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Glen Castillo Aug 2018

Kinalaban ko ang tadhana
Kinalaban ko ang luha
Kinalaban ko ang sakit
Kinalaban ko ang galit
Kinalaban ko ang lungkot
Kinalaban ko ang takot
Kinalaban ko ang antok
Kinalaban ko ang pagsubok
Kinalaban ko ang kahapon
Kinalaban ko ang bawat noon
Kinalaban ko ang oras
Kinalaban ko ang bawat panahon

                            Kinalaban ko ang mundo
                    Kinalaban kong lahat
PARA SA'YO...





© 2018 Glen Castillo
All Rights Reserved.
I wrote this poem, right after I finished watching ''MORE THAN BLUE''. Such a great movie.
Fleo Mae Jul 2018
Oh, pinangarap ko na lagi tayong magkasama
Pinangarap ko ang hawak ng iyong kamay
Aking sinta, kailan ko kaya maririnig
Ang matatamis **** salita

Kailan ko makikita ang napaka liwanag **** ngiti
Kailan ko madarama ang mahigpit **** yakap

Oh, aking sinta
Ang iyong pag Pikit
Ang iyong pag Ngiti
Ang iyong pag Tawa
Ang iyong pag Hinga
Ay isa sa mga bagay na hindi ko matangal sa aking isipan

Ako'y naghihintay na mayakap **** muli
Naghihintay na tumibok ang puso ko muli

Sinta, Asan ka na?
Sana dumating ka na
Bago ako mawala

Aking sinta, umuwi ka na.
I made this for a school project, nothing personal.
Glen Castillo Aug 2018
Diyos

Bayan

Pamilya

Kalikasan

Kapwa

Sining

Sinta

Sarili


­

© 2018 Glen Castillo
All Rights Reserved.
raquezha Jul 2018
Minsan a kaipuhan ka tawo,
Talinga na migrungog,
Matang nakakabayad ka kulog,
Ngangang diri nag riribok.

Minsan mas maray
na magirongog,
kaysa sa sabayan
a pagsilyak ku pinagaagihan,
kaysa mag ngabil
sa uda man kamalmagan,
sa lugar na uda man iiyanan.

Minsan mas magayon na magtambay
sa lugar na uda pakialamanan,
sa kapehan, usip, surat
Sabay silyak kading mga namamatian.
My poem in Rinconada Dialect.
I'm from Iriga City, Philippines.

Bungog means 'Deaf'.'
Glen Castillo Aug 2018
May mga salitang sa papel na lang kayang manatili
Dahil hindi na ito kayang bigkasin pa ng mga labi.

                    Natapos na ang palabas na ang tauhan ay ikaw at ako
                    Tayong mga bida noon, sa mundong hindi nila nakikita

Gusto kong isipin na nalaos lang tayo,pero hindi pala
Dahil ang dating tayo,ngayon ay ikaw na lang at ako

                     Bakit ganito? wala naman akong naaalala na drama
                     ang sinulat kong kwento
                     Pero bakit sa malungkot natapos ang lahat?

Minsan ay gusto ko na lang gawing gabi ang bawat umaga
Sa gayon ay hindi nila mapansin na may hinagpis akong dinadala
Sa gayon ay hindi nila makita na lumuluha ang aking mga mata

                      Pagkat sa dilim, doon ko lahat itinago ang sakit at dusa
                      Na ni sa panaginip ay hindi ko inasahang dadating pa

Oo kakayanin kong maging gabi ang bawat umaga
Mahirap,
Pero pwede ba?

                       Sa kahuli-hulihang sandali ay maturuan mo ako sana
                       Na gawing gabi ang lahat ng umaga
                       Na kasing dali lang kung paano mo nakayanan
                       Na maging malungkot ang dating tayo na masaya.




                                          © 2018 Glen Castillo
                                           All Rights Reserved.
Minsan ay dadalawin ka ng mga alaala sa nakaraan
Upang magpa-alala sa'yo kung bakit ka nasa kasalukuyan.......
raquezha Feb 7
Dae ibig sabihon
na tuninong
dae na maogma.

Dae ibig sabihon
na itom,
demonyo ka na.

Dae ibig sabihon na
habo mo sa tao,
mayo ka ng kwenta.

Kung dae mo siya
maintindihan,
respetohan mo
an desisyon niya.

Dae mo pwersahon
an sadiri mo
sa sarong tao.

Ako an tao
na mas gustong
hilingon an kinaban
sa mata kan taong
nasasabatan ko,
arog kan pagabot mo,
yaon ka nanaman
pinapagirumdum sako
na an buhay kan tao
halipot lang.

An duros na hali
sa langit pasiring
sa itom na háwak
asin nagsasakop sa
palibot kan kandila,
An makakan hanggan
sa madiklom
an palibot.

Hanggan sa pagpikit.

Tuninong na boses,
Magian na háwak,
Matagas na boot,
Magayon na numero,
asin kanta na dae
mo mapugolan itao
saimo kan mánlaén-láen
na tao.

Hanggang sa maghinghíng
saimo an kinaban nin:

"Maogmáng Compleaño, Ermano!"
Birthday Poem, Bicol Language, Poetry
Antino Art Feb 2018
South Florida
if you were a body part,
you’d be an armpit.

You’d be a bulged vein
on the side of a forehead
forever locked in a scowl
behind sunglasses.

You speak the language of horns
middle name, finger
blood type, combustible

You're a melting ***
that's boiled over the lid
sweating salt water at the brows
eyes red as the brake lights
in the maddening brightness,
you’re torrential daylight
heating nerves like greenhouse gasses
waiting for a reason to explode.

You’re a tropical motilov cocktail
no one can afford
2 parts anger, 1 part stupidity
melting in place, thirsty for attention
full of yourself in a souvenir glass with a toothpick umbrella
You're all image

You’re the curse words breaking out the mouths
of the angry line mob at Starbucks in the morning
You’re the indifferent silence
in the arena at the Heat games leaving early,
showing up late
due to the distance
from Brickell to Hialeah,
West Palm to Pompano
the gap between the entitled and the under-paid
a skyline of condos in a third world country
You’ve always been foreign to me.

You’re winterless, no chill
you attract only hurricanes
and tourists,
shoving anything that isn’t profitable
out of the way like the Irma storm debris
into the backyards of the Liberty City projects,
onto Mount Trash Can off the side of the Turnpike
hidden beneath Bermuda grass, lined with palm trees
you’re cold blooded
crawling with iguanas
blood-******* mosquitos
parking lot ducks and people not afraid to get run over
you get yours, Soflo
and you'll go as low
as the flat roofs of your duplexes
and the incomes that can barely pay the rent to get it
latitude as attitude
temper as temperature
if you were a body part
I swear you’re an *******

south of the brain, one hour
in all directions,
I’d find you.
You’d impose your way
onto my flight to the Philippines,
to Seattle, to Raleigh
You’d follow me like excess baggage,
like gravity,
bringing me back when asked where I'm from:

That area north of Miami, I’d say
(the suburbs, but whatever, we are hard in our own way)
I'd show you off on their map
as if some badge of grit,
certificate of aggression
I know how to break a sweat
walk briskly thru Walmart parking lots, drive evasive
ride storms in my sleep
I know you, I’d say,
“He’s a friend of mine.”
and I’d watch them light up
and recount
the postcards you've sent them
of the sunrise
welcoming brown immigrants
onto white sand beaches
You were foreign to us
yet raised us as your own
in the furnace of your summers
edges sharpened, iron on iron
the forger striking softness into swords
built for survival
I'm made of you

my South Floridian anger cools down
in your ocean breeze

if you were a body part,
you'd be a part of me
a socked foot in an And1 sandal
pressed to the gas pedal
as my drive takes me north
of your borders, far from home
You in the rear view mirror
tail-gating
like a sports car on the exit ramp
the color of the sun
raquezha Jul 3
Tanda 'ko ku gab-ī,
Ku una ko ikāŋ nabisto
Lalaɣgən moŋ magayon
A nababayad ko
dāwâ nakapirōŋ
naākit na talaga kanimō

Pirāŋ oras nagistoryāhan
sa irarəm ku asul na laŋit
kaibahan su mga sulôŋ
nagkīkimatkimat
Nakakainlab!
raquezha Jun 16
morning comes
and morning goes
and it's all because
of the coffee
you're making me
that gives me another
reason to continue

Life
is
always
unfair
you
know

thinking like that
only makes it fair
for no matter
what happens
I still believe
that everyone
has a happy
place to stay

and that place
is where
you can find me
Staring right back at you
saying

"welcome home"
https://t.co/DRYF97h8a0
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.
raquezha Jun 23
sing for me
when you reach the stars
don't forget who you are
every night I dream
of you singing
behind the stars
it's when I hear you sing
that makes my heart sing
it makes me feel like a king
conqueror of feelings
you are my light
a light that never fades
Robert Ronnow Nov 2017
What luxury to get mad
about last night's basketball loss
and watch the full moon descending
at the speed the earth turns.

Things could get worse
personally and for the community.
Bombings, killings, anomie
boiling frogs and witches cursing.

The changing climate,
typhoons in the Philippines,
volcanoes and tsunamis, WWII which I missed,
Thanksgiving nor'easter, Easter twister.

What abundance to fast or feast,
yr choice, stay inside by the stove
or go outside, climb the mountainside.
Live in a city or small town.

So I raged at the coaches
for their lazy zone defense
like an alien in the bleachers
unable to affect the outcome.

When my sons came home
I yelled at them too. What opulence
to be angry about nothing of consequence
neither stopped by the cops nor slipped on the ice.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2013
Sittin' On The Dock Of The Bay (Razor Blades, Pills, & Shotguns)*

Sittin' on the dock of the bay,
Watching the sun slip, Simon-says, slide away,
Cheeks blushing flushing from orange ray-guns,
Drinking blush rosé to oil our eyes
For the subtle story the sky shortly will reveal,
For the subtle story the sky shortly will revel.

Grievous judgement to make,
Thinkin' skills possessed to praise,
When but yesterday I easy confessed,
At the Blue Canoe I did not.

(The clouds were magnificent. No, I cannot write a poem about the cloud colors. Their shape shifting inexhaustible.  Mine eyes high on their creativity.  I'm just not good enough a poet to tamper with that sky.)*

If you courage enough to
Call yourself poet, then
It is audacity, not blood,
Warming your extremities,
So foolishly try, always be prepared to fail.

No impulse. We pledged that tonight, ours,
One hour of sunset over Silver Beach.
Brought the wine, forgot the pillows,
So Abraham & Sarah went prepared to sacrifice
All feelings in their butts for the greater glory
Of love and one of nature's great poetic challenges..

The conundrum~miracle of every sunset
O'er bay, lake or ocean, is its special,
Only-In-Nature unique way of customizing
Its descent just for you.

No matter where one observes,
No matter where you worship,
Wherever your temple, mosque or church situé,
Tennessee, Rhode Island, the Philippines,
Germany, Colombia, even in the ole U.K.,
(yes, you, know it, yes you)
The very same setting sun we all see,
Sends a magic dazzle gold orange path invitation
To the exact spot you are voyeuring,
One sun, all destinations equal before human.

How can that be?

Trepidation and tremblingly,
The clouds.

She leans on me, a perfect fit,
My back resting against a pylon,
So we see the clouds
With common exactitude,
But it is a quiet time, silence only shared.
Images stored silently within ourselves,
For we see the formation, man, woman,
Precisely and exactly, totally differently.

The clouds.
An armada moving imperial and imperiously
At a stately speed, saying I am awesome, fear me.
The largest cloud bank is an aircraft carrier,
Miles long, painted horizon blue-grey unsurprisingly.

The small white wisps, fast destroyers, stealthy submarines,
Moving fast to protect the mother ship,
Running random to confuse enemy radar and the
Pathetic, limited, human eye.

The colors.
Here I fail willingly, unashamedly.
So many sunsets, so many hearts,
All different, all the same.
Lacking knowledge, I cannot tender,
I cannot offer you tenderness to love
Enough,
The variety of oranges, gold, varietals interspersed
By the pinks, the cornea, singed,
And mock myself for all my meager brain yields is
Good Humor creamsicle comparison...a delicious irony

You who write after midnight
Of razor blades, pills and shotguns,
And not marked two decades even, on this planet,
You want hard,
Write a poem about a sunset in ways never done before.

You, who are wracked with despair
Speak to the man with no job for months
And mouths to feed and a life insurance policy.
Speak to me.

I want to tell you to get over yourself,
But you reject that old saw. Ok.
Get onto to yourself.

I have walked the hallways of deep despair,
Heard the bells ring between periods that signal only the next
Hell,
And to this day, still do,
But still I try to write external of sunsets and greater glories.

How many lives depend on you? Are you proud of your weakness?
Do you hate me yet for acknowledging out loud,
We are both cowards?

I have five mouths to feed,
Before I parse a morsel.
Two less than two,
What do you have but to
Grow yourself?

Yeah coward.
Too yellow to write about a
Yellow sunset, cause that is hard in a way incomprehensible
Until tried.
Or the passing of your mother who could not speak clearly
But you, thru her eyes knew that she had poems to yet recite.
Run away like I did ashamed with frustrated failure.
Why should I coddle, give you easy soft?
.
If you come here to share, well and good.
If you come here to find comfort, good.
So gaze upon these words and feel
The love that only experience has earned.

What do you know of heartbreak?
Imprisoned for decades in a loveless life,
I walked by the water nightly,
Yes, the same waters where I CinemaScoped
Yesterday's sunset, and walked away.

You can read about if you look it, look me, look here,
Look up!

So do something hard, something external.
Fail but love yourself more for just having tried.
Then try something else.

The saddest poem ever wrote
Was not yours, where you titillate with daring words
Razors, pills etc.,
The saddest poem ever writ
Was this one, a meager vanity to capture a
Sunset that keeps trying every day to
Surpass
Supersede
Its previous glorious failure,
Like we should too.
Keep trying

Now, I shall rest,
For I know that soon I shall see, feel, think,
Of something new that will make me eager to
Write a new poem.


August 3~5, 2013
When I am less tired, I wil edit the typos. But life is full of typos, but sometimes you just gotta not look back, even if you leave a trail of typos behind you. But writing this has mentally exhausted me in a different way.  I will rest from writing to recover. Dig out some old ones, maybe

If you courage enough to
Call yourself poet, then
It is audacity, not blood,
Warming your extremities,
So foolishly try, always be prepared to fail.
Janelle M Rivera Sep 2018
Pumapatak ang ulan sa semento.
Coloring it darker than it was before.
As the intensity increases,
I peek my hand outside my umbrella.
Allowing water to kiss my skin.
Eventually lowering the divide,
I allow it to engulf me.

Memories of home flood my mind.
Murky waters seeping into my belongings.
Cold droplets suddenly become
Warm welcome embraces.
Swift winds turn stagnant and sticky
As rain mixes with sweat.

I hear the roaring of motors,
Whispered chatters of tsismis,
A symphony of honking horns,
Bells of sorbeteros,
And Kuya yelling “TAHOOO!”

I smell the grease of fried fishballs in the air,
Swirling around with the scents
Of fresh pandesal and isaw-isaw.
My mouth begins to water,
Until stifling smog hits me.

I see the tiny tin houses crowded together.
Colorful clothes hung up high.
I feel the rough, callous hands of kapwa,
Who have had to work everyday of their lives.
I hear the laughs of those who remain resilient
After many typhoons have torn them down.
I smell the piles of trash; its stench diluted by the rain.

As the Pacific Ocean connects our coasts,
The rain connects our hearts.
Rainfall never fully dissipating
Between home and homeland.
Our stories unfold.
Hangang sa muli
raquezha Jun 20
Baby, you make music
like a mother's love
you take your listeners
to their childhood memories
you make them miss their moms
your music kills all the cliches in the world
your music heals all sounds
your music captures my soul
so don't ever stop
until you reach your goal
https://t.co/92nWXeLud0
Antino Art Aug 18
I am the only Asian in this bar right now.
Be my friend!
I will check the box of your social diversity quota.
Granted, I only speak a mispronounced fraction of
my immigrant parents' native tongue.
Ala Jackie Chan, I do not understand the words coming out the mouths of anyone on that massive continent (Russia included) that I appear to be more or less from.
But, I do eat spaghetti with chopsticks.
I am mystical as
fox, or Kitsune, in Japanese folklore.
I can hit you with wisdom worthy of a fortune cookie as fast as Google can tell you that the Philippines is nearly 2000 miles away from China. I want to say I'm from an exotic island where they play basketball in sandals and drink soda from plastic bags- like, A-level material you could make a movie out of in Slumdog Millionaire fashion and get awarded for your orientalized portrayal of poverty you think is three worlds away from home. But nah, I'm just a kid from South Florida. The suburbs. I played basketball on paved driveways in high top Reeboks and oversized And1 shorts. But I do pump both fists in the air watching Manny Pacquio PPV fights on a bootleg stream. Beyond that, I'm probably the worst Asian there is. Not the crazy rich kind with a PHd in something scholarly. I dropped out of engineering after one semester and cannot solve a rubix cube. I never learned kung fu. Though I'm learning what it takes to face the adversity of becoming a single father after my daughter's home broke in two. I write marketing proposals to pay the rent and poetry to fight without fighting in the spirit of Sun Tzu. My eyes do not slant in the direction of your narrative. I once ran in a pick up game in the hood where they dubbed me Yao Ming. Yao, I am 5 foot 8. Though I fall short of expectation, I can still check your diversity box on the way down and do a cool pen spin after to punctuate my intellectual prowess. I also happen to own an assortment of Japanese swords made in China, which I intend to use as heirlooms. This is what cultural colonization looks like: me, in a bar, the last samurai standing confused in an age of melting pots, Korean tacos and Asian slaw made by corporate imposters with names like PF Chang. What in the slaw is Asian? I wish I knew!  I wish I knew the true value of my heritage to be worthy of carrying it on. Like the way my grandfather, on his first visit to America, planted a Malonggay tree in our backyard whose leaves my mother would pick and boil to make tinolang manok -the Filipino version of chicken soup- as a weeknight staple on our dinner table. I can barely soft boil an egg for instant ramen. Or how my father left home to work in a furniture moving sweatshop for under the table wages just to follow my mother across the ocean when she became the first in her family to land a dollar paying job that would give me the opportunities she never had. Or how my motherland's socioeconomic gap tooth smile is so wide that it drove over 10 million of its native sons and daughters off its shores to find work overseas as servants on cruise ships and hospitals to feed the families they barely get to see. To follow their trail blazing footsteps, let me be the second generation tipping point where some form of cyclical tradition breaks. That way, I can raise my daughter free of predefined scripts. So as the worst Asian in this or any bar, cheers:
to being the first of a new kind.
rom Nov 2018
patawad sa mahal kong akala ko'y lumisan na
sa paggunaw ng kaisipan sa mga bagay na pinipilit nitong takbuhan
ngunit bumubulong ang puso gamit ang lirikong tayo lang ang nakaiintindi –
mababalikan pa ba ang ritmong ito
o mananatili na lamang sa kasalukuyang pintig?
Louise Jul 17
To my friends whose hearts I'm about to break, know that my left cheek will shatter first before your hearts does.
I hope that's comforting enough to hear.
I've always liked the angle of the right side of my face better, therefore the journals shall see just that.
I hope that's relieving enough to see.
To my other friends whose eyes I will be leaving swollen **** for days on end,
España's rain and floods shall hydrate you back to life. I know because I have blessed the skies with my own tears on the nights prior.
I hope that's alleviating enough to know.

Over the last month, I have never figured out if I liked España or Dapitan better.
But I suppose it's the former for it shall have my sorry excuse of a body for the very last time.
It's a bad metaphor for a feigned
and forced liberty,
as with this country that I lived in and loved better than the pretentious
and lifeless cities I've traveled to.
Singapore is but a fleeting fling.
Tickles your fancy but will leave you tired and in resentment.
Hong Kong is just another plaything.
Everybody would tell you she's good and all that, but she lost to your tastes still.
Macau is the lover that never gives but keeps on asking,
she was never the safest bet nor can you lie and tell her she's the best.
Johor is just as frustrating.
She would be the hardest question in the test, the one you've thought of over and over but still stood miscorrect.
Bangkok, I have kept her dearly in my heart but ended up forgetting.
My other lover from the farther west, but still wouldn't compare to the best.

But Manila, she lives in me. She is me.
It's a shame, I will never see her prosper and bloom in her waiting heydays, whenever that will be.
But do I deserve to witness that?
I have never done anything to help pitch in her movement.
But it's a bigger, even better shame to have lived in this age of technology.
Forgive me for leaving too soon, Manila.
Welcome me tomorrow around high noon, España.  
Forget about me like you did with your history, my beloved Philippines.
To the headlines, I am diving in headfirst.
To the tabloids, I beg of you to once more tickle the funny bones of a dead girl.
Diyan Sa May Mga Nilad #9: Headfirst To The Headlines
Mae Jul 9
My home ran way
Now I sit were glass meets the frame at the window and wait.
How long has it been
Years?
Weeks?
I'm not sure I care.. I'm not sure I don't

The mountabank came round again
Selling me a fictitious love.
His love.
You see, sense he travels so much selling the good oils
of
Rosemary tilled out of our toilet, Powders that
I personally
made from the stalagmites that grow in the southwest corner of my dwelling,
and
Teeth whitener
scraped from off only the finest ingredients
of
Feets calus, the kind aquired after walking long enough to no longer need shoes.

No he had no time for me and besides, he wasn't my home.

I'd have my fun but... He could never hold my love.

Yesterday I passed away
The cold nothing
Became a greater threat this time
I didn't have my home
Nor my love
I wasn't ready to go.
In a dank cave somewhere in the Philippines
After the hair on my head grew from fire red
To silver white.
Still sitting where the glass meets the frame.
Ngiting pinagkakait
dahil sa pananakit

Pusong 'di nakakaramdam
ngayo'y pagod na't hinahapo

Nakakulong sa lilim ng mapagpanggap
ang natatanging nagagawa ay magsulat

Magsayaw o kaya'y umawit

Hindi dahil nagdiriwang
o kaya'y maligaya

Kundi itanggi, itakwil
lumbay na nadarama
Malaya ka nga ba?
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