"pedro" poems
Ang pag-ibig
Hindi parang load
Hindi yan nauubos
Wala sa tindahan
Hindi inuutang.
Ang pag-ibig
Hindi parang gasoline station
Na daraanan mo lang
Na paparkingan mo
Pero iiwan mo
Pag nakuha na ang gusto.
Ang pag-ibig
Hindi parang kalsada
Na malawak pero tatapak-tapakan
Na aayusin at mas mapapansin lang
Pagka may lubak na.
Ang pag-ibig
Hindi parang payong
Na gagamitin mo lang
Para sa pansariling proteksyon
At itatago pag hindi mo na kailangan.
Ang pag-ibig hindi yan sasakyan
Na daraan sayo at hindi mo mapapansin
Na bubusinaan ka
At wala kang tamang pandinig.
Ang pag-ibig
Minsan makukumpara mo
Sa kung anu-anong pumupukaw ng atensyon mo
Minsan kasalungat
Ng kung anong nakikita mo.
Hindi mo na lang mapapansin
Nandyan na pala,
Eh kaso lang, ang layo ng tingin mo
Naghahanap ka pa,
Eh nasa harap mo na pala.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
Nakakakilig, matatamis ang iyong mga ngiti
Nakakatunaw ang kinang sayong mga labi
Kakaiba ka sa pakiramdam, napakaganda mo sa loob
Napakaganda tignan ng mala alon mo na buhok
Sabi nila'y, ang mga taong may liwanag ay meron ding lalim
Ano nga bang nasa likod ng 'yong magagandang tanawin
Nais ko'y lumapit, ngunit papano ako bubwelo
Tunay ngang ang langit ay binabantayan ni san pedro
Ako'y manlalawig, at tumatawag si Laguna
Mukha atang mahirap na'kong pigilan animo'y pumapatak na luha
Nananaginip binibigyan ka ng kwentas ba o singsing
Bagamat ikaw ay isang bituin, sayo'y wala akong hinihiling
Sapat na saking nakatingala, kahit tingin sa sarili ay kawawa
Sapat na saking malaman ang presensya ng isang tala
Ang nais ko lang naman ay magpamalas ng paghanga
At sana, sana ay paglapitin din tayo ng tadhana
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 10:13 PM UTC
The sun sets on dripping blood
Shed for love
And brought out from a gun
Elizabeth is close to death
Drawing final breaths
She was so fine and so young
Pedro runs across the barroom floor
Bursting through the door
On his way to the border by the sea
His hand is still hot from rage
There's nothing left to save
All he can do is flee
Now that heaven can finally breathe
Resting on the sea
While Pedro hides away from law
Elizabeth wore Pedro's golden ring
Along a silver string
Yet she moaned among the farmer's straw
Pedro shed the lonely tears
Of a love lost in years
He made a promise that he kept
As he read aloud the vows she wrote
With the heart she broke
The sun set as he wept
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
Ano nga ba ang buhay? Isang kahibangan,
What is life? A mania,
Ano nga ba ang buhay? Isang ilusyon,
What is life? An illusion,
Isang anino, isang kasinungalingan,
A shadow, a lie
At ang malalaking biyaya'y maliliit pa rin,
And the biggest blessings is still small,
Dahil ang buhay ay isa lamang pangarap,
Because life is only a dream,
At ang pangarap ay pangarap lamang.
And a dream is only a dream.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
I say to my woman, "Jeffers was
a great poet. think of a title
like Be Angry At The Sun. don't you
realize how great that is?
"you like that negative stuff." she
says
"positively," I agree, finishing my
drink and pouring another.
"in one of Jeffers' poems, not the sun poem,
this woman ***** a stallion because her
husband is such a gross spirit. and it's
believable. then the husband goes out
to **** the stallion and the stallion
kills him."
"I never heard of Jeffers," she
says.
"you never heard of Big Sur? Jeffers
made Big Sur famous just like D. H. Lawrence
made Taos famous. when a
great writer writes about where he
lives the mob comes in and takes
over."
"well you write about San Pedro," she
says.
"yeah," I say, "and have you read the
papers lately? they are going to construct
a marina here, one of the largest in the
world, millions and billions of dollars,
there is going to be a huge shopping
center, yachts and condominiums every-
where!"
"and to think," my woman says smiling, "that you've only
lived here for three years!"
"I still think," I say,
changing the subject,
"you ought to read Jeffers."
8k
Beneath San Pedro’s coast
Lay tiny monsters
Where ancestors of long past
Still fury their curse in puppet form
Action of devil play
Cast by High to taunt commercial soul
Unleash burden of possession
And the will of Yahweh
Give away the law of oppression
And start anew
Revolution cries “Freedom”
In the pale yellow afternoon
Life comes fast
And it’s gone too soon
Pretending happiness
In a world of blues
Won’t do too much
In the real world
The insanity avenue
Basket of food
Pass around, take what ya like
Free
Share with your brother
Share with your sister
Share with your neighbor
Share with a stranger
From here to forever
This is the unfolding of everything
It’s a movie and you’re the character you want to be
In the end, how all this plays out, we shall see
Keep sharing -
Sharing never hurt anybody
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 9:05 AM UTC
"Boy toy
or girl
toy! Don't
make me tell
you again, Pedro!"
I have committed a felony
within the land of the Golden Arches.
I have gone through
another patient's order
and forgotten which gender
to assign to the child
standing right next to them,
as if in need of another
fresh new coat in
traditional roleplay,
as if these little ones
were the cattle of tradition.
How foolish of me to assume
that the tiny calf in pigtails
would enjoy the strong-willed,
goal-setting, leadership-evoking
action figure instead of the sanitized,
goal-admonishing, vapidity-provoking
fashion doll.
I wouldn't want to lose
another valuable customer.
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 9:43 PM UTC
I went through the sidewalk on Pedro Gil and Taft
The blaring red and green traffic lights
Sort of obscured the view through my spectacles
In the early Manila evening
The smell of cancer in the air
Complimented the noise of the jeeps
That raced through the intersection
As the sun slowly sunk at the sight of the moon
I saw faces less and less
As the broken street lamps flickered
Some people were minding their own business
Others shouted and laughed in the street
I saw people gripping onto their bags
Like they gripped onto their lives, because the city is never safe
Especially at the dusk
Where all the thieves come out to play
The noise may reach above heaven
And the air may be as ***** as the sewers
But there is no other place
That I would consider home
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
Who else in this inhumane edifice
can dance while the suspecting eyes stare
at his moistened armpit?
Pathetically unknowing music uplifts not just the soul but the intellect.
Who else got the fire in imparting?
or …
did theirs even start a single spark since then?
Who else brings out the best in these hopefuls?
It’s all the worse and worst that they see.
And you think San Pedro would be pleased
when you gloat you made all the priests, doctors, and engineers?
Woe to you who humiliate the chair by your indolent butts
while uttering kindergartenous blabbers you claim to be education!
Then you get all you want while tabula rasa remains tabula rasa.
And you
You seated on the higher chairs!
Why don’t you trample down awhile
and put your cataracting sight to use
before it even brings you to the death of light.
Has anyone of you even heard what your god told to Pontius Pilate?
Ha! The you-have-no-power-over-me’s have always been impervious to you bigots!
And you say to your kin let me handle it.
When it is delayed and their impatience grows
you see they’ll leave.
Did you ever fret about deadlines
of bills, of matriculas, of debts?
What do you feed to your clan? Feeds?
Get Ripley’s here!
Oh how divine to utter all the Fs!
©Glenn L. Sentes
February 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:41 AM UTC
My interests
began to fail
me as my
darkness
moved in for
the ****
I blamed it
all on the
crescent Moon.
The bad
head case
of the
blues I
had been
Harboring
all dam year.
Then settled
on the fact
that it was
just another
washed out
wednesday
night.
Frusciante
once again
amazed
me as he
summoned the
Gods with
his guitar
and
sang to me
through
the magic
of the
radio.
My curiosity
began to
return as
the
comical
thoughts of
suicide
took to
their roost
inside
my head.
There they
always
await like
vultures atop
a San Pedro Cactus.
Patiently waiting
for the
next time
my mind
goes weak.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
First
She walked out
And I had to learn
That I was a coward
An orphaned lover
An old house cat
Abandoned
In a grocery store parking lot
I had to face it again
The emptiness
I smoked all of those nights
Away
I was numb
I was nothing
I lost 30 lbs in 2 months
Then it all caught up with me
One night my heart started beating
Rapidly
I couldn't breath
Started to shake
I sat in a corner and watched
The room grow ten times it's size
I heard a static crack in the ears
I was lost and unhuman
I was a rabid dog trapped in a corner
I felt sick for weeks after
So
I gave up the ***
Switched to drinking
Whole bottles of whiskey
128 lbs, shirtless, screaming
The fellas laughed at the beginning
Until I started throwing ****
Trying to fight everybody, anybody
I had 3 new catch phrases
"I'll ****** **** you man"
"I'll smash all your ********* teeth in"
"I've seen it all man."
After a while it became
Too much for the fellas
And soon they were all gone
So
I found better company
Dostoevsky, Fante,Bukowski,Hemingway,
Hamsun,Lorca,Sartre, etc.
I found a ****** apartment
in San Pedro
Drank beer and read every night
Until the loneliness felt comfortable
And then I
Accidentally
Became alcoholic
Then i took my wild act
To the streets
A few weeks ago I was at a concert
And this guy kept elbowing me
In the ribs
I said "If you keep sticking that elbow
To me, I'll ****** **** you man."
I said it cool and soft
And the guy looked real scared
And I was too
So
I had to quit drinking...
I keep thinking about
Zarathustra
Rising from his cave
After years of solitude...
A guy at work said
"November's almost gone
Man, this year just blew right by"
And I thought
'Good.'
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
Koala
Pedro: Saang bansa nagmula ang mga Koala?
Juan: Saan?
Pedro: E 'di sa Koala Lumpur.
Juan: Galing! Galing! Ako naman.
Pedro: Sige.
Juan: Saan naman madalas magpunta ang mga Koala?
Pedro: (Hindi makasagot. Malalim na nag-isip).
Juan: Hirit ka na, Pedro? Hindi mo alam ang sagot no?
Pedro: Sige. Hirit na ako. Ang hirap e.
Juan: E di sa Iskoala.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 3:10 PM UTC
Forjada en la "Fábrica de Armas y Municiones",
la ciudad
muerde con sus almenas
un pedazo de cielo,
mientras el Tajo,
alfanje que se funde en un molde de piedra,
atraviesa los puentes y la Vega,
pintada por algún primitivo castellano
de esos que conservaron
una influencia flamenca.
Ya al subir en dirección a la ciudad,
apriétase en las llaves
la empuñadura de una espada,
en tanto que un vientecillo
nos va enmoheciendo el espinazo
para insuflarnos el empaque
que los aduaneros exigen al entrar.
¡Silencio!
¡Silencio que nos extravía las pupilas
y nos diafaniza la nariz!
¡Silencio!
Perros que se pasean de golilla
con los ojos pintados por el Greco.
Posadas donde se hospedan todavía
los protagonistas del "Lazarillo" y del "Buscón".
Puertas que gruñen y se cierran
con las llaves que se le extraviaron a San Pedro.
¡Para cruzar sobre las, murallas y el Alcázar
las nubes ensillan con arneses y paramentos medioevales!
Hidalgos que se alimentan de piedras y de orgullo,
tienen la carne idéntica a la cera de los exvotos
y un tufo a herrumbre y a ratón.
Hidalgos que se detienen para escupir
con la jactancia con que sus abuelos
tiraban su escarcela a los leprosos.
Los pies ensangrentados por los guijarros,
se gulusmea en las cocinas
un olorcillo a inquisición,
y cuando las sombras se descuelgan de los tejados,
se oye la gesta
que las paredes nos cuentan al pasar,
a cuyo influjo una pelambre
nos va cubriendo las tetillas.
¡Noches en que los pasos suenan
como malas palabras!
¡Noches, con gélido aliento de fantasma,
en que las piedras que circundan la población
celebran aquelarres goyescos!
¡Juro,
por el mismísimo Cristo de la Vega,
que a pesar del cansancio que nos purifica
y nos despoja de toda vanidad,
a veces, al atravesar una calleja,
uno se cree Don Juan!
2.3k
.
Zodiac
Killer Tsuomy
Miyazaki T e d
Bundy Saeed Ha
nuel Robert Pic
ton Robert Mau
dsley Robert Ha
nsen Moses Sith
ole Mary A n n
Cotton J e f f rey
Dahmer Huang
Yong G regorio
Cardenas Herna
Dez Gary Leon Ridgway Eliza
Beth Bart hory Dean Arnold Corli
Pedro Lopez Mary Bell Louis
V a. n S c h o o r
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
Monday mornings are always easy.
Monday mornings bring a breeze South
Of The East,
North
Of The West.
Its caressing the exposed skin
of my flaky neck
like the lead cannon from Atlantis,
Flying for the grasp
Of the cactus from San Pedro
That provides mescaline to the tribes
Nearby, that pray to its being as The Messenger
From
The West. Beyond the horizon,
Like the jack rabbit, eroding, with a tube
Sock in the vestibule over The Dungeon That Sings,
Sideway neighbors to the uvula. If seen that way.
Beyond, the continual rings of Agorapho-
bia,
Challenging anxious mind,
With ideas
Of how it be the, not the seal in yestereen's heels.
Monday mornings
Are always easy.
Jun 30, 2022
Jun 30, 2022 at 5:00 PM UTC
Stay, rivulet, nor haste to leave
The lovely vale that lies around thee.
Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve,
When but a fount the morning found thee?
Born when the skies began to glow,
Humblest of all the rock's cold daughters,
No blossom bowed its stalk to show
Where stole thy still and scanty waters.
Now on thy stream the noonbeams look,
Usurping, as thou downward driftest,
Its crystal from the clearest brook,
Its rushing current from the swiftest.
Ah! what wild haste!--and all to be
A river and expire in ocean.
Each fountain's tribute hurries thee
To that vast grave with quicker motion.
Far better 'twere to linger still
In this green vale, these flowers to cherish,
And die in peace, an aged rill,
Than thus, a youthful Danube, perish.
1.6k
En la mañana sale el sol,
despertamos con una ilusión,
ver a nuestra isla ser una nación,
lucharemos por nuestra tierra después de la puesta del sol.
Ya es de noche, reina la oscuridad,
vestidos de negros, jamás nos verán,
con las sombras nos confundirán
y cuando menos lo esperan muy tarde será,
porque ya pronto tendremos nuestra libertad.
Mi pueblo está cansado de ser oprimido,
y ustedes invasores pagarán por lo que ha sucedido,
nuestra tierra la han destruido
pero de nuestro corazón se siente un latido,
aún no estamos en el olvido.
Nuestra cultura quisiste eliminar,
pero la mancha de plátano es difícil de borrar,
armados con fusiles y machetes iremos a luchar,
y en esta noche la muerte de Filiberto y Albizu vamos a vengar,
ya pronto la supremacía americana va a terminar,
por fin mi pueblo podrá respirar.
Escrito por: Yamil Rosario Vázquez (16-feb-2012)
Este poema es dedicado a todas las personas que en sus vidas han puesto un granito de arena para lograr la independencia de Puerto Rico, y a aquellos que han muerto luchando por ella.
En especial a:
Pedro Albizu Campos, Filiberto Ojeda Ríos, Ramón Emeterio Betances, y los a los estudiantes de la Universidad de Puerto Rico recinto de Río Piedras.
Feb 18, 2012
Feb 18, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC
Got a second for me Los Angeles
I am the product of your wish less stars,
shot out street lamps and *** holed streets.
Your trigger happy
cops who stalk your darkened streets like
the true predators they are.
Spare some time for me Los Angeles
I've drank hard and laughed along your
beaches.
Lived on your toxic air.
Turned into a ghost and chased the high all through
your city streets.
I watched the beautiful
people stay beautiful beneath endless California
summers.
I fought the good fight against your
tan shirts within the coldness of your jail.
Stay with me for a moment Los Angeles
The dead are still celebrated throughout your
Palm lined streets.
Your city lights still bring colors
to my dreams.
A little longer Los Angeles
I still can't bear the thought of ever leaving you
even when all the signs around me say I should.
I don't expect any return from you Los Angeles
San Julian showed me the real you.
These scars on the crook of my arm proved the real you.
Trust in me Los Angeles
I'm with you until we fall into the sea.
Believe in me Los Angeles
I'm not an actor on TV.
My name is not on a star to
be spat and stepped upon.
Nor am I a heretic
living behind a veil within
the comfort of your hills.
Don't forget me Los Angeles
I am the son of your southern most tip.
The son of the town named after the
Saint Pedro.
Whose roots are that of a
Lost Angel.
Lost within the deep darkness
of you.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
Se enreda el lunes con el martes
y la semana con el año:
no se puede cortar el tiempo
con tus tijeras fatigadas,
y todos los nombres del día
los borra el agua de la noche.
Nadie puede llamarse Pedro,
ninguna es Rosa ni María,
todos somos polvo o arena,
todos somos lluvia en la lluvia.
Me han hablado de Venezuelas,
de Paraguayes y de Chiles,
no sé de lo que están hablando:
conozco la piel de la tierra
y sé que no tiene apellido.
Cuando viví con las raíces
me gustaron más que las flores,
y cuando hablé con una piedra
sonaba como una campana.
Es tan larga la primavera
que dura todo el invierno:
el tiempo perdió los zapatos:
un año tiene cuatro siglos.
Cuando duermo todas las noches,
cómo me llamo o no me llamo?
Y cuando me despierto quién soy
si no era yo cuando dormía?
Esto quiere decir que apenas
desembarcamos en la vida,
que venimos recién naciendo,
que no nos llenemos la boca
con tantos nombres inseguros,
con tantas etiquetas tristes,
con tantas letras rimbombantes,
con tanto tuyo y canto mío,
con tanta firma en los papeles.
Yo pienso confundir las cosas,
unirlas y recién nacerlas,
entreverarlas, desvestirlas,
hasta que la luz del mundo
tenga la unidad del océano,
una integridad generosa,
una fragancia crepitante.
1.6k
warning: freedom really exists
and it's among us.
highway to nowhere,
the pleasing
hot
breeze
in my head again.
my life starts now.
light up a cigar
with mourning fire.
blood boiling in
anxiety.
morning fire.
up in the sky,
angels dance in
foreing torsions.
(lust is the engine
of the world)
scattered distorsions.
ethic-moral-rationality.
eyes leaking out of
the sliced throat.
an ancient greek comedy.
bones cracking in
panic gestures.
no disaster.
(end of second act)
knife rises to
set-free the
newborn.
no pain.
heart opened up
in two,
and in the middle,
love.
brains bursting in
bold erections.
heaven (there)
hell (heathen, among us)
big purple clouds,
night-resurrection.
confessions bring
confusion.
the desert...oh! the desert.
my lungs are filled with dust.
san pedro's highway.
are you going someway?
highway to nowhere.
devotion to pleasure,
brings obscure light.
faith has no measure.
are you going near?
boiling liquid flowing free
down there.
down the coaly shore,
where moon's waiting
for me.
(darkness always brings
light).
calm, loneliness whispering,
in sharp noises.
water is near.
calm,the hatred king
burdens his death.
zany fools driking,
celebrating.
(end of third act)
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
Cogs and free wheels chains and hubs
Twist and turns loud creeks and rubs
Sears and Snap-on won't do the job
Park and Pedro worth a few bob
Your problems are complex and real
You're tormented cry: squeak and squeal
Not a job for the feeble man
I have the tools, do what I can
Put you in my vice and hold tight
Crank the toggle bolt, torqued just right
I am the wrench to smooth your ride
Hand me the tools, stand by my side
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 9:36 PM UTC
"I'm a father, and I don't do a few things.
A father doesn't babysit his kids,
what are you part time?
Wake up, if your thinking this,
your not father material
your a ***** bank for hire.
I don't get drunk in-front of my kids,
you slurring your words.
Anger making you lash out.
That's a problem, you see
love is kindness, not anger and grief.
"I'm a father and I do a few things right.
A father reads to his kids, imagination
ignited in little minds.
"ROAR" went the dino baby as
it showed mummy and daddy
its new voice that it found.
Trees trembled and the earth
did jump for this little dino
showed off the voice
"ROAR" it never knew it had.
A father looks after them when there sick.
Team mummy and daddy.
Snooty Maggie,
that's mummies section.
Green little monsters popping out of noses,
slim trails on white tissues, so gross.
Buggers make daddy heave.
Pukky Pedro,
now this is daddies area.
scrap the chunks,
clean the sheets, give them a shower.
Now get the bucket, that rests next to the
little ones bed.
Sleep my baby, mummy and daddy are close.
A father is meant to show love,
don't be a part timer.
Were meant to be proud of what we have or had
with the love of our life.
We created someone,
who will bring a smile to eithers face just with a look.
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 7:28 AM UTC
Hindi lahat tayo, may dugong maharlika.
Hindi lahat tayo, iisa ang sinasamba.
Hindi lahat tayo, nais nang pantay na pag-asa.
Hindi lahat tayo, malinis at inosente tulad ng isang maya.
Batid kong alam mo, kung saan ka pupunta.
Batid kong alam mo, kung mayroon ka pang pag-asa.
Batid kong alam mo, kung sino ang nararapat sa kanila.
Si Juan, Si Pedro ba? O ang mapanlilang na si Luna?
Bagay na alam mo, pero nagbubulag-bulagan.
Mga maling turo, gawaing kinakalawang.
Kahit na may boses, nagdadalawang isip lumaban.
"Maririnig ba ako?", yan ang laging tanong mo kaibigan.
Mahirap nang sabihin, di pa kayang panindigan.
Mga bakal na kamay at piring na ginto sa karamihan.
Madalang na may tumayo, at isigaw ang prinsipyo ni Juan.
Hanggang dito na lang ba? Ang laban natin kaibigan.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 2:05 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