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Joyce Nov 2010
Dumaan ako sa Nagtahan
at doo'y nanahan
aking diwang gising
at minulat,
pilit binulag
ng isang dakot
na Asin.
Rumampa sa Laong Laan,
pilit inabangan
ang pagtila,
tila Luha
ang tanging pakinabang.
Tumawid sa Lacson,
nadapa --
bumangon.
Sumakay ng traysikel
sa Ocampo,
pumara sa Crisostomo;
nangapitbahay sa Maria Clara
nagpalamig sa Ibarra
hanggang Simoun,
Quintos, Dapitan.
Hindi ka matagpuan.
Tila silyang marupok
na walang pakinabang;
Tila laway na muntik
masayang
ang paglalakad ng pusong
minsan nasagasaan
noong binagtas ang kahabaan ng Dimasalang.

Umuwi sa Sampaloc,
kumuha ng gamit.
Palihim na naglakad
papuntang Blumentritt.
Pinagpawisan sa pagsakay
sa Recto.
Anong ginagawa ko rito
sa Quiapo?
Isang makipot na sangandaan
kailangang mairaos daanan.
Isang hakbang palayo
sa maputik na Ocampo;
minsan nang bumagyo dito.
Meron pa bang tayo?
It'smeAlona May 2018
H-alaga ng buhay
A-y kanyang ipinamalas
P-ag-aaruga't kalinga'y
P-atuloy niyang ipinadarama
Y-akap at halik ang laging niyang
    ibinibigay, ngunit tila


M-arami ang sa ati'y nakakalimot na
     magpasalamat
O- o nga't tayo'y abala sa pang araw-
     araw nating pamumuhay upang
     mabigyan siya ng masaganang
     buhay, ngunit sa
T-uwing siya'y nalulungkot at
    nalulumbay ni
H-indi natin magawang aliwin man
    lang
E-wan kung saan ba siya nagkulang
    upang pasasalamat sa kanya'y hindi
    magawang maisambit man lamang
R-amdam ang pangungulila ng isang
    Inang napagkakaitan ng
    pagmamahal at pasasalamat ng
    isang anak
S-akripisyo'y kanyang iginawad upang
    bigyan tayo ng magandang buhay


D-ugo at laman na sa ati'y kanyang
    ibinigay, kaya
A-ting alalahanin na tayo'y may isang
    Inang handang magmahal at
    magbuwis ng buhay, kaya ngyong
    araw ng mga Ina hayaan **** ika'y
    aming pasalamatan
Y-ou're our Mom who gave US life.


N-atatanging INA, sa
A-ming siyam na magkakapatid na si
N-anay
A-DORACION LOYOLA TIMAJO-
    ARCENAL a.k.a DORY OCAMPO
Marge Redelicia Dec 2014
Lazy Monday.
Raining Morning.
Inky pens.
Empty papers.

This 4-cornered room became a
Vast new world
When I met
You.

Your "What's your name?"
was more than a question, it was
An invitation to
A breath of fresh air,
A gulp of warm sunshine,
A waltz on green grass.

From small talk on the
Wet weather,
The films at the theater,
And our ******* professor,
Our lips spilled over.
Awkward smiles became
Shy giggles then
Uncontrollable laughter.

We pulled each other to conversations on
Artists Picasso, Van Gogh
Historians Constantino, Ocampo.
I told you about
Distant galaxies and the theory of gravity
While you said things on
Progressive policies and your farming family.
You said pick-up lines, I gave knock-knock jokes.
We tried to mash-up Let It Be and Let It Go.
Your mind was a treasure chest full of stories
Forever you
And your words are engraved in my memory.

All this ended though
When the clocks striked 3.
The session was over;
There's no reason to be here anymore
And so I guess it's best for us to just
Leave.

"It was nice meeting you."
But it's horrible that
We will never meet again.
What was us will just get lost in the plane infinity
For this moment that we shared
Is just a mere
Point of tangency.
The point of tangency is where a geometric line touches a surface once but never intersects it. This fictional poem is inspired by economic isoquant curves and budget lines, as well as all my awesome professors and classmates that I had this semester whom I will probably never meet ever again :(
is the world real?

clambering the wall, this inner turmoil.
a sensuous solitaire
of sorts
my 10th beer
reading 2 poems
in the total, stark blackness:
receiving me
like a fresh fruit's glaze,
the tumultuous hands of Ocampo Street.
half-mad,
half-believing

there are already so many writers.
there are so many Lang Leavs,
a choir of Pablo Nerudas,
a cacophony of Paolo Coelhos,
(never have i met
     Geminos
  or Yusons
      Arcellanas
Joaquins
     de Ungrias
Sawis — always the realer form
    if not imagined only experienced
       through dumb senses still?)

always their inner sense
     of self conjuring
   others giving back the same image
like a prayer's way through lignin cross
     thumbing are the fingers
small in rumination

   so many of them here
and there is only less of me
   less of my voice
   less of my laughter
   less of my caprices
   less of my whims
   (more of my drunkenness
    trying to feign sobriety standing
    at the edge of the fringe,
     more of my poems here
     and there yet nobody
     grasping anything at all)
   i go home
   chasing the pattern of this
     cosmic solitaire.
Alexa Ocampo Jan 2019
every now and then
you come across
a sunset

so incredibly breathtaking
that you
wish you could stare forever

beautifully blended
blue and pink
mix together

and you're left with
a magical sky
that seems to never end

but soon,
this masterpiece
will slowly fade

the magic has ended
and the moon
emerges from the waterline

all you are left with
is the feeling of
comfort

because for a moment
you are one
with the sky

the world
comes to a halt
and for a second

you are mesmerized
by the hues
of blue mixed with pink

you forget about the world
and it's only
you and the sun



Alexa Ocampo

— The End —