Lyric 17

Man of Earth

by Jose Garcia Villa

by Amador T. Daguio

First, a poem must be magical,

Pliant is the bamboo;

Then musical as sea gull.

I am man of earth;

It must be a brightness moving

They say that from the bamboo

And hold secret a bird's flowering.

We had our first birth.

It must be slender as a bell,

And it must hold fire as well.

Am I of the body,

It must have the wisdom of bows

Or of the green leaf?

And it must kneel like a rose.

Do I have to whisper

It must be able to hear

My every sin and grief?

The luminance of dove and deer.

It must be able to hide

If the wind passes by,

What it seeks, like a bride.

Must I stoop and try

And over all I would like to hover

To measure fully

God, smiling from the poem's cover.

My flexibility?
I might have been the bamboo,

Dream of Knives

But I will be a man.

by Alfred A. Yuson

Bend me then, O Lord,

Bend me if you can.

Last night I dreamt of a knife.

I had bought for my son. Of rare design went
cheaply for its worth short dagger,
With fancily rounded pommel, and a wooden

Prayer

sheath. Which miraculously revealed other,

by Francisco Arcellana

miniature blades.
Close all open things, Lord.
Oh how pleased he would be upon my return

Open all closed things.

from this journey, I thought. What rapture will

surely adorn his ten-year princelings face when

All those who have long received, let them give.

he draws the gift the first time. What quevering

All those who have long given, let them receive.

pleasure will most certainly be unleashed.

All those too long apart, let them come together.

All those too long together, sunder them.

When I woke, there was no return, no journey,

no gift, and no son beside me. Where do I search

Let the wise be fools for once, Lord,

for this knife then, and when do I begin to

And let the fools speak their minds.

drawhappiness from reality, and why do I bleed

Affirm the long-denied, Lord.

from such sharp points of dreams?

Fulfill the unfulfilled.

Order of Masks

Make it bloody,

by Virgina R. Moreno

When he needs it white,

Make it wicked in the dark,

To this harlequinade,

Let him find no old mark,

I wear black tight and fools cap.

Make it stone to his suave touch.

Billiken, make me three bright masks,

This magician will walk me out,

For the three tasks in my life.

Newly loved.

Three faces to wear,

Not knowing why my tantalizing face,

One after the other,

Is strangely like the mangled parts of a face,

For the three men in my life.

He once wiped out.

When my Brother comes,

Make me three masks.

make me one opposite,

If he is a devil, a saint,
With a staff to his fork,
And for his horns, a crown.

God said, I Made a Man

I hope for my contrast,

by Jose Garcia Villa

To make nil,

God said, I made a man

Our old resemblance to each other,

Out of clay

and my twin will walk me out.

But so bright he, he spun

Without a frown,

Himself to brightest Day.

Pretending I am another.
Till he was all shining gold,
When my Father comes,

And oh,

Make me one so like,

He was handsome to behold!

His child once eating his white bread in trance,

But in his hands held he a bow

Philomela* before she was raped.

I hope by likeness,

Aimed at me who created

To make him believe this is the same kind.

Him. And I said,

The chaste face he made,

Wouldst murder me

And my blind Lear will walk me out,

Who am thy Fountainhead

Without a word,
Fearing to peer behind.

Then spoke he the man of gold:

I will not Murder thee!

If my lover comes,

I do but Measure thee. Hold

Yes, when Seducer comes,

Thy peace! And this I did,

Make for me the face,

But I was curious

That will in color race,

Of this so regal head.

The carnival stars,

Give thy name! Sir! Genius

And change in shape,

Under his grasping hands.

Hometown

Bringing the Dolls

by Luis Cabalquinto

by Merlie Alunan

After a supper of mountain rice

Two dolls in rags and tatters,

And wood-roasted river crab

one missing an arm and a leg

I sit on a long bench outside

,the other blind in one eye

The old house, looking at a river:

I grabbed them from her arms,

No, I said, they cannot come.

Alone, myself, again away

From that other self in the city

Each tight luggage

On this piece of ancestor land,

I had packedonly for the barest need:

My pulses slowed, I am at peace.

No room for sentiment or memory

to clutter loose endsmy stern resolve.

I have no wish but this place --

I reasoned, even a child

To remain here in a stopped time

must learn she cant take

With stars moving on that water

what must be left behind.

And in the sky a brightness

And so the boat turned seaward,
Answering: I want nothing else

a smart wind blowing dry

But this stillness filling me

the stealthy tears I could not wipe.

From a pure darkness over the land

Then I sawrags, tatters and all

That smells ever freshly of trees.

there among the neat trim packs,

the dolls I ruled to leave behind.

The night and I are quiet now

But for small laughter from a neighbor,

Her silence should have warned me

The quick sweep of a winged creature,

she knew her burdensas I knew mine:

And a warm dog, snuggled by my feet.

her clean white years unlived

and mine paid.
She battened on a truth
she knew I too must own:
When whats at stakeis loyalty or love,
hers are the true rights.
Her own faiths she must keep, not I.

Brave Woman

Sampaguita or fresh horseshit?

by Grace R. Monte de Ramos

How pointed the bullets from their guns?

I am a mother of sons.

My soldier sons come home

Two joined the army when they were young;

When life in the barracks is still.

There was not enough money for school,

I hide their brothers picture;

They had no skills for jobs in foundries

It makes them cry and remember.

And factories, and it was easy to sign up

Perhaps they, too (God forbid it),

And learn how to handle a gun.

Have given other mothers sorrow.

Perhaps my son had to pay for what they

I am a mother of sons, two sons

borrowed.

And one, the youngest, now gone.

In his youth he was taken
By men whose names I never will learn.
I only know they were soldiers, like my sons,
Cradling fearsome guns.
He was a fine young man. I took care of him

I cannot cry, though I am told

For seventeen years and they took him away

It is better to cry and let go.

And now I am searching for his bones.

Where is my sons body for me to bury?

I only wear my grief in the lines

I will never learn their names.

Of my face, my sunken cheeks.

Alone I try to imagine the scene: were their faces

Silent, I mourn a womans

Bearded or clean-shaven?

Bitter lot: to give birth to men

Perhaps their bodies were robust.

Who kill and are killed.

Did they wear uniforms the color of shrivelled