Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
It’s a place
It’s a paradise
It’s a natures
All cities with a pride…..


Sceneries are green
Verdant hills
Ocean blues……


Our Natives
Our Nation
Our Pride….


Its Philippines
We are like eagles ~that fly…..


Note:


“ONE NATION, ONE IDENTITY”

TO GOD BE ALL THE GLORY!
Ish Bautista Nov 2012
Perhaps your body is composed of thousands of stars.
Limitless  constellations make up your fingertips
your eyelashes
and the curvatures in your ears.

Galaxies are interwoven under your skin and how you glow.
You glow like the moon in the sky when it is at its brightest.
When nothing compares to the sight of the moon and the tiny specks in the sky are just insignificant floating circles.

Your hair flows like the Nile River.
Boundless, pristine water overflowing at my fingertips.
You are more than the ocean; you are all the bodies of water in the earth combined.

You are the last drop of coffee in my old, vintage, mauve red mug.
The last caffeine induced sip that flows through my oesophagus with a relinquishing taste of sweetness.
You are the sweet nectar that hummingbirds look for in flowers and when they can't find flowers with a taste that will satisfy them, they settle on trees.

You are the trees that produce oxygen, and the branches of the trees that tower over me like a netted blanket.
You are the cotton blanket keeping me warm on windy or rainy days because it doesn't snow in the Philippines.
But if you were snow, I would gather you in a plastic container and keep you in my ice compartment so you wouldn't melt.
You make me feel like I'm melting.
Like every possible emotion i possess flows out of me like vapor.

And you are the smoke that forms after you've blown the flame of a candle; you gently float in the air surrounding the space where the flame used to be.

You are the compacted tissues in my chest; you fill the void I once had.
You comprise my veins, my arteries and vesicles; you are a vessel of euphoric elation.
You are my utopia.
You are.
Two Bulgarian poets entered “The Second Genesis” – Anthology of Contemporary World Poetry – India’2014
Poems of the Bulgarian poets Bozhidar Pangelov and Mira Dushkova are included in the Indian project “The Second Genesis: An Anthology of Contemporary World Poetry”. Bozhidar Pangelov’s poems are: “Time is an Idea” and “…I hear” translated by Vessislava Savova; as for Mira Dushkova’s poems – “Beyond”, “Sozopolis” and “The Girl”, they were translated by Petar Kadiyski.


For the authors:
Bozhidar Pangelov was born in the soft month of October in the city of the chestnut trees, Sofia, Bulgaria, where he lives and works. He likes joking that the only authorship which he acknowledges are his three children and the job-hobby in the sphere of the business services. His first book Four Cycles (2005) written entirely with an unknown author but in a complete synchronous on motifs of the Hellenic legends and mythos. The coauthor (Vanja Konstantinova) is an editor of his next book Delta (2005) and she is the woman whom “The Girl Who…” (2008) is dedicated to. His last (so far) book is “The Man Who…” (2009). In June 2013 a bi lingual poetry book A Feather of Fujiama is being published in Amazon.com as a Kindle edition. Some of his poems are translated in Italian, German, Polish, Russian, Chinese and English languages and are published on poetry sites as well as in anthologies and some periodicals all over the world. Bozhidar Pangelov is on of the German project Europe takes Europa ein Gedicht. “Castrop Rauxel ein Gedicht RUHR 2010” and the project “SPRING POETRY RAIN 2012”, Cyprus.
Mira Dushkova (1974) was born in in Veliko Tarnovo, the medieval capital of Bulgaria. She earned a MA degree from the University of Veliko Tarnovo, and later on a PhD in Modern Bulgarian Literature, from Ruse University Angel Kanchev, in 2010, where she is currently teaching literature courses.
Her writing includes poetry, essays, literary criticism and short stories. She has published several poetry books in Bulgarian: “I Try Histories As Clothes“ (1998), „Exercise On The Scarecrow” (2000), „Scents and Sights“ (2004), literary monograph “Semper Idem : Konstantin Konstantinov. Poetics of the late stories“ (2012, 2013) and the story collection „Invisible Things“ (2014).
Her poems have been published in literary editions in Bulgaria, USA, Sweden, Hungary, Croatia, Romania, Turkey and India. Some of her poems and essays have been first prize winners of different Bulgarian contests for literature.
She has attended poetry festivals in Bulgaria, Croatia (Zagreb) and Turkey (Istanbul and Ordu).
She lives in Ruse – Bulgaria.

For the Antology “The Second Genesis”:
In the anthology titled „The Second Genesis“ are published the poems of 150 poets from 57 countries. All poems are in English. The Antology consists of 546 pages. “The Second Genesis” includes authors’ and editors’ biographies and three indexes: of the authors; of the poem titles and an index based on the first verses. It is issued by “A.R.A.W.LII” (Academy of ‘raitɘ(s) And Word Literati) – an academy, which encourages literature and creative writing and realizes cultural connections between India and the other countries. Four times a year ARAWLII publishes in India the international magazine for poetry and creative writing „Prosopisia“. Its Chief Editor and President of A.R.A.W.LII is Prof. Anuraag Sharma. He is also author of Antology’s Introduction.
Participating Countries:
Albania, Argentina, Armenia, Australia, Belgium, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Brazil, Bulgaria, Albania, Great Britain, Germany, Greece, Denmark, Egypt, Estonia, India, Iran, Iraq, Ireland, Israel, Spain, Italy, Jordan, Canada, Cyprus, China, Kosovo, Cuba, Macao, Macedonia, Niger, Norway, Pakistan, Palestine, Poland, Puerto Rico, Romania, Russia, Saudi Arabia, USA, Singapore, Syria, Serbia, Taiwan, Tunis, Turkey, Fiji, Philippines, Finland, France, Holland, Croatia, Montenegro, Czech Republic, Chile, Sweden, Switzerland, Scotland, South Africa, Japan
For the editors:
Anuraag Sharma – editor and president of A.R.A.W.LII
Poet, critic, author of short stories, translator and playwrighter, Anuraag has to his credit the following publications: “Kiske Liye?”, “Punarbhava”, “Audhava”, Dimensions of the Angel: A Study of the poetry of Les Murray’s Poetry “Iswaswillbe” – a collection of short stories, “Setu” (“The Bridges”). He has also co-editor the volume of conference papers: ”Caring Cultures: Sharing Imaginations. Some of his recent publications include: “A Trilogy of plays”, “Mehraab” (“The Arch”) – translations of selected poems of four Canberra Poets, “Papa and Other Poems”, “Sau Baras Ka Sitara Eik” – translation of Andrew Parkin’s “A Star of Hundred Years”, “As if a wooden house I am”- translations of Surendra Chaturverdi, “Satish Verma: The Poet” and “Tere Jaane ke Baad Tere Aane as Pehle”. He is also editor-in-chief of two international journals – “Lemuria” and “Prosopisia”. Currently he is working as a Professor in English at Govt. College “Kekri” Ajmer, India.

Moizur Rehman Khan – co-redactor, project manager, secretary of A.R.A.W.LII
He studied Urdo and Persian Literature in college and later on competed his master degree in English literature from “Dayanand” College, Ajmer, India. He completed his research dissertation under the supervision of Anuraag Sharma on “Major themes in the poetry of Chris Wallas-Crabbe”. He is a creative writer. His poems and articles have been published in various magazines and journals. Currently he is teaching English at DMS, RIE, Ajmer, India.
References for the Antology:
“No middle no end, the poems in The Second Genesis have been speaking to you long before the beginning and will continue without you…don’t worry, its binding has long since unglued, its pages, worn and disheveled, will always be speaking to you, they’ve been compiled this way, to be read out of order, backwards, shelved or scattered in an attic between the coffee and greasy finger stains…The Second Genesis is the history of the Book where you become its words, ink and pulp.”
Craig Czury

“The Second Genesis is at the crossroads of a new poetic becoming. a poetry claiming its second beginning not only for art but the heart pulsating and feeding the entire body. This anthology is a successful fusion of unique, inimitable and polyphonic poetry, a well-organized improvisation with a solid and flexible structure.”

Dalia Staponkute

“The Second Genesis, a compendium of world poetry which is also a poetry of the world, suggests so much a new beginning as it does a recognition of the ongoing creation that continues to animate our collective existence. Our precarious era requires a global affirmation that we are all in this together. Poetry has always said as much, and here it says it again, in the idioms of our time.”
Paul Kane
**
“Visionary and international, The Second Genesis, introduced and edited by Anuraag Sharma, sparkles with poetry of insight, intelligence and feeling and is an indispensable reminder of our human aspirations and experience in the early 21st century. Poets from nearly sixty countries rub shoulders in this ambitious and wide-ranging collection, and their poems resonate and mingle in a multi-layered voice. It is the voice of our humanity.
In his Introduction, Dr. Sharma points to the invaluable importance of poetry in what he calls our destructive Lear era:
Beyond the Lear Century, across the 21st Century lies the island of Prospero and Ariel and Miranda and Ferdinand – the region of faith, hope and innocence, the land of virtue, and all forgiveness sans grievances, sans regrets, sans curses. The doleful shades lead to pastures new.
We must weigh our hopes. The Second Genesis is at hand….”
Diana Sampey
Matt Oct 2016
The midwife
Delivers the baby

The child
For the first time
Open's its eyes

Welcome to
A world that lies

Welcome to suffering
Poverty and pain

And for millions
Of other children
Much the same
Marc Janiola Jan 2015
He came to the Philippines
To warm peoples' hearts
Filipinos here and there
Say he's the CHOSEN ONE

The Sky seems dark and gloomy
That may stop the Pope from going
But the Pope says no lets go
The people are waiting for me

No one can cease His Holiness
From becoming one with the Church
He is a certified rockstar
For todays Generation

His advocacies inspired us
To become a better Christian
To help the poor and the needy
And to nurture the youth of today

Let us never forget what he said
Though he left us already
History was made in this country
The country called **The Philippines
#WeLoveYouPopeFrancis #WeWillMissYou
skyhow Jun 2013
There is a place called Pampanga
Home of the world's famous sisig
Where people are called kapampangan
And lanterns called "Parol" are big.

Pampanga is where I live
Just outside Manila, capital of the philippines.
Joy and happiness I recieve
When I'm with my family and kin.

I wrote this one to let the world know
A place called Pampanga I call home.
A hippodrome as smoke adjourn
those can wrap Havanas blunt
while Manila fish for sordino
they reek of harvest yet exhume Moro
then San Mateo shall not a maraschino bane
whether they've sought bastion in Italy then
once their hopes shall keep ships ahoy
and Sabatini sing San Marino here
that sandcastle star await his lover in
"The Sea Hawk" a fine costume whence sail
those Antilles with a conquistador as buttress
in this play they call Those Philippines alas meet
El Duarte in a duet with his song set aflame with
great sleeves in such kleptocracy worldwide again.
The immense striking letters
of the gazette’s front page
make me almost cross-eyed

My mind is going to explode
in the images I have seen in the television

Boom!

When will the politicians
be weary in stealing
the wealth of the country?
Millions of pesos were caught
in the centre of the golden sea

Can we only find it from other countries?
Is that the main reason
why Filipinos are migrating:
to find source of much bigger income?

I am thinking about them
together with their bosses
with heavy iron hands
I believe crime rate is escalating...

...the crime that can grab you
24 hours a day
Can we still smell the tainted odor
of pictures of the street children...
children who beg for a piece of bread?

Mr. President, where is the promised straight road
you are pointing at?
Why can’t we see it?
Is it crooked?

Why is it that these are
the ONLY stuffing of rumors?
Why can’t we focus onto a bigger
and wider problem of our country
and even around the world?

Perhaps above all issues,
this is the only concern
that is not yet trending in Twitter

So, I just boasted it to my open-mouthed puppy...
“If I will be the President of the Philippines,
I will focus first on ENVIRONMENTAL ISSUES.”
Suddenly, Bruno’s saliva dripped.
Why is environmental issue the least priority?
So I run, and hide here,
only few knows this site.
Our government is bragging us,
for this Anti-Cybercrime Law really *****!
It's like a Digital Martial Law,
it's like ******* your own...
...your own toes!
It's like a waste of money,
a waste of time, injustice!
A waste of ******* your own...
...your own tongue!
There's no more fun in the Philippines.
I hate it. I really do.
In times of yore,
A name arose –
With vulnerable emerging markets,
The “Sick Man” of Asia!

But it has primed its cutback!
“Sick Man” was now a former name,
Call him this nation
To breed at ‘breakneck’ pace!

The snap back is faster
As global growth stirs in its revival,
And billions of dollars are in his shares!

Philippines vs. U.S.
With 7 percent, the peso was down for the year!
And we were knocked out!

It was more a reflection of global fears! –
About higher U.S. interest rates,
Then, the worries ‘bout the realm’s own fortunes,
Has to be forgotten.

Southeast Asian nation's prospects remain bright,
Likely to produce “predictable growth,”
Yes, the three stars with lone sun –
Now sky-scraping ,
With Filipinos making a stand.

Moving far..
From being a financial basket case,
The government has cut its debt,
Carry on! March on Filipinos!

(2/25/13 @xirlleelang)
Ryan Cenzon Oct 2013
Welcome to Manila.

Feel free to fill your lungs with the nocturnal breeze

Signed by the nation's capital as it flows its life on the roads that lie under the moon's lunar glow.

The scents of Sampaguitas, rugby, human excrement, and the smell of burning gasoline

Constituting the sources of a rising problem that pollutes the air of a land

A land where people ignore the screams of health issues

For the latest news about events in the envied personal lives

Of hypocritical second-rate and overpaid actors who have become the annoying faces

Of household television screens in the Philippines.


To the left you'll see a wooden cart filled with discarded recyclables that serve as a livelihood by day,

And a bed by night as it stands on the road lined with the gutters

The gutters that serve as stomachs of the city, the only stomachs of the city that aren't suffering

From starvation and Ulcers as they are filled to the brim with the population's toxic waste,

Reeking into the air with a stench that only compliments

The smells of poverty and corruption, as the taxes that are meant to pay for progress

Are redirected to the politician's own pockets to be spent on his prostitutes and casino gambling.


Hear the music of manila; the harmonious sounds of infants that weep

As they are trapped in a living nightmare as they toss and turn and try to sleep along the roads

Buzzing with the sounds of beeping horns through the late rush hour traffic

Mixed with the sounds of the occasional clink of the falling silver peso coin into beggars' cups,

And other  homeless people  under the delusional impression

That pedestrians actually care for their well being and listen to their creaking voices

As they beg for spare change, while deep down they beg and pray

For a total change in the states of their starving lives.


The dark reveals the most candid face of the nation

like an ironic twist in nature as in the shadows, more is seen than under the burning  light of the
pretentious day.

The street lights are like the eyes that witness  ice picks piercing innocent  flesh
and purses being taken from passers-by

While in the shadows of alleys nobody sees the slow and painfully traumatic scenes
of young teen-aged girls being *****

And motorcycle gangs that rain semi-automatic ammunition into skulls of lawyers just stopping by at Shell for gasoline.

Seldom heard in the air are the faint whispers in heads that hold the scattered thoughts and memories
of depressed drug addicts walking along Chinatown near the railroad tracks

Inhabited by people who blame their neighbors, their families, and the government,

And never blame themselves for their lives that have brutally fallen beneath the vicious line of everlasting poverty.
Experimenting with an execution of poetry far from my traditional style
Andrea Diaz Dec 2012
One
What’s your ethnicity, or your race?
Are you
Mexican, Filipino, Hawaiian, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Alaskan, English, Irish, Polish, Scottish, British, Brazilian, Cuban, Spaniard, Australian, Canadian, or Jamaican?
Are you something I have not listed?
Are you a combination of multiple ethnicities?
Do you not know who you are?
Still not sure what you identify with?
Or do you not consider your ethnic culture?
Do you prefer to leave behind your roots, only sticking to one true race?
Is your race
Human, Robotic, Alien, Animalia, Plante, Fungi, Bacteria, Futuristic, Untamed, Unreal, Tideborn, Winged-Elf, Elf, Earthbound, Soul, Ghost, Zombie, Magician, Wizard, Troll, Vampire, Dragon, Unicorn, Werewolf, Mysterious, or even too epic to be identified?
Though, this question itself shouldn’t really matter
For, I do not care what the color of your skin,
The identification of where your ancestors have been
Or even who you were then
I’d treat you the same

Two,
What’s the weather like in your mind?
Is it cloudy and unsafe?
Can you bear to let another thought fill up the cloud in your mind?
Or are you still intertwined,
With the thoughts you’ve let yourself get so lost in?
Is it filled with happiness, sunshines and rainbows?
Are bunnies hopping around a sea of flowers?
Can you see the sunset in the horizon and are you capable of clearing away the sad blue skies
Is it safe for me to live in there?
Because, I want to be your thoughts,
I want to show you the sun
So,
Would you mind me living in your mind?

Three,
Are you lost?
Do you wander?
Because being lost is recreation
When we continue to lose ourselves
We tend to recreate the person we are.
We tend to go near and far
We are lost wanderers in this world we call home
So if you’re lost in your thoughts,
And if you’re lost in your world
Let me guide you to a recreation of yourself
And maybe you’ll love being lost as much as I do.

Four,
What’s your world like?
Is it like the world we live on?
The world we take shelter upon?
Is it filled with misery and mayhem?
Or is it filled with peace and tranquility?

Five,
What do you see?
Can you see the darkness that surrounds our hearts?
Can you use it to strengthen the reason to basket in the light?
Do you see the destruction humanity hath brought upon the world?
Can you see it?
Or are you too blind to realize that tranquility and peace no longer exist?
That those are just delusions your mind hath made up.
That the word of the Lord has been bent and now is broken by the people you rented your beliefs to.
That the world is now in turmoil,
And soon,
Oh so soon
It’ll be destroyed by the greed you were to blind to stop

Six,
Do you regret something?
An action you have committed,
An action you have done.
Did you let all the chances slip away?
Did you let her get away?
Because I have done that
So many times I’ve stopped counting.
For if I had kept track
It would have filled up a novel entitled How to Lose Someone (and How to Repeat it)
And so many times,
I have wished I could take it all back.

Seven,
How many wished did you make?
And how many of those wishes came true?
How many falling stars, 11:11’s, eyelashes, and fountains did it take to get it through your mind that wishes don’t come true?
That without a little bit of effort,
Wishes are just meaningless words you’ve wasted your breath on.
Because for every wish I made
Reality slapped me in the back of the head,
And told me it wasn’t going to be true.

Eight,
Have you fallen in and out of love?
Did you regret falling in love in order to fall out of it again?
Did you count the ways you can tell your lover how much you loved them?
Or did you cower in the corner?
Too afraid of something, like rejection, that never existed.
Did you misplace you love?
Are you single but your heart belongs to another?
Someone in which you cannot have?
Isn’t that just how the love life works for the wicked?
We love so much
And our hearts give away,
Yet no one is there to give us theirs
So we end up the heartless
Or even the broken hearted.

Nine,
Have you cried yourself to sleep at night?
Allowing the tears to rock you to sleep
The gentle sirens of the sorrow really do know how to sing a saddened lullaby
And sometimes,
You do not awaken feeling happy,
You may just feel even more ******
But the days you fall asleep with tears in your eyes
You may find that the day has only begun
When the morning sun
Shines on

Ten,
Would you like to tell me a story?
For I have already told you mine
I would like to hear yours.

I am of human race with ethnic culture of the Philippines and Mexico
The weather in my mind is a bit bi-polar but I believe it’s a liveable one.
The world I live in causes me to get lost that I believe I’m just a wanderer
What I see are my regrets
And boy do I have a lot
I’ve made so many wishes that I have lost any hope in having it come true
And dear sir,
I believe that it is true
That falling in love, I continued to fall out of.
But I’ve lived my life like this that I do not know how to get out of it.
I’ve cried myself to sleep at night
But mostly tears awakened me.
Sunshines have come and gone
But I still a wait for the morning sun
So will you tell me a story?
Start with the beginning and end to some where
I just want to know
How much our lives can click into one.
An old prompt I rewrote from creative writing called 10 questions i'd ask a stranger
Lorraine Cinco Apr 2017
Remember the glass house im talking about? The house inside the forest?
Buy and built me that house, then I will marry you.
Buy me a car, send me to driving school, allow me to drive and let me take you to everywhere
then I will marry you.
Promised me to attend all the festivals here in the Philippines.
lets dance, sing and lost to every corner of the street
then I will marry you.
Lets take a ride to a dolphin, dive with them deeper as much as we could
then I will marry you.
Lets take a flight to Europe, see the sunset in Santorini,
take my dream shot to the beautiful Eiffel tower and walk me around to the Rome City
then I will marry you.
Im afraid of heights but lets take a jump to 15000 ft above the ground and if we could do that
then I will marry you.
believe in the God I believed in, my God said strong faith can move mountains and if we're two we could make it through,
then I will marry you.
You know how to make me happy but if you could do it every minute,  
then I will marry you.
If this is too much too much to ask for, then just love me till I die and l will marry you..
Dont ask me to love you, because I already do,
that's why I will marry you.
Published it last July 28, 2013 in my blog and forgot when I actually made it.  Made some revisions.  Hope you like it.
Butch Decatoria Jun 2017
Rain dancers

Children bring forth

The deluge

Joyous and ****

Boogie away the heat of our Cebu

Wash away the grime

The worries of Times

The sufferings

Of war, in Mindanao, in you...

Dance oh Children

Of Sulu seas

Blissful droplets

Mini Filipinos me

Though the air force jets

Thunder overhead

Weep not lil ones

They are further dead & gone

And now in these drops of sky

We drank

Bathed in the Life

Which we give thanks

So, bring forth

All earthly deluge

We babes of Cebu

Shower

In the sacrosanct

Blossom in the truth.

(this is my Philippines)

I am You.
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
Let us not keep our secret,
secret any more!

Thousands have read your poem,
from your tributary, they have drunk.

So I am re posting once more
to remind grandmother,
so many
you,
adore.

I will not stop
till ten
thousand new admirers
have you paid homage.
then I will
              post it again.


~~~~~~
Oct 6, 2013
The Banyan Tree (A Tribute to Sally)
I am a man, grandfather to four.
Adherent to the same religion,
Poetry.

Breathing through mine eyes,
Exhaling carbon words,
That with time and pressure become
Poems, verbal musical notes upon life.

Each motion, from tiny to grand,
A capsule of expression,
That if examined under microscope,
Familial DNA, interconnected tissue,
Discovered, tho logic says,  
Time and distance render impossible.

But this is a diamond
This is a writ to be slipped
Upon the finger, the heart, the essence,
Of the only Banyan tree I have hugged.

This poem but a fig,
In the cracks of kindness,
The crevices of caring,
It has slow germinated.

You dear, Sally,
My host,
A building upon I can lean,
When wearied spirits uproot
My surficial composure.

Your seeds carried from east to west,
By a fig wasp, a bird unknown,
An ocean voyager, of indisputable vision, strength.

This seeded messenger, word carrier,
Supplanted in me, and your pupils,
Whose very names breathe poems,
In others too, like me and so many,
Seeds to become new roots, but you,
Our Host official and forever
Planter of trees of loving kindness.

You already know with love and affection,
I call you Grandma Sally,
And when you ask, beseech,
I cannot refuse.

Together we will will banish the sad,
Acknowledge we, that life's ocean,
A mixture of many, even sad, a necessity.

But I promise that will turn it into
Something simple, something good.
For you have asked and I answer you
Right here right now - your wish,
My objective, deep rooted like you,
Like an old banyan tree,
Your roots spread far, spread wide.

So some eve, when to the beach, to the sky
You glance, smile, no matter what, troubles dispersed,
For the reflection of you, seeds, full fledged trees now,
Bending skywards, in search of your rays of expression,
Your maternal wisdom rooted, spread so wide, globally,
All over this Earth, is visible from your
Beloved Philippines.


---------------------------------------
In her own words..

I am a widow,
with five remarkable granddaughters....
all beautiful, intelligent girls.
It is such a waste not to write....
each morning that unfolds is filled
with things to write about....
the people, the birds,
the trees, the wind,
the seas,
everything we set our eyes on,
they are all
poetry in motion.
Life itself is poetry,
I always have pen and paper within reach.
My past experiences are a
never-ending source
of ideas and words for my poems....
I shall write until time permits me,
"til there's breath within me."
-------------------------------------------------
A banyan (also banian) is a fig that starts its life as an epiphyte (a plant growing on another plant) when its seeds germinate in the cracks and crevices on a host tree (or on structures like buildings and bridges). "Banyan" often refers specifically to the Indian banyan or Ficus benghalensis, the national tree of India,[1] though the term has been generalized to include all figs that share a characteristic life cycle...
Like other fig species (which includes the common edible fig Ficus carica), banyans have unique fruit structures and are dependent on fig wasps for reproduction. The seeds of banyans are dispersed by fruit-eating birds. The seeds germinate and send down roots towards the ground.

The leaves of the banyan tree are large, leathery, glossy green and elliptical in shape. Like most fig-trees, the leaf bud is covered by two large scales. As the leaf develops the scales fall. Young leaves have an attractive reddish tinge.[6]

Older banyan trees are characterized by their aerial prop roots that grow into thick woody trunks which, with age, can become indistinguishable from the main trunk. The original support tree can sometimes die, so that the banyan becomes a "columnar tree" with a hollow central core. Old trees can spread out laterally using these prop roots to cover a wide area.
Go out when the sun sets
Watch birds return to nests
When fishermen end quests
And farmers leave harvests
The time everyone rests
So now face to the West
See and feel where it’s best
Comfort is its behest
Blue – wall stars of U.S.
Blue – sea and sky conquest!

Go out when the sun rises
Witness birds begin quests
When fishermen cast nets
And farmers ready chests
The hour of work begets
So now turn to the East
Human faith melts mist
Red – motif of China
Red – worker’s insignia!

Go out when the sun’s highest
When shadows are shortest
Temperature’s hottest
Celestial lights brightest
Festive moment its best
Yellow – Philippine Sun
Yellow – EDSA One!

Philippines – now behold
People – not blue and cold
Culture – not red and bold

Our nation’s not that old
New age ‘bout to unfold
Glaring – yellow – sheer gold!

-11/27/2011
(Dumarao)
*First Incubus Collection
My Poem No. 64
mims Oct 2013
Sa pagtulog mo
ang tanging hiling
ay mayakap ka.
Ang bawat awit
na hinuhuni ng aking puso
ay alay
para lamang sayo.

Nakakapit sa pag-asang
magdadaop muli ang ating mga palad,
na matititigan kong muli
ang iyong mga mata
habang
ang ating mga labi
ay unti unting naglalapit
para sa isang halik
na pinakaaasam.
Ang halik
na siyang bubuhay muli
sa daloy
ng ating minsang ipinangakong
pag-ibig na wagas.

*note: This poem is in the Filipino/Tagalog language from the Philippines
Josh Jul 2014
Islamist Extremists. Boat Capsized.
Obama and Nelson Mandela. Celebrity Lies.
Plane Crash. Forest Fires.
Missing Girl. Handgun-buyers.
Amazon Lawsuit. ANT-MAN. Low Supplies!

Walmart Empty Shelves. Chinese Food Scandal.
Microsoft Layoffs. Heat and Gasoline. Oil.
Mad Max! Comic Book Convention Drama.
Breast Lumps and Swelling.

Television. Veteran's Hospitals.
Israel and Gaza Fight On.
Beachgoers Hit by Lightning.
Baseball Drinking Songs.

Sci-fi, Wi-fi, Ebola, and Libya.
Ukraine. Venezuela. Marriage. Liver failure.
Allen Webster. USA. RACE CARS.
Global Catastrophe Down to Warming of the Earth.

Dinosaurs Had Feathers. MH17. Profits.
Desert Bakery. Syria. We Must be Mad.
Philippines: 100 Million People on an Island.
Salmonella Lawsuit. Cheeseburger Diet.
Twinkies Never Going Bad.
Putin, Palin, and the Tour de France.

Fracking. Cats and Dogs.
Just in case you missed it.
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
I just watched a news report:
13 million people are hungry
in the Philippines
and cannot afford three meals a day.
I watched a grandmother
picking through others’ garbage bags
to find food waste:
She found a half-eaten chicken
partially-decomposed
and took it home to feed her grandchildren
for whom she is the sole provider
after her husband died
and as the children’s parents look for work.
The brave responsible grandmother says
“Life is hard”
as she smells the stench of the decomposing chicken
then boils it to **** the bacteria
then fries it with a little onion
to improve the rotten taste.
Her four hungry grandchildren
sit quietly around the small dining table
eating the partially-decomposed chicken.
The heroic grandmother says
“the stench of the food
is something you never get used to
but life is hard
it’s either rotting food
or nothing.”

I was left thinking:
Is there something we can do
to feed the hungry
in the Philippines?
Is there something we can do
to feed the hungry
around the world?
Dhaye Margaux Nov 2015
~~¤~~

I heard your cry Oh, Paris
From the hundred of bodies that fell on your ground
I heard the sobbing of your neighbors
I saw the tears of all the eyes watching you
You were trying to  move on from the tragic Charlie Hebdo Attack
But here you are again-
Broken and bruised
And my heart is breaking
My tears are rolling down my face
As I utter  a thousand why's

But...

I still hear the weeping from afar-
Palestine and Syria are still mourning for the death of their children,
India Heat Wave that killed more than two thousand,
The hundreds of migrants killed in sinking ship in the Mediterranean Sea,
The TransAsia Airways Flight 235 Crash in Taiwan,
The Germanwings Flight 9525 Crash into the French Alps,
The Earthquake in Nepal,
The Amtrak Train Derail in Philadelphia,
The Warehouse Explosion that killed a hundred in China,
The Reporter and Cameraman Killed live on TV,
The Refugee crisis,
The Hajj Pilgrimage Tragedy near Mecca
The series of calamities and tragedies in different parts of my dear Philippines-
The families of thousands of dead people are still in agony
These tragedies around the world
Gave those places the deepest cuts upon the bellies of the mothers
Wounds that connect to the hearts
And create scars that might be fresh until now

The world is in pain
And here are my tears again

I am praying for the world
Can we listen to those cries and open our hearts?

Let us  pray for you,  dear Paris
And for other places wich are still in misery

Let us pray for the world.

~~¤~~
Please don't misunderstand.  I am also praying for Paris.  But many places are still suffering.  Please include them in our prayers.
Adam Rahmani Jun 2012
Hello Kara, how you doin'
You wanted a poem, now here it is
I know its a mess and full of ruin
That's cause I'm not a poetry ****

We should out for milkshakes one day
Hopefully that day will be soon
If I don't go to the Philippines
Our drink will be later in June

Milkshake, O Milkshakes
Delicious drink for me
Freshly made with no mistakes
Enjoyed with great company
dead bodies moving dead bodies
you know the theme, the scheme,
the thought and the idea

the bodies, dead, paying the bills,
moving dead past the dawn
eyeballs rolling up as windows
closing and doors close and open

the bodies, mass production,
lots of bodies
Monday, Tuesday, Shitday
Thursday, Friday, Saturday
and Christday

Neighbor Allah never greets anyone
and he talks to himself in echoes
Buddha is all smiles and virtues
but no muscle, Buddha's daughters
are out clubbing tonight ******* their
oriental curves, selling their oriental
scents and cold white skin
to Allah's *** deprived sons

Christ is the only father and
he disowns his nieces and nephews,
I knew years back that I am a distant relative

just dead bodies, yours and mine
produce, corporate livestock,
labels from the heaviest bills handed
over in sinister alleyways,
sinister exchanges, hitman to hitman,
extraction to extraction, fraction by fraction,
bodies serves as platforms,
nonliving chopping boards for the butchers
dressed up as elves

the bodies, limb by limb, sagging skins,
rivers of hairfalls, scratch marks,
Ms. Universe stretch marks, the *** tapes
of the cheerleaders whom silent and wise
boys yearned for all through years of fading
innocence

Closeted gay professionals keeping their pointed ******* when nothing's wrong with them until consent turns from probationary to mandatory and hate and red and blue and green and yellow flags and pedophiles and bigots and white supremacists and Allah whisperers and Allah fanatics and Buddha hypocrites and China takes over the world and feminists, and third and fourth and fifth and so on genders and Trump and memes and Filipinos and mental health and memes and mental health and memes and literature and literature and activists and who ****** who and politicians and what Americans, Australians, Chinese, Japanese, British, Candian, Irish and and North Koreans and K-Pop plastic lips and hips who young girls and boys from isolated islands gets ****** for and hipsters and the nine to fives and the ***** to give and the snobbish *** girls in parties, in clubs, in alleys who wants to get ****** by all the celebrity status ***** all just becomes a tiny pinch for the dead bodies not to see and point the flower and shoot the gun to end the human war.
powerlessness is the fuel to either create or destroy.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
a very modern argument... sure, i can't say and you censor the word ******... while i say and you can't censor the word ŋørn - because... oh yeah, wait... ****, there are no immediate connotations enforcing a whip... but strange how we can say Niger and then gasp at the extra g... must be god come knocking about neurosis... better write enough accented words so that you don't censor them... which is why European languages used accents and the English language used... stars!
                                                 f
***!

do you know what ensured i kept speaking Polish and
never becoming a fully politicised
****** who forgot Zulu?
the lost trilling of the R in English...
it's so phlegm full of ****
in English... the letter Ar
is dismantled in English
into chemistry, it's not thrill...
reel or... bravo bravo!
the the day the music died...
Don Mac and the pie
of how to say r'ah and not phlegm /
cough up r...
hark... hark... hark!
what a lovely bunch of American girls
with colonial fetishes
who never explored the fascist avenues
of polished boots...
             Portugal remains in the Baltic
of the remaining trinity
of English, Spanish and French...
   **** me... even Dante was invited
but set next to the Palestinian
president like Donald at Simon's funeral:
i got the giggles with that Kenyan
trying to keep a straight face...
           i do slapstick like Charlie
but it's about the forehead more or less...
you know why i never became a fully
pledged ****** in English?
i know what the R stood for: a trill..
         now that's what i call the most adequate
onomatopoeia...
                                   which is a noumenon...
R resembles trilling... which is onomatopoeia for
a rattlesnake...
                             try it...
the English are dumb: Islam? attack!
oh get over the l.g.b.t. *******... that's kindergarten
politics... sow two loafs of bread into my best
and i'll end up just like what you're trying
to blow up...
                  i remained patriotic to my Polish
because i always wanted to remember
      the trill encoded in R...
                                          the English lost it...
a hollowed out to the phlegm hark
       near to spitting saliva like spitting
out phlegm onto the pavement in France...
             i need the ****** trill...
i am, after all, keen on fishing...
         but **** me and forget me with your
little slaves wholly embodied in
your language to stray into rainbow feathered
peacocks: 1 billion chinese to mind...
                    oi! Zoobaba, ******* a line of Zulu
at me...
                 oh wait... rap reggae grime...
      black classical that's jazz in the 1950s...
hey! don't look at me and the german...
we didn't colonise anything,
                                 i'd love to see Africa
say goodbye to you like the German said
goodbye to the Jew: without ******,
what's the word... Zionism would be a bit like
Marxism... or maybe the two are akin...
                         but only colonial nations
invited Muslims to replace the Jews...
                      because it was on their conscience
having travelled that far into the
***** of hyena **** and come back
not laughing...
                              and why are they
trying to export democracy into coherent
politics when all democracy seems to be
is a journalistic opinion i'd burn with Joan of Arc...
because... it doesn't really ******* matter...
hello! the 21st century! the internet!
                  why are they exporting something
they haven't the foggiest about in terms of
how it out to be firstly quality checked and then,
much later, exported?
                          i'm with the saint of the Philippines...
     i kept my tongue, only because
the ******* didn't...
                             meaning i could mutilate
my host language without waving my hands about
like some spaghetti monster so the whiteys
would simply applaud: success! bypassing
our fathers' conscience! give me a ******* u.z.i.
and i'll be talking the Tel Aviv's kaleidoscope
of love stories purely floral / genitalia prone -
never... never will a European tongue
cleanse another European tongue within
a colonial framework...
                                          never will one European
tongue say: me supreme!
say that to the Africans and the Chinese and whoever
else you ****** over...
                           i'm surprised Paris was worse
hit than London... truly... a surprising statistical
magic trick...
                               i listen to African on the bus
talking African... but then i watch the mongrels...
            they're still slaves... but they just call
them rappers and grime poets and altogether
entertainers...
                          Slav as in slave, inverse
etymology or słowo... word, as in better worded.
still, i kept my mother's tongue because
that missing trill of the R in English horrified me,
                      gang ***** consonant...
  i wanted a rattlesnake in my mouth intact...
                    i already sought
the  albino Kenyan in Ireland...
                 and i met him: Paddy Macburnstone...
       Mc (Catholic) Mac (Protestant)
                     i i too need a mike...
     seriously though: i'd love to be part of the
history... but i'm simply someone using a language,
i don't need the ******* history...
                     i need the most economic use
of the tongue... but even then that didn't work...
the way the English sorta hid R in brawl -
          but i always wanted to keep the rattlesnake
of the trill...
                              because, it always would help
in french kissing...
                                        over 22 years in England,
and not one English girlfriend...
                              even Quasimodo got laid...
i got laid donning a dog collar
              and her saintly dress shed on some
obscure Greek island when she vomited and
had an ****** at the same time.

— The End —