your power to transform finds me
wherever I am.
Copyrighted by Elisa Maria Argiro 2017
Star BG Jan 2018
I TRIED CALLING YOU BUT...
it went to voice mail immediately.

Does your phone need charging
run down from all your busyness?

Is it lost in a pocketbook,
absent of sunlight?

Has it been left alone to wander
in halls of an endless ring?

Is it longing to hear your voice
tickle it's insides?

Could it be on vibrate,
with tones silenced?

I tried calling you but...
an electronic voice was all that echoed.
making me feel alone.
I reached out for a friend but she wasn't there.
Forty years in this old house
It’s filled with treasures lacking worth
To anyone expecting gold,
But priceless in the life recalled.

The warnings came a week ago-
A cataclysmic storm they said
Stock up water and food to eat
That won’t require electricity.

I laid in water and granola bars
And put some things in plastic bags
I wrote my ID on my forearm
Feeling silly as I did.

I moved things to the second floor
Assuring them of some protection
I wish I could have carried more
But the rain was knocking on the door.

It came seeping underneath
And as I watched, it soaked the rug.
Not satisfied with ruined carpet
It crept up the sofa’s skirt.

What am I still doing here
They said do not evacuate
So I am forced to watch the death
Of all I worked so hard to own.

I’s almost knee deep in the kitchen
Where’s my hammer and crow bar
Dang! they’re both out in the shed
I should have thought to bring them in.

It’s lucky I don’t have a pet
No dog or cat or bird or fish
Another life to fret about
When I can barely save my own.

The water’s nearly hip deep now
And rising at a hellish rate
The walls are shaking from the pressure
It’s time for me to move upstairs.

The rain’s a wall I can’t see through
I don’t know how my neighbors fare.
The power’s out - the house is silent
Except for the drumming of the rain.

My lantern is the only light -
How long will the batteries last.
Oh Lord, I’m starting to get frightened
Water’s coming up the stairs, silent as a burglar.

They said don’t go into the attic
Get up on the roof instead.
They didn’t tell us how to do that
How to break ceiling and shingles.

I’m old - I’ve lost the strength of youth
I don’t think I can get up there.
If the water keeps on rising
I must prepare to meet my maker

All I love live far away
Are they as frantic now as me
Will a neighbor come and find me
My cel phone battery just died

Still the ugly, ***** water
Inches further up the stairs.
The old house shudders in the windy gusts
And I can’t keep my fingers steady

I just wrote something on the wall-
A farewell to my family
They should know I thought of them
As water seeps across this floor.

I’ve broken out a window
Over the submerged porch
There’s no point in going out it
I’d only just be swept away.

The water’s almost knee deep here too
I know it’s never going to stop
It’s foolish to stand up on a chair
I’ll say my prayers and go to bed

I’m sure that only God can save me
Neighbors have their problems too.
I’ve lived for eighty happy years
It’s time to shake the hand of fate.

I wonder what it’s like, this drowning
They say you see your life again.
That almost makes it worth the going
Except the sadness left behind.

The bed clothes now are wet and sopping
I never knew I could feel so cold
There’s a rumble in the distance
Like a giant waterfall.

Growing closer like a jet plane
What do you suppose it is
Now the house is really shaking
And I can

ljm
Dominique Feb 2019
i have so little of me left

                                                    it's  s l i v e r s, really, silhouettes


a     scatter ing            of cel ls     at be st


                                                       why would i let you have the rest?
i wish i could unselfishly give myself to people
unfortunately today it seems that there's barely enough of me for me.
jer Feb 2018
space wants us dead
our breath to stop
to boil our flesh

the galaxies
the stars, the moon 
want us dead

earth wants us
alive, enveloped
in its blanket, we thrive

i see beauty in all of existence
as ver'ly as nature's own persistence
magnificent flowers spread the meadows
'n' bright colours lightin' up in the skies
never hidden to the beholder's eyes

i can see the sun shinin' through the rain
as there is always somethin' good to gain
for life will cel'brate however it goes
by far into depths of wondrous oceans
but rather be it spilled into motions

see we all get haunt by our own shadows
tho we the ruler of whichever shows
for as long as man's bein' able to feel
from birth upto decay of what is real


*..love always...


عرفان بن يوسف © AH 12/04/1437

'a (pentameter) Rosarian Sonnet'
A Simillacrum Jul 2018
Late - ly
I can feel the i - tch, I know:
It's preposterous.

Wh - y is it, that I
never can de - cide
who it is I am, with
con - fi - dence?

Modern tools aside,
I still take the r - ide
taken near distantly by
my an - ces - tors.

Late - ly
I can feel the i - tch, I know!
It's preposterous.

Now, kids, please listen
as you read my voice
how you like. How you like.
I thought I would die by
the time I was twenty five
at fifteen -- but look at me.
Now, kids, I'm touching
twenty nine with a cer -
tain newfound confidence.
I survived the prescription pills,
the gender redefinition, as well
as the hormone therapy, and I
want to tell you that I,
believe in you. I believe in you.

Cel - ebrate all of your pain
at your whim and as you live,
well, the pain will become
your friend and your impetus.

Lately, I can feel the itch.
I know it's preposterous,
but I must continue to
explore and change
unless I aspire to
placidity, and I
don't-- in fact
I never will.
Once more, kids, with confidence.
Misfits, hold out, survive.
You're important.

<3
It was the year of optimum technology. Manufacturers were cranking
out musical baubles with motions detectors that rang out with music
and song jubilation, at the tip of a human wave or shuffle.
Every household sheep ran out to buy these amusing novelties.
It wasn't long before the big recall. They were deemed annoying
by the public.  "We can't talk over them.  They got a mind of their
own."  Soon they were all returned to the store.
So the distributors hired  a slewing  of personnel  to deliver all the
baubles to the forest and abandon them there in an old shack.
On Christmas day as the world slept by the silenced buzz of their cel,
one sad lumberjack braved the dawn and went out to cut a fresh tree
in the woods.  He closed the door behind him, leaving a deaf child
clutching a doll and an old ratty mouse named Nicky.
With every swing of his ax he heard a ring a ling ding, ding a ding ****.
It was coming from the old shack, and it got louder with every chop.
Ian walked into the shed and saw the most adorable baubles laying
pine coned on the floor. He carried an armload of them to his truck
His thoughts were miles away. Thinking how sad it was that his daughter
Cora could not hear anything.  She had never heard the sound of music
nor the sound of her dad's voice.  Christmas would be silent as usual but
at least she could stare at the beautiful baubles on the evergreen. He
entered his humble abode and mantled the tree with shiny  ornaments.
When Cora Ling saw the baubles on the tree her eyes opened wider
then two lanterns in the snow. "Oh" was all she said as she ducked to
retrieve his gift. It was a freshly made sandwich put together that very
morning. He gave her a big bear hug and then plucked a green box
from the middle of two branches. "Open" was all he mouthed.
Inside were two dangling silver earrings, one for each ear. "They
used to be your moms and I think she'd like you to have them.
When she ran over to give her dad a big hug, the baubles began to
vibrate and hum.  They sang out an operetta of great beauty.
Many a year had elapsed since their last Christmas interlude. They
had upgraded themselves and taught each other to sing as a team.
To Ian's surprise his little girl picked up her doll and started dancing
around the room.  Even Nicky the mouse was waving his tail to the
rhythm of the music.  "Can you hear that?" he asked his daughter .
She swirled and twirled as if she would never stop. Then she went to the
window and waved to someone or something ? With a smile that broke
the stars of heaven,  she scattered the Christmas Spirit all over the place,
then with a sweep of her beautiful eyes she said, " daddy, I can hear."
The End.
stranger Oct 2021
*** s-au dus iar zile peste mine și eu le-am vândut pe nimic sperând la libertate și n-am primit nici măcar dreptul de a dormi.
*** m-au călcat orele în picioare râzând de visele mele anticipative.
M-am săturat de zile și nopți placebo
De batjocura lumii când vreau doar să râd.
M-am săturat de semi-singuratate,
Și de fiecare gând.
M-am saturat de tine,
Tu cel din oglindă, că plângi doar când nu ți se cuvine și râzi fără inimă.
Sper să nu-ți mai plângi sănătatea că nu are să se întoarcă,
Căci camera ți-e goală și tu tot aici ai rămas,
Tu râs fără spațiu de ecou
Raza de soare în crepuscul,
Nu-ți mai număra zile pentru un erou,
Și șterge-ți rujul.
M-am săturat de tine,
Tu cel din oglindă, căci tu nu vei fi eu vreodată iar eu nu voi fi tu.
Așa că refuzând să plâng, iubire, îți aștept sfârșitul.
Murdar om mai ești,
Păcătos din natură.
Sper să nu mai grăiești, sper să te arzi cu propria-ți ură.
z Dec 2016
and why do those men build that fourth wall
shutting out the sky
bright blue ghosts chat in the moonlight tacked to
empty rooms, window holes, no heat
those repeated stem-cel rooms
a desk, a chair, a bed, who knows?
waiting in line for a purpose
Star BG Sep 2017
My eyes light up
with an inspiring scene
as I walk in day.
Out comes my cel phone.
But no ring is heard
just the click click
of a camera
catching a moment
in time divine.
Just what The poem said happened. Too bad I can't show you the pictures. LOL
BTW Dec 2022
The Moment
Dec 23 2022

One cel in a movie.
One letter in a word, on a page, in a book.
One kiss.
Death
Noah Vanderwerf Oct 2019
We got a sinkhole in our kitchen,
all the tiles shaken and wallpaper peeling.
Could be where we've been stuffing our laundry,
or just ran out of caulk to fill the cracks.
Either way, we paid it no mind,
and it grew from the fridge to the door,

from the toilet across the floor.

The pipes jutting out of the dirt and the drywall,
and drop ceiling shredded around.
Through the hole we feel heat rising,
and hear the squawking from the basement.
The crows are dancing around the clutter,
trying not go up in flames,

but without the children escaping.

They've felt the furnace overheating,
refilling gas with every rising flame.
Claws would burn on the steaming valve,
so they just endure the roasting.
Until the furnace finally blows it smoke,
bursting out the house-grown pressure,

the crows only feel frost or the burn.

There's no gray now, just black and white.
Up from the sink hole grows a giant sunflower.
Its rotting face uncolored through the cel shade.
We're all entangled in the vines until it's chopped down.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2022
i've finally accepted my opinion on the ultimate song...
esp. after a ****** shift at the London Stadium:
West Ham vs. Lyon...
  there's not other song that keeps me.... groovy...
up-beat... even though we had about five pitch-intrusions...
runners... whatever...
i was mouthed off for not doing my job:
even i was on the opposite side of the pitch
and... no one was paying me to be a supervisor...
mouthed off for other people not doing their job...
clueless sputnik sort of people...
the whole: penguins of Madagascar... just smile and wave...
middle-aged *******: do your job...
then apologies... but me being the negotiator:
sir, i understand you... the passion... no one wants
a pitch-invasion, even if it's by a soloist...
yes, kind sir, thank you for your criticism...
people need to be herded...
i don't have a c.c.t.v. type of third crow of Odin
on my shoulder to check on everyone,
for ****'s sake!
        then this *******... with a walking stick...
ugly inside and out...
i could understand: humble... not this sort of crap...
that's why he's a *******: in my eyes...
because he has ugly insides...
moans into my ear... but i paid £71 to watch this match!
i can't see **** because of the steward standing up!
sir... we're supposed to stand up just before
the end of the match...
but i paid £71 to watch this match!
may i suggest, buying a ticket... so you're sat
a bit higher up?!
  i actually love this job... which isn't really a job...
crowd management...
i'm more used to dealing with inanimate things...
applying them...
what a glorious precursor to dealing with
children in a classroom... the mascots fist-bump me...
as to the colt... i also have my usual crowd...
i blow kisses to them they retort with:
we love you! and what the **** am i?
some ******* high-viz. traffic cone...
    that's all i am...  or am i?
    i forget to get to know myself in these situations...
i just checked on the Muslims in the crowd
breaking fast... you have your candy-bar?
or are you on the strict date breaking of the fast
diet? joked aside with another Muslim lad...
so... is it true? some of the Ummah binge eat
when the sun goes down?
oh, i agree... another one of those sly *******...
a feeling of conversation soon turned into a feeling
of conversion... trouble is...
ha ha... sure... i'd tell him... i'd convert...
but... i'd convert to ****'ite Islam... not Sunni...
that's a worthwhile joke... to keep...
  sure... i'll convert... but... i don't want to convert
to Sunni Islam... i want to convert to ****'ite Islam...
because... PBUH: Muhammad was a man
that didn't keep his word...
                    then again, i figured...
there could possibly be a third splinter in Islam...
that the Turks could take care of...
Arabs and Pakistanis in the middle...
Persians being one outlier...
Turks being the third...
  so composed within the confines of European
cosmopolitanism...
besides the Byzantines... who spent the most time
in the Balkans? not the Ottoman Turks?!
well then! sorted!
            why dates?! how about a handful of
Brazil nuts, or pecan nuts?!
what's with these ******* Arabs and
diabetes... oh sure... drinking it bad...
but SUGAR: GOO' GOOD...
sure... not enough sugar... chop a hand off...
chop a leg off...
it truly was a ****** ****... i arrived at Romford
and said to myself... better walk it off...
drink two ciders on the way home...
eat some... vegetarian spectacular wrap...
smoke... admire the moon...
thick skin, though...
whatever the people were saying...
with my usual crowd i just blew kisses...
shook hands... it was all good...
as the break guy i could have watched the match...
yawn... i found out that... football?
is best watched on t.v.: when at a football match
i rather watch the crowd...
but i've switched off...
it should have been the song akin to:
a-ha's cry wolf,
duran duran's the reflex...
roxette's - watercolours in the rain...
prokofiev's lieutenant kije suite / battle on the ice...
boney m's cover via placebo:
daddy cool... no... that will never cover it...
bohemian like you by the dandy warhols...
no chance...
  girls aloud - the show... nope...
vaughan williams;:
        fantasia on a theme by thomas tallis
nope...
nothing by early madonna: i tried material girl...
no chance...
there's only one song...
cel-ah-brate... believe me...
  i can't be wrong...
    i can be wong... but i can't be wrong...
KOOL & THE GANG: CELEBRATION....
sure... and all those underappreciated black artists
by zee weißvolk!
          ficken-du-zu!
                    fickereiwic­hsenarbeite!
*******-****-jobs...
      problem (aufgabe)? solved (
                                                          gelös­t)!
always with the: ****-it attitude... and always always best...
with s stern elevation of English into German...
no no... trying to pull off English into a Russian
translation... never cuts through the lard...
you can see the Russians... sons and daughters
of oligarchs... truly timid creatures...
but the rich kids of China at Fulham?
          solipsistic... ******* on lemon type of crowd...
****... you're right... they just might be...
smuggling prunes in their *******...
sometimes... you never really know...
        ugh... where's the Ummah's position on
the Uyghurs? no suicide bombing in the part of the world?
pseudo-humans? so, so celebration of Islam
there? ******* double-standards if you don't
think those people as equal to your own:
Arabii cwowd... so much current stuff happening:
yet the trucks of peace: piece by piece of instestines
being dragged through the streets of Nice...
the joyous parties surrounding Cologne...
let's just have a good time! goad:
milk the goats sort of fun time!
yeah-hoo!              party!
                             ­ while we're walking on egg-shells:
minding who gets to break fast! yeah-hoo!
the girls of Rotherham! gang-*****!
getting soaked in petrol! yeah-hoo!
          i'm a party man... i love to party!
i'm a party man! this is a party song! i'm in a part mood!
at one point being so respectable...
one close alternative: for a song...
PENDULUM: TARANTULA...
    that song came on and i was clubbing in Basildon...
i went... mental bruv!
                and when the music is right...
sure... but i'll covert... to the Turkish version of Islam...
don't you know... there's this third branch of
your religion, it's not ****'ite... it's... Turkish...
it began with barbers and prostitutes...
in the Balkans...
                it treats Jesus as: a son of Hell...
the Lord of Mosquitos...
the greatest troll Hell ever produced....
lord of mosquitos...
        לורד  של יתושים
                eh? lurd shl ysushim?!
well, it's a best kept secret... Hebrews have always
been a secretive types...
let them continue: preserving their ******* past...
what... ever...
          Jesus for me was... is...
a Prince of Hell... just as there was a prince of flies:
Beelzebub...
  he... was the Prince of Mosquitos...
blood turns to wine, wine turns to blood...
water turns to blood... blood blood...
and those 2000+ years with the inspiration
for the myths of vampires?! seriously?!
then, i, must, be, *******, clueless! asleep!
      only recently i've learned -
i have a weak-spot: ein schwachpukt:
          betreffend: ingwer-behaart-frauen...
gälisch: wahr-und-richtig...
          this: diese geistbetäubung beihilfe!
oh, i even talked with this Celtic beau!
ginger... i'm sworn to these women!
with a crusade... i call them shy auburns...
this one i talked about being  James Joyce
disciple... i was once a mythological blonde
type of guy... now? sure... blonde...
but more... strawberry blonde...
ooh... those red-heads...
            i hate chocolates...
but i want to drizzle them into the stuff...
i want their ginger to turn into brown!
into oak!
                  kiss me: because i have lost care....
how much i want to love...
per usual... so much is always missing.
I don't need little emoticons  I need sunshine in my face
I don't need face book likes I need you over by my place

I don't need messenger chat  I need a friend  with skin on
I don't need cel beebs nor empty stares that say  I'm gone

I don't want technology to rule my day its plastic anyway  
I don't want an email to say  "I'm having a baby any day"  

but I do want to write great poetry on a sunny beach and say,
this has been a great day, I haven't googled away, my day.
Cherries Miedema Jun 2023
I breathe you in without knowing.
And all of a sudden I feel dizzy.
Can’t breathe down.

I remember that girl I used to be living with this feeling.
Breathing.

The pain from somebody.
And the person doesn’t know.
The pain I’m in after I’ve been breathing.
Your smoke.
Your ****.
My muscles are stuck.

I’m in agony for hours, stuck staring.
In this state of tension, anxiety and spasms.
And nobody takes it seriously.
Second hand **** smoke attack.
I used to have these daily because my neighbor didn’t care.

HE smoked so I got stuck or had to flee.
Everywhere but home.
And now having an attack again I’m put right back in that state.

Back to that girl I once was.
The girl that had to face this while breathing in some else’s horror and smoke.
Because she had no other place to be.
Could only run when it was possible or scream.

And then the police took her.
Or they took her because somebody was mean to her and she screamed.
And there was loud noise and it never stopped.

Or somebody was unreasonable but she was the crazy one so the police was called on her.
And she got stripped and touched even though she tried to explain that she had autism.

She didn’t want to be touched.
They touched her everywhere and put her in a cel for hours on her own.

With only a shirt and underpants.
They watched her walking around in circles.
Look at her, the crazy one….

Crazy insane world as usual.
I’m not surprised anymore.
Sometimes I just get reminded of exactly how it felt and it’s a lot to take in.

Especially because I know that I also had my moments of ignorance and I hurt the wrong people.
And I don’t forgive myself even though it was part of the process.

The development, the balance, the truth, the real feelings that are out there.
The darkest pain.

I know it too well.
And knowing is not easy ever.
But maybe it will set me free one day.
21-06-23
Star collector probe on the march inside a residuary marsh,  
a signage in big blue neon letters blare " Stuckey's Place"
time to have a snack.   I unwrap the cellophane "Elmer's paste pies"
I think that the foreign speaking Alien in the air stream
is none else then my friend Quoth,  interstelling with
foreign intelligence of the fourth order...
I take a bite of the pastry, its to boot. I can tell from the grin on his face
that although he's travelled gojillion miles to run away from earth,  
he is happy to be here, using his baking skills on a waterlogged planet of choice !
A non-binary service robot winks at me and offers me a palette full of
little brown shroomy things that once were, you got it ,
fungi mushrooms from earth ;
"Frazusoosh" says a tetronic voice that reminds me of my computer
when its burping out a virus;
I try and call for help but my cel goes AWOL. I hear DING **** BLEEP
"Drack's *****!  I'm stuck here for all eternity" I say to Quoth. He shrugs,
"There are worse places to be ! This Puny planet has obnoxious fumes
that corrode my chromium tail, but its not so bad. Here I can bake
magic fractal mushrooms and all"
"Oh for the love of God Quoth, your human, get it, HUMAN !"

tHE eND.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
so... either chemical castration,
or a lobotomy?
   i mean: jerking off, once in a while,
while doing the holy trinity
on the throne of thrones?
it's schtill a human in my *****!
like you never watched
that 70s ridley scott masterpiece...
or haven't had it passed down
to you in a meme...
   so one, or the other...
                  the horror freak show,
or just the horror show...
                    sure like: oops, maybe
another time...
                  since the good old days of...
american polygamy are: still here,
with 17 children....
        and if it's 31 CEL SUIS in england...
******* must be dropping
like flies in saudi arabia...
       or... going mad, reincarnating
    scenes from mad max: fury road.
the laws of authority,
  what a funny thing...
   no one cares about the odd,
once in a while "genocide" i perform
******* - easing the bladder -
which subsequently eases the **** -
taking a **** -
     and then jerking off looking
at fine art nudes -
  n'ah...
   movies are too unimaginative,
there's no concept of potential
with something represented in
                                             static form.

— The End —