THE COMPUTER ILLITERATE STRIKES AGAIN!

Just when I thought I’d given up on blogging.
Here I am on another blogging kingdom.
I hope it doesn’t create too much of a mess with my time.
Since I’ve decided that I’m gonna stay away from
interior decorating Ficasso style. (too time consuming)
I don’t care if I have the fugliest blog here, I’ve just randomly selected a lay-out.

Looks is over-rated. That was a joke by the way,
I knew Ficasso is spelt wid a p.
Besides I am here to write POETRY &

brow beat anyone who tries to sneer.
I plan to document the metamorphosis of my tiny soul
from a tiny budwhisper of a small rose to a giant roar of a queen LION splayed in the wilderness.


(ehem, ehem, I hope I didn’t make anyone puke with that one)

So let us begins shall we:

This one I submitted to Makata.…didn’t make it. They actually went with another two of my poems. But I have such high respect for Walt Whitman, that I just had to put it here. It gives me a luscious headache just reading his poems. To me his words are so profound and loaded with meaning. His voice is so inclusive, there's just something in it for everyone, from the ignoramus like myself, to the erudite, like my special set of invisible encyclopedia I like to call Jim. I think for most of us who write, poetry is a necessity. Not because we have a need to create or change the world with our visions, but because we lack the necessary faculty to understand the world in its own terms. There’s a huge gap between the external world and its ideas of living, and the space within my being which I occupy, poetry sorta serves as a mediator for my true self to emerge from this darkness. The only time I truly feel at one with the universe, or at ease with the idea of my creation is when I’m writing or have read an honest poem. Even though not many people have read my work, this is not really a hindrance to my freedom, I don’t need to be known. I just need to come out, from time to time.
Weird, I never meant to write any of this. I just wanted to be funny
Oh well, tama na ang da-da-da-da.

~~~~~~~~


this one i wrote when i was having a bad day, it’s not really a poem, more like a cry

for help. It’s in Filipino by the way, my native tongue.



SIGAW.

Gusto kong sumigaw. Sumigaw ng sumigaw hangang malasing ako sa kasisigaw. Tapos magtataka ang mga kapitbahay ko, kung bakit ako sumisigaw. Pero pagtatawanan ko lang sila. Dahil hindi nila alam kung bakit ako sumisigaw. Itatanong nila sa akin, nakakita ka ba ng halimaw?
Nakakita ka ba ng aswang?Nadaganan ka ba ng GIANT APARADOR?
O di naman ay nakatanglaw ng cute na baboy na may pink ribbon
sa neck? Sasabihin ko, OO- ikaw. Tapos aalis na siya na papadyak-padyak at umiiyak. Habang ako ay sumisigaw, sigaw lang ng sigaw.
Ako’y lumilipad sa kakasigaw, nagiging bahagharing sigaw.
Bumibilog ang buwan at nagtataglay ng pulag na liwanag
at puspos na pag-ibig habang ako ay sumisigaw.
Natatakpan ang ipo-ipong katahimikang lumalamon sa akin.
Madilim dito, madilim at ako ay punit-punit.
Ngunit ako’y nakatawa at sumisigaw.
Habang natutulog na mahimbing ako ay nananaginip.
Sumisigaw ako sa panaginip.

© em franco