"makati" poems
sayaw, Eriko
isayaw mo lahat ng
sinabi niyang “mahal kita”
na pakiramdam mo’y totoo
nung mga panahong
umaalis kayo ng
isang araw kada-linggo
kasi dinadayo ka pa niya
sa Maynila
sayaw, Eriko
iindak mo at
isigaw mo sa mikropono
ang pabulong niya pa
noong unang sinabi,
“ako na lang,
iingatan naman kita”
sa maulan na gabi na ‘yun
noong iniiyakan mo
pa ang mga pangyayari
na kinagigitnaan mo
isayaw mo, Eriko
itawa mo lang ang sinayaw
niya sa sala mo
noong gabi na ‘yun
mashed-potato lang kuno
‘di ba?
halakhak, napamahal
ka sa mukha niyang
parang pinigang tuwalya noon
hindi naman siya guwapo
gaya ng lagi niyang sinasabi
umaray ka, Eriko
nasipa ka ng katabi mo,
pero naalala mo lamang
ang mga oras na nagsisipa
ka ng bato sa Makati
habang naglalakad kayo,
at kinukwento niya
ang pamumuhay niya noon
sa malayong lugar,
pawis na pawis kayo
pero ngiti niyo’y abot langit
talon, Eriko
palakpak
ilang buwan na rin ang lumipas
noong huli kayo nagkausap
binati mo siya ng
maligayang kaarawan,
kahit ang araw mo nun ay
malayong-malayo sa maligaya,
kapos sa saya,
kapayapaa’y nahahanap
mo lamang pag nandiyan ang
barkada
kalma,
inom ng tubig,
Eriko, kawayan ang bote ng alak,
pero huwag kang lalaklak
hinga,
ipanalangin mo na lang na siya’y
maging masaya,
dahil alam mo naman na
iyon ang tama.
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 9:24 AM UTC
Magrasang damit ng batang madungis
tyang gutom at katawa'y malangis
palaboy-laboy sa eskinita
pagala-gala sa kalsada
uupo sa sulok may katabing lata
limos na inaabot ang lata
sa mga tao nagmamakaawa
para makakuha kahit kaka-unting barya
Paglipas ng hapon at pagsapit ng gabi
walang paligo at katawa'y makati
ang naipon nyang pera
kulang kulang sampu ang halaga
di na matiis ang gutom nagkalkal ng basura
sa tagal walang makita
nainip,
nakatulog,
nahiga,
ang naipong barya
idadagdag nalang bukas sa lata
Aug 18, 2011
Aug 18, 2011 at 12:55 AM UTC
I can write of Manila at night like the greats do of Paris. Not Manila in the morning, for it matters then, but Manila at night where it doesn't matter if it is new or old or if you are rich or poor, because it all blends into the moonlit darkness and that is when Manila becomes like a love letter. It may be Cebu that I love, but it is Manila that captivates me.
To the farmer, who left Manila for America to escape the war, and returned to see only a burned down church. To the young boy, a hundred years later, who does not see the church, but sees the romance of a concrete city. And to the ill man sitting on the corner of a street in Ermita, who has seen more of life and Manila than any of us ever will or ever can or ever want to. To the jazz bars tucked deep in Quezon where the music is sweetest, and to the congregation of poets who meet at their secret place in Makati on sacred nights to talk of the country they write for. Manila does not end.
But Manila is no moveable feast- it is a grand mystery that is far too heavy to take with you. Paris was loved because it was easy to love. The same way Florence was loved because it was easy to. Manila is far too rough to make for easy loving, but the beauty is there for everyone but the blind to see, and even then it is there for the blind to feel. One just has to try hard enough. It is what Manila represents, for it represents not the American dream, but the Filipino ambition to create their own. It does not become a question of how can you. It never will. It is a question of how can you not be romantic of Manila?
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
"my boy's got me tongue tied in two different languages
he's calling me baby on mondays and sinta 'til sundays
he's got me looking for him in between eskinitas
and cathedrals from quezon avenue to intramuros
all i see are his eyes
and 7,107 islands in the palms of his hands
and i never knew love could be so hard
when your words ran faster than your heart
makata is what they call you
a master of poetry and performance
you called me your greatest work
and you are a master of fiction
manileño is what you are
my boy's got manila's grime and glory
pulsing through his makata veins
he's got makati's lights burning through his irises
he's got the danger of manila beating in his chest
he's got the cries of san juan lodged in his throat
he's got the rhythm of the city in every step
my boy's still a boy
hijo is what you think you aren't
he's got three stars on his back
and he thinks he's the sun
he thinks he can change the world
himagsikan is what he wants
a revolution beginning with him
but tell me makata, manileño, hijo,
my boy
how are you going to save me?
how are you going to love this country?
my boy's tongue tied in two different faiths
my boy forgot to save himself"
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
my boy's got me tongue tied in two different languages
he's calling me baby on mondays and sinta 'til sundays
he's got me looking for him in between eskinitas
and cathedrals from quezon avenue to intramuros
all i see are his eyes
and 7,107 islands in the palms of his hands
and i never knew love could be so hard
when your words ran faster than your heart
makata is what they call you
a master of poetry and performance
you called me your greatest work
and you are a master of fiction
manileño is what you are
my boy's got manila's grime and glory
pulsing through his makata veins
he's got makati's lights burning through his irises
he's got the danger of manila beating in his chest
he's got the cries of san juan lodged in his throat
he's got the rhythm of the city in every step
my boy's still a boy
hijo is what you think you aren't
he's got three stars on his back
and he thinks he's the sun
he thinks he can change the world
himagsikan is what he wants
a revolution beginning with him
but tell me makata, manileño, hijo,
my boy
how are you going to save me?
how are you going to love this country?
my boy's tongue tied in two different faiths
my boy forgot to save himself
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 5:21 AM UTC
I miss some memories of people, 8pms next to a ceiling of November stars and random yo momma jokes.
I miss pepperoni pizzas and orange sodas of a meeting the night before an Algebra exam.
I miss some people who move to the United States, back to Mindanao, away to Makati.
I miss not knowing of a graduation until we sing that batch song one last time.
I miss her under a Langka tree with a chuckle next to the height of my left shoulder. She was measuring my happiness in the little talks and ringing laughter.
I miss wiping her tears as I helped roll her bag across the rocky road to a bus.
I miss being under the wings of God when I first met him through lion puppets and singing prophets.
I miss biting through those chocolate chip cookies after successfully reciting John 3:16.
I miss eating until the tummy says “keep going” and the candy bar bag was always open.
I miss crying when my yaya leaves me everytime I go to kindergarten. This was every single time I get down the school bus.
I miss smiling for a family portrait next to the Christmas tree.
I miss riding across a river with my little brother in paper hats and a floormat boat
I miss walking across a field of santol buds. Ruby to my eyes and to others who pick them.
I miss my panda bear. I could always sew the eyes back on.
I miss being young
But I can’t miss growing up and moving on.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
or In One of the Bars in the City
You remind me about the brightest
spots here in the city. The spots that used to be your
memory, lavishing into the thought of the moon,
how it chiseled itself for the night to claim
it as its smile. So, this night, perhaps,
is a freckled smiling face. Your face
to be exact. How the stars scatter
correctly to form your freckles because
of your genes. Beautiful, sparkling
on the clean sheet of your skin.
Yes, this is how you remind me
about the city that seen and told
our story. How each wall of each skyscraper is
a page to tell a chapter. The flashing headlights
of each vehicle, how they became our crayons.
We are merely children playing, drawing pictograms
on counter doors. I mentioned skyscrapers. I was wrong;
there were no skyscrapers in Manila. Only in Makati.
But that never changes the fact
of this city, an open book for all of those
muggy nights when you religiously
places your lips against mine and eventually
against my skin; when you first made friction
talk. And it spoke every language I knew so fluently
that even our moans are words fit
for a poem. Ridiculous, jaded, fading,
but still, this mug of beer sparkle against the spotlights
of this bar. And yes, you are
sparkling like a city so alive
at the dead of night.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
"Ang pagmamahal ko sa iyo ay kasing init ng bawat pagsikat ng araw. Ngunit kapag ako ay iyong sinaktan, asahan **** hindi mo na masisilayan ang paglubog ng araw."
Sa isang sikat na resort sa Laiya, Batangas napagkasunduan ng magkakaibigang sina Adlaw, Bulan, Amihan, Machete, at Tawa-Tawa upang alalahanin at damhin ang buhay probinsiya. Halos limang taon na rin ang nakalipas nang huli silang nakauwi sa kani-kanilang probinsiya.
At dahil sa iisang kompanya lamang sila nagtatrabaho sa Makati ay sa isang lugar na lang din nila napagdesisyunang magliwaliw. Iyon nga lang ay isang araw lang ang common day off na mayroon sila, kaya lulubusin din nila ang isang araw upang magtampisaw sa karagatan.
Nasa iisang kompanya lang sila nagtatrabaho na kung tawagin ay Cliffhanger Outsourcing Center, pero magkakaiba ang araw ng kanilang day off. Sina Adlaw at Bulan ay mag-ka-teammate na kung saan ay miyerkules at huwebes ang araw na wala silang pasok habang ang tatlo na sina Amihan, Machete at Tawa-Tawa ay Huwebes at Biyernes naman ang araw na walang pasok.
Sakay ng isang van na ang may-ari ay si Machete, dere-deretso na silang bumiyahe. Madaling araw pa lang ay agad na silang umalis. Kapag maluwag ang daloy ng trapiko ay aabot lamang ng isang oras at kalahati ang biyahe patungong Laiya, Batangas.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 2:58 AM UTC
billboard's calligraph --
past the haze of Manila infested
by car sprawls and belching machines.
magnanimous treatise of tarpaulins,
people chin-up asking God
with askance
something like this
"o god make this bearable
like a mound of fresh fruits
from ****** labour."
maniacal sensurround:
earth-shattering frequency
of footsteps trampling the mouth
of monolith shadows - the peak
of this quake is our complete silence.
rain's catharsis in effect
sousing us in the blood of unreal light.
this diastolic shrinkage
jamming the beat of constricting vessels.
the adrenaline surges
within the dermis of this pretension.
a collective of tired beings heeding
the recherché of voice metamorphosing
into form, a dagger-butterfly
paring us skin to bone, cranial
to visceral, soul to nothing -
catapult of a trajectory spit
plummeting in eased-up pace
from Taft Avenue flyover
to a subjugated wagon of scraps
and empty wine bottles.
today's paper reads:
"Palace hits hiring
of **** dancers"
fancying to fall right in the
spanked curved of this
insatiate melodrama - something
prayer could not save from
this land's mutinous ignominy.
we resume to fulfill our madness,
hundreds of tack-headed people
rolling down the streets of Makati,
drenched with rain's trilling aftermath.
squinting to look at
no sun, only the grieving of skyscrape,
thumbing down unidentified objects
in the depth of loose pockets,
desperate for home.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
this flourishing silence feels more of
a trite hack-job than it is a writing stint.
my fingers (frenzied, brazen) continue to tap
and my mind starts to spill like a spigot
left open. I have taken to smoking and laughing
away
in an obscured day for myself in the parking lot
and sometimes I can do without company; only the snarl
of the well-oiled tractor in front of me.
the days are full of yellow and the Sun is a dog
on a leash. the roses smell of brine and their slender
stems bones of the young.
I can see cheeks flushed with red and skirts
neatly trimmed just above knobby knees
and I know somewhere in that tender flesh,
a man sifts without knowing what it feels to eat
bone before flesh, flesh after bone. my silently augured
procurement of today’s induced comatose is but
a Freudian slip – the world with its burly physique
is a chauvinistic man
drinking whisky in the red light district of hazy Makati.
each slapdash word in penitent reprisal
is the moment’s clearest reprieve. I am glad that this room
is darker than the eyes of the love I have lost
staring back with a mound of the abysmal or the yearnings
of a chagrined mother startled back to her home;
it must be dreamy, the dogs outside pant in heat
and the obnoxious *** of vehicles outside bears the cadence
of two people starting to fall in love: all chaotic and unmoving,
fastened to the Earth, aware of the passing minutes,
wishing to be somewhere else but there.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC
afternoon's glint on the mirror-pond,
a whirling specimen of fire,
ocher-speckled, Sun's insignia
vessels deep into the clammy water;
furiously swaying like a pinned down
beast reluctant to be held—
Makati traffic jostles the silent grieving
of the asphalt. simultaneous burst of
chrome on the metal bodies,
oh, the coming and going,
children laughing vibrantly without
memory of scathing pasts and
boorish origins— tossing coins
beckoning the heaven in pursed lips
and clenched fists tender with years
dwindling along with the turning of
the calendar's page, the sudden leap
of figure lamenting the absence
of language;
i walk the street festooned with dried
leaves and forlorn seasons,
hurling no amaranth to the entire
Makati cityscape.
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC
Followers of Sfera would be glad to know that the Spanish fashion brand recently launched its Fall-Winter 2016 collection at its flagship store in SM Makati.
The event, held in partnership with the Spanish Chamber of Commerce in the Philippines (La Camara Manila), had the local Spanish community and members of the diplomatic corps among the guests.
They were treated to a fabulous showcase of the collection, along with cocktails and an exciting shopping experience.
In attendance were Maria Jose Carrasco, wife of Spanish Ambassador Luis Antonio Calvo, Pedro Pascual of the Commercial Office of the Embassy of Spain, Alfredo Roca, vice president external of La Camara Manila.
Sfera, part of Madrid’s renowned El Corte Ingles Group of Companies, opened its first store in Asia in the Philippines in 2014, on the second floor of The SM Store Makati. In 2015, it opened more branches—on the second level of Building B in SM Megamall, and on the upper ground floor of SM Seaside City Cebu.
September 2016 saw its first department store corner at The SM Store in Aura Premier.
This premium fast-fashion brand offers men’s and women’s wear, and is known for its ability to stay on-trend every season while maintaining good-quality clothing and affordability.
From SM, heading to the opposite side of town, we were treated to a gastronomic symphony at one of our favorite restaurants, Salvatore Cuomo.
The six-course dinner, prepared by chef Salvatore Cuomo himself, served as a sneak peek of his new dishes on the menu.
The Italian culinary titan has narrowed the boundaries between innovation and fine taste. The meal was a roller-coaster of dynamic flavors and textures—an array of small bites paired with light aperitif for starters, washed down with Italian and French medium-bodied red and white wines.
In true Salvatore Cuomo fashion, the ingredients used in the entire dinner were thoughtfully selected and sourced from the best producers in Europe and Asia.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
Ihinabi ko sa bukana ng payong ang ulan.
This is to believe that sheltering may not always be, or simply perhaps an undertaking of weakness. A radical strangeness aspires to be bold. I may not be able to transcend its nakedness.
.
This is to deny the common verity that in the communal of water, shade fails a transliteration. We cannot be forever in hiding. Our smallness reveals our flowers. Our unmentioned stirrings. (A spire of technicolor through the lens of apertures. It starts to rain in Pasay.)
.
I see children swift-bodied in the streets. I hear the sublime song of a defunct tractor. Once in its vitality, Earth was its derelict. How did it come to be that when I peer into the openness, light slouches into form, conjuring an image: your face, hiding amongst the crowd?
.
This is to recognize the potential of dwindles. Its vertigo that it tries to protect. Its height that it tries to conquer. Its fall that it tries to eschew. What if bones are just homes to tiny little currents and that the way our body assumes the stance of jackknife, simply a foreboding?
.
Itinabi ko sa sukal ng araw ang payong.
This is to perceive that all light lifts away from the dark, my heart always falling into its hands. Morning opens your face like delicate streets, pulverizing fog into chamomile. Silence is endemic. *Makati *buoys overseer reconnaissance of obvious beatings. Revealing a long line of ligatures -- umbilicus of wires. Serenades of futility. Our useless meanderings.
.
The depth of Sunlight finally turns primeval stone. That is our defeat -- all our darkness put to trial. I am tense with the finality: she will become parasol and I, the weather past moonlight waxing.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
Cannabis
Ang hirap mag mahal ng lalaking may girlfriend pang isa oo si Mary Jane.
Si Mary Jane na lagi niyang tinitira.
Si Mary Jane na kahati mo lagi sa oras niya.
Akala mo ikaw ang dahilan ng kanyang saya pero si Mary Jane pala.
Si Mary Jane na takbuhan niya tuwing may problema siya.
Si Mary Jane na sandalan niya sa lahat ng bagay na hindi niya kaya.
Si Mary Jane na nag bibigay ng lakas ng loob sa damdamin niyang napaka hina.
Si Mary Jane din ang unti-unting sumisira sa buhay niya. Hindi niya alam pero sirang sira na siya.
Oo nga pala si Mary Jane ang una niyang nakilala hindi ako na pumapangalawa lang sa puso niya.
PUTANGINA NAMAN MARY JANE MAG PARAYA KA NAMANG AHAS KA LAHAT NA LANG SYOTA KA BUKOD SA DAHON KA MAKATI KA PA!!
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
no talk
i was with my mate going to work
when i saw the couple on the bus
they were young and in their 20s
he had mousey hair and she was blond
they were taking time out
and travelling in the philippines
she was finishing her teacher training
and he was a soldier between deployments
while i was commuting to work
in the city to my bpo job
we talked in my head
not in the real world
they were innocent and untouched
she wasn't abused by her students
he hadn't seen his mates blown up
all that was to come
should i of warned them?
be vigilant and strong
but no no no
they had to learn for themselves
the london couple on the makati bus
they reminded me of my old mates
when i lived in essex and london
years ago...
...3 were soldiers
where are they now?
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC