"magellan" poems
TO PUT the art and talent of Mindanaoan fashion design into the spotlight, Kagay’anon fashion designers put their hands together to organize the 5th Mindanao Fashion Summit at the Limketkai Center Rotunda from August 4 to 6, every 4 p.m.
“Being a core event of the Higalaay festival, the opening salvo, the Mindanao Fashion Summit can really highlight fashion designers here in Cagayan de Oro and also in different points of Mindanao to let everyone see what they can do in the world of fashion design especially now that there are only so few opportunities for these designers to show off their works to the public. This is why we have the Mindanao fashion Summit because Kagay-anon designers believe that even if they join national fashion shows like the Philippine Fashion week, most of them still aren't getting the right encouragement as a fashion designer.” said Robbie Pamisa, the overall organizer of the event.
The Fashion Summit is a three-day event composed of seven sub-categories such as the Mindanaoan collection, the Menswear collection, and the Ororama orange collection for the first day, the Guest Designers’ collection, the Fashion Institute of the Philippines collection and the Loop Lifestyle Fashion Show for the second day, and the Holiday Grand collection for the third day which will serve as the culmination of the fashion event.
Mindanaoan Fashion designers from Cagayan de Oro as well as Davao, Butuan, Iligan, and Bukidnon have come to showcase their talents. Some of the fashion geniuses of the event include Alma Mae Roa, Angela Soriano, Ann Semblante, Benjie Manuel, Boogie Musni Rivera, Gil Macaibay III, John Mark Magellan’s, Joshua Guibone, Juniel Doring, Kiko Domo, Mark Christopher Yaranon, and Mavy Cooper de Leon.
One of the highlights of the event is the Oro Fashion Designers’ Guild and the Designers Assembly featuring a collection of clothes using Mindanao material such as the Mindanao silk. Sponsors such as Ororama and The Loop Towers will also be showcasing their products in the fashion event.
“Even student fashion designers from the Fashion Institute of the Philippines have been encouraged to participate so that they will be able to experience how a fashion show works. This is also a way for us to fulfill our mission to be another avenue for fashion designers to show what they have,” Paisa said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
Ang aking hinahangaan,
Na tila langit at lupa ang aming pagitan
At kung ihahalintulad sa panahon ngayon kami ay tila ang mahirap at mayaman
Walang boses at makapangyarihan
Kung ihahalintulad naman sa panahon noon
Tila ang kastila at ang katipunan
Si lapu-lapu at magellan
At kung ihahalintulad naman sa bagay na sa buhay ay may kinalaman
Tila kami ang kasinungalingan at katotohanan
Kalungkutan at kasiyahan
Nagmamahal at nasasaktan
Kasamaan at kabutihan
Inosente at makasalanan
Basura at kayamanan
Digmaan at kapayapaan
Tao at kalikasan
Kaaway at kaibigan
Ibang tao at magulang
Kabobohan at katalinuhan
Bida at kalaban
Buhay at kamatayan
Liwanag at kadiliman
Kabundukan at karagatan
Kasaysayan at kinabukasan
Bibliya at Qur'an
Daigdig at kalawakan
Ang araw at ang buwan
Ganyan ka layo ang aming pagitan na tila ang tadhana ay di sang-ayon sa aming pagmamahalan,mahirap man tanggapin ang katotohanan na ako at ang aking hinahangaan ay malabong magkatuluyan😥
May 13, 2021
May 13, 2021 at 1:16 PM UTC
Since I am coming to that holy room,
Where, with thy choir of saints for evermore,
I shall be made thy music; as I come
I tune the instrument here at the door,
And what I must do then, think here before.
Whilst my physicians by their love are grown
Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie
Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown
That this is my south-west discovery,
Per fretum febris, by these straits to die,
I joy, that in these straits I see my west;
For, though their currents yield return to none,
What shall my west hurt me? As west and east
In all flat maps (and I am one) are one,
So death doth touch the resurrection.
Is the Pacific Sea my home? Or are
The eastern riches? Is Jerusalem?
Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltar,
All straits, and none but straits, are ways to them,
Whether where Japhet dwelt, or Cham, or Shem.
We think that Paradise and Calvary,
Christ's cross, and Adam's tree, stood in one place;
Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me;
As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face,
May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace.
So, in his purple wrapp'd, receive me, Lord;
By these his thorns, give me his other crown;
And as to others' souls I preach'd thy word,
Be this my text, my sermon to mine own:
"Therefore that he may raise, the. Lord throws down."
2.5k
#1. What in the world
possessed you
to do that!?@#$%^
My god . . . that was so stupid and careless!
#2. Why? . . .
I trusted my intuition.
My heart believed,
emotional logic compelled me.
Fluid, spontaneous from the gut.
#1. You’re crazy.
I would never
put myself at risk like that.
#2. What risk?
Getting harrassed
by the mind police?
They don't own me.
#1. But they punished you.
#2. No, just a little
desperate flaggelation.
#2. But look at yourself
all boxed up,
stigmatized and branded.
#1. You mean the labels?
Those words they use
to define me?
#2. Yes, you’re a bad person.
#1. No, I’m not.
#2. Yes, you are.
... and they argued til dawn
neither knowing
nature does not declare winners
but admires innovation....
like when Magellan sailed off no edges
when Einstein confounded everyone by sailing in his head
when the Wright Brothers lifted off
when Tesla moved electrons
when Christ embraced the centurions
when Gautama just sat down
when the librarian refused to take Catcher in the Rye off the shelf
when Lenny Bruce swore on stage
when Leary and Alpert left Harvard
when Joan of Arc refused to recant
when Gandhi and friends burned their English wool
when Jung declared a spiritual psyche
when the UFC earned a huge Neilsen
so be your own guru
take kava kava instead of Prozac
barter with your hair stylist
and when someone says
you are wrong
ask them why
there are no dinosaurs
in the Bible.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 9:18 AM UTC
My poetry is an acquired taste,
So come, dear one,
Place your tongue in my mouth.
Pace yourself, there is so much,
Spoke and unwritten,
That fruitions only when spit-shared.
Flick your tongue-tip to mine,
Sealing bond, the salt caramel of my rhymes,
The iambic meter of my tamarind prose,
The buds, flowering, poems forming,
Watered by the admixture of joint, minted saliva.
My poetry, so very complicated,
Hints of currants and ash,
Soil volcanic, basaltic vowels, oh's and eyes,
Cursed verses that commence with I,
Nonetheless, despite soil inhospitable rued,
Compositions flourish, born wetland soluble.
Yours, for the taking,
Yours, for the tasting.
You place your fingers on my waist,
My body of work to contemplate,
My ditties, you spit out,
You want courses, not appetizers,
You want truths, not fluff, lies, menu tastings.
Columbus and Magellan, thy fingers named,
Trace the curvature of my ***
With tip and tipsy stroked caresses,
You laugh with the pleasure of all the sssssss's.
Hissing all the day your satisfaction,
Capturing my writs, by your tongue's duress,
Recipient-thief of my literary largesse.
I am dressed all in white,
Stripped bare to my native coloring,
Except for two brown nippled spots, you lick,
Imbibing milky thoughts from fountain-heads *****
Savoring, relishing, stanzas that praise love's flavor.
With every line, every word-painting accessioned,
You make my soft parts hard,
My hard parts soft, but my liquidity,
My tears, they, that, you drink straight,
Licking, liking, and oohing and ahhing,
You tongue curled, upside down arching,
The storage point of your seduced gatherings.
To drain me full, your incisors cut,
Straight lines, entry points for your *******
Taking, draining, leaving nothing,
Not even one aleph or bet escaping.
When you acquired my poetry, my verbosity,
Pillaging soul's hiding place, took and *****
Your acquired the best, breaking my nape,
Imprisoned on and by my island's seascape,
Blanched and pained, a blank tape,
I am tasteless, witless, mockingly, tongue-tied.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
I love anagrams as they speak the satirical truth
(I know tons of anagrams)
E.g.
Here is a great example of how anagrams work for say making a person younger if overweight.
1
A pirate says Yo ** ** then drinks *** so avoid ***** it makes us older and fatter, right? He becomes an old fatty pirate right? Angry grumpy nasty etc...
2
Magellan was a pirate in search of the fountain of youth, right?
3
Watch this magic anagram
Yo ** ** tune unfit fat
=
The fountain of youth
Same exact letters switched around
DaVe
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
letter addressed
to the girl
too rush hour
to take the scenic route
dear fast line,
i know you didn't
choose this.
i know how hypnotizing
those yellow lines
can be but
if you keep
chasing that pavement
you'll run out of fuel
and i can't promise
your parents will
find someone like you
again.
and they'll wonder
what set your eyes
on the highway
when you come
from such a
michigan avenue father
and middle lane mother.
may i ask you
how your gps
forgot your home address?
i guess it happened
with time.
one less trip turned
to two a year.
your mothers tears
turned to sighs.
she kissed me twice
for you.
one for your forehead
another for you Ford.
may it keep you
when you go
where her God can't.
since her knees
are too soft for kneeling
she nodded toward the ceiling.
flashing God
her grin lines and gray hairs
like see, i bare stripes
just like your son.
yes i sin and i saint
but this ain't about me.
i need you to keep
my daughters.
too many fathered
ain't got fathers.
too many men
haven't figured out
the price of absence
is far more than
a gallon of gas
a six pack of beer
and a bachelor pad.
too many children
grew up with the half
the guidance.
only knowing
to trust Magellan
and Garmin
with a backseat God
who only gets to drive
when the light ain't green.
there are too many women
caught between
crash driven children
and the cross walk.
to the girl
who hasn't flashed
her break lights for miles
choose your exit wisely.
don't wait
til the last second
to switch lanes.
the end game
is much closer
than it appears
in your side mirrors.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 4:39 PM UTC
Like a fine wine we only get better with age and like a delicate ingredient your my sage, complimenting my tastes and offering your flavor, in this time cooked sauce we savor. Something like a hero your my savior. You went deep inside and brought out my pride, like a magnet you pulled out my talents and rejected my fears, and like an angel you’ve brought me the opposite of tears. Joy and light, our dreams are in sight and **** the futures bright. High above like a kite I float over that stagnant moat of limits and push through doubts that self emit. And like a homemade kit, I put it all together to find my own fit, joining edges, getting lit and jumping ledges. Like Columbus, Magellan, Alexander, I conquer, discover, travel and unravel the mysteries of what my new lands are like. Like gravity sometimes I fall, like a baby sometimes I crawl, and like a man sometimes I feel small. But like life its natural and in the end I like myself, I like who I am, and like a compass I’ve found myself.
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 12:35 AM UTC
Since I am coming to that holy room,
Where, with thy choir of saints for evermore,
I shall be made thy music; as I come
I tune the instrument here at the door,
And what I must do then, think here before.
Whilst my physicians by their love are grown
Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie
Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown
That this is my south-west discovery,
[lang l]Per fretum febris[lang e], by these straits to die,
pmdv3 n="33-11"> I joy, that in these straits I see my west;
For, though their currents yield return to none,
What shall my west hurt me? As west and east
In all flat maps (and I am one) are one,
So death doth touch the resurrection.
Is the Pacific Sea my home? Or are
The eastern riches? Is Jerusalem?
Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltar,
All straits, and none but straits, are ways to them,
Whether where Japhet dwelt, or Cham, or Shem.
We think that Paradise and Calvary,
Christ's cross, and Adam's tree, stood in one place;
Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me;
As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face,
May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace.
So, in his purple wrapp'd, receive me, Lord;
By these his thorns, give me his other crown;
And as to others' souls I preach'd thy word,
Be this my text, my sermon to mine own:
"Therefore that he may raise, the Lord throws down."
1.6k
i arrived in this world with no map to guide me but the palms of your hands. you let me hold them sometimes, and they’re warm and inviting.
sometimes you make me feel starry-eyed with your words, or at least that’s what you used to do
but i’m waiting for you to send me constellations of goosebumps running down my arms and spine
i will shape myself into an amateur cartographer, and make it an active point to mark places on the map that we’ve been to together, and as i trace my fingers across towns and mountains we’ve yet to cross, a part of me wonders if we’ll even get to any of those destinations
because somehow you’re staggering and i don’t know why or what’s holding you back
still i persist, i yearn for adventure.
i leave the map unfurled and smooth the creases of my sudden remembrance that i came here alone. i made my own decisions and ran into you in the meanwhile.
you too, were a wandering traveler. your feelings as nomadic as your feet on these lands. i wouldn’t call myself foolish to have ever gotten involved, but you are embedded in my memories. a new story for me to flesh out every time someone asks me how i got here or there. i’ll keep meandering from town to town, but no longer will i seek you — you may find me.
i realized this was not your map, but mine.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
Her eyes are nothern stars guiding me
Her smile is wind in my sail bringing me near
My Magellan eyes scan her coast and sky
My words, a cartagrapher drawing her every curve and line
I sail an ocean of curiosity till storm of her desire
send me crashing ashore
Let my heart be run aground upon her chest
Let me be stranded upon her lips,
My hands castaway in her hair
And wander her silken seashore
Love has led me to a New World
I want to explore every part
I have found the great fortune of my life
in her untamed, wild land
Like Cortes, I burn the ships
May I never be rescued
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
I brush my cheek,
against the downy softness of yours.
Your scent hypnotic,
opening up to the ******
Hands trace my form
fingers agile and warm.
Your kisses divine
exploring your body as you explore mine.
We are Columbus and Magellan,
desire the North Star.
Guiding us, showing where we are
Lips on lips
hands on hips.
We are two ships,
Charting the seas
Waves pull us to and fro
we reach our peak
unable to speak.
Awash in the glow of
... aw you know.
Resting cheek on chest,
hand on breast.
We sleep, until seas calm again
but unlike those explorers,
We will set sail to discover all over again.
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 7:01 PM UTC
I’m holding my father’s baby teeth in my hands. They’re pressing into my palms the way I wish your nails could. My mother through walls thin as her body is using the bathroom again. My mother has eyes like the antlers of a buck. When it snows my mother is outside with her fingers encircling a purple plant and the plant is now dead. When it snows my mother’s mouth can be seen disappearing into flesh, her face disappearing because it has no flesh. She is standing on the porch again watching you drive. “I Need My Girl” is a loud song and it is playing softly from your speakers.
The last time I held your hand in a car we drove for two hours like Magellan in circles around the outskirts of the town. The river coursing like the chest of a swan just about to take flight. The river coarse as childhood hair, hair without showering. I hadn’t showered in two days. This town would be better with large fields, more cows, some highway and cliffs. As it was: it felt too much like we were driving somewhere; it always does when you are in a small town. We drank from wine bottles shaped like our father’s heads and sat on straw chairs underneath strung-up white lights. The lights were there all year hanging from a tree that in that muddy heat should have been palm.
What it was: this summer your body reminded me of somebody else’s body all lanky, the one difference was that you were there and he wasn’t and now it is winter and neither of you are here and my body is in bed moored by hives the size of your large pale feet.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
There were little ways, once, when things could sparkle and spread the light
just like I spread your legs
then.
Away I could turn,
and feel your eyes on me,
the breath for breathing in always fresh and free between us,
the staleness now punctuating every sentence, drooling from my lips
and off away somewhere…
nowhere.
The infant
me lying next to the mother
of you in the creeping sun
running away over the edge of the world
like Magellan.
I could chase it,
I would,
I swear I will,
if you would ask it,
and I would tumble over that dark cusp
and off into a six-year terror of death and disease,
just to return,
spinning the Earth under my feet,
pushing it with my hands like paddles,
kicking it back with toes,
sweating bleeding shaking
and collapsing
back into
you.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 3:48 AM UTC
I was told as a child
There are no places left to explore
They've all been discovered before
Well there's outer space
The ocean
And the human mind
Probably enough in those places
We've never seen before
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
You leave me always wanting more...but Never the Less
Each time better than the one before...I really must confess
Thinking of you behind that door...and our next caress
Gives me feelings I can't ignore...words cannot express...
Your laugh and snort I truly adore... no need to try and impress
Your outbursts only build allure...and help me relieve my stress
The world without you is a chore...I see you like a kid sees recess
I feel like Magellan set to explore...As we finally begin to undress
Who knows what colors lay in store...it's really anyone's guess
Lets paint it together is all I ask for...And then we shall assess
The painting's beauty to it's core... an absolute beautiful mess
You're my beach,I've washed ashore...living, breathing success
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 4:43 AM UTC
through
The Straits of Magellan
where
the ghosts of whales
be not alone
but
we find
their bones
molded by time
into
wooden chimes
ring near
dead ships
and
dead sailors
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
O.k. I give up magellan
What did you do last
Nite
Should I give a **** ? O
Alright
Ten
Minutes
Of
******** that ads
Upto yawn.
zzzzzzzz
Yeah I
Mess
Around
Too but cant
Get that glow.
***
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:22 PM UTC
She’s Luz-Vi-Minda
Priestess of Asia
When incubus harms
She takes out her charms…
Behold! Jose Rizal
Our hero national
Poet, doctor, researcher
Farmer, herder, school-builder
Fought Spaniards with paper and pen
Luzon’s charm – noblest of our men!
Behold! Lapu-Lapu!
Defender of Cebu
First terror of invaders
Famed Magellan’s death renders
Rammed Spaniards with native bolo
Visayas’ charm – quaintest hero!
Behold! Purmassuri!
Awesome Muslim lady
Wise heroine of Sulu
Foreigners cannot subdue
Disturbed Spaniards so tribesmen won
Mindanao’s charm – enemies thrown!
-11/27/2011
(Dumarao)
*First Incubus Collection
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 9:40 PM UTC
I was sailing back to you,
I would have sailed all the way across those
vicious seas, through the rocks,
on your breeze.
I would have caught your tailwind,
and sailed, like Magellan, around the globe,
but you were turning the Earth against me.
I would have sailed back to you,
tattered sheets on splintered masts,
makeshift oars to guide me, broken.
I would have sailed back to you,
to your harbor, crumbling,
and helped repair it, fixed.
I would have sailed back to you,
but
your tailwind became a headwind,
you burned my sails,
shattered my masts,
stole away my oars, and
destroyed your harbor.
And now I float,
desperate
starving
thirsting...
But I am now finding,
in the absence of your blinding star light,
that there are other harbors
that could save me from
the storm that you've become.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC
A companion poem to:
When Love Grows Old [1]
a differing perspective,
liking the eye opening
view this occluded,
cloudy closed Saturday,
a morning gray, early days,
it comes with opportunities
aplenty & new word combinations
in a new world awaiting a Magellan
I spy discoverer, and
we
two
have more than 150 years
existence tween us and that
makes me grin, because I anointed
her to a new position yesterday:
Chief Technology Officer
the very expensive machine
that supplies us with energizing
fresh plasma, clean blood invigorating, without which
we could nary drag our antiquated
bodies to the next day,
got on the phone, dialed an
800 number,
stuck het hand deep into it's gizzard innards, and released the
machina from it looping flashing
display of displaying its non-cooperation and its message that
It was unwell, abd she operated,
and made out coffee machine well
again
snd gave us this Sabbath, a reason to be thankful having righted this
left footed poet to a younger
poet boy~man
again, a gain!
Jun 28, 2025
Jun 28, 2025 at 8:34 AM UTC
i am the man who weeps for the world
i am the man who weeps
i do not, I will not
bleed for the world
i’m not the one who bleeds
little sister, my love
do not dry your eyes on my account
i am a fleeting consolation
i have been
to the ends
of the world
i have seen
the great emptiness (it lies)
on the other side of that horizon
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 1:51 AM UTC
Thirty and a few days
it's come this far
and feeling as if
already halfway there:
is this crisis?
forget all i'd loved
forget this i've cherished
c'est la vie
say less to me
and sail i might
like magellan,
erik, his son leif,
i'll leave soon
for that spice
cowper said
gives life all its flavor
oh, billy boy
you might've been onto something
but my heart's will
disagrees
with my penchant
for curious wild imagination
and dreams
and all that could have been
all swept by wind
as sand in a gale.
Oct 7, 2024
Oct 7, 2024 at 5:06 AM UTC
From our ancestors to what we are now.
We are Filipinos, racism we won't allow,
People have changed but not our culture.
For our culture, we respect and treasure.
Lapu-Lapu is still in our books.
Made history with an arrow he took.
Tried to stop Spain and killed Magellan,
Made a shrine in Cebu, in Mactan.
Many things in the Philippines.
Like a church older than our parents.
An eagle that's crucially endangered,
Or the Rafflesias in Mindanao.
They are the diamonds we treasure.
Those things can give us pleasure.
From seeing other people happy,
We will be full of glee.
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 9:36 AM UTC