“Nothing new can come into your life unless you are grateful for what you already have.” – Michael Bernhard
happy and blessed Sunday dear friends and poets.
i am truly grateful for all the love and support that you have for me and my poetry over the years.
but, nothing beats the feeling of reading another poet’s work that has me as his muse.
i am humbled and honored to share a poem written by Sergio Calayag, a Capampangan Poet Laureate.
to all my international readers, Capampangan is an Austronesian language, and one of the eight major languages of the Philippines. it is the primary and predominant language of the entire province of Pampanga and southern Tarlac.
ING POESIA PARA KANG MICH nnag: PL Sergio Gramonte Calayag
Kasampunggul a sampaga, ila reni nang inampang Kening malagung dalaga, yang kanakung apalsintan Keng timan nang misnang yumu kasing yumu ning panilan Ing pluma ku yang sinulat kabud iyang atiglapan
Bibitbitan ing sikanan, yumung lugud at pakamal Mayayakit keng sarili, pamibiebieng kipmuang banal Makasadiang mamatawad, ining pusu nang marangal At nung iya ing misakab, talakad ya ketang lugal
Ketang jardin a malualas kabuklat na niting abak Damdaman mong mariposa, ing pakpak da maglipakpak Pablasang ing sampaga ka, kekang banglung salimuyak Inia Ika ing pa’intunan, kabuklat na niting pisak
Keng leguan mung tatangalan, neng lalakad ka king dalan Balang taung asalubung ika’ng tutung pakalawan Keng karelang panlalawe, manganabu ketang kanal Ating namang mangasakab, at keng poste misasabal
Ing leguan mung bibitbitan tutung ala yang kapara Anti ka mong metung anghel a menabu ibat banua O metung ka ping diwata, king kakewan ika’ng diosa Inia bala nang manakit, ila keka na milsinta.
Keng lualas ning kekang lupa, iyang tutung makayama Kekang mata a masala, ila rening mamalita Inia alang kasangkanan, nung akalbit ining lira Anting metung a papuri, keng dalagang Pilipina
“i’m sorry, i couldn’t hear any heartbeat,” my doctor revealed after just a few minutes of examining my supposed baby bump. my mind went crazy, and my heart beat the fastest and loudest beat ever. i wanted to cry, but there were no tears. i wanted to shout and curse the universe. still, no sounds were coming out. my doctor knew i was on the brink of losing my composure, so she asked me to sit down and gave me a glass of water. “stay calm,” she said.
waiting for you as i held my tears was the most traumatic part of hearing the news. i could see myself heading in directions only God knows where. i wanted to run away, away from the reality that i would never get to hold in my arms the baby i so wanted to have. “you quietly came into our world, silently, and you stayed shortly. but know that you take up the most room in our hearts.” i whispered.
“i’m here for you, and i don’t care if you need to cry all day long i will stay with you,” you said while i was sobbing.
the dark underground parking area was our sole witness to how we grieve at the loss of another angel. we were both inconsolable, as God knows how much we wanted the child. but at least we have each other.
i looked at you, holding on to your composure, and you began to cry. the kind of cry i’ve never witnessed from you my whole life. the type of cry only a father could upon losing a child he never gets to hold.
The fans of Bestselling Author Michelle Ayon-Navajas will see a different kind of writer as she embarks to a new writing technique for her ninth book – flash fiction.
Flash fiction embraces the techniques of prose narratives and storytelling as opposed to having a poetic sensibility. It is solid prose, and there may be moments of metaphor, abstraction, or elevated language, but ultimately, there’s a sense of a short story.
Locker, is Ayon-Navajas’s first flash fiction book which consists of fifty (50) stories that will surely get the readers hooked until the last page. Each poetic tale is a stand-alone story but as soon as you flip to next page until the last, you will realize there is more to these poetic flash fiction stories than just a simple collection of tales.
i come in many forms i could be a he, a she, an it unexpected time when i propose of brilliant masterpiece you just go for it.
i come in many forms i could be your greatest inspiration yet a source of desperation when i decide to go off grid off the hook.
a bestfriend for some an illusion for others one important thing though your imagination would be empty without me.
🌹For David’s Weave Written Weekly
Brandon’s prompt guidelines
Riddle me this… I would like to you to compose a riddle or “puzzle” poem. J.R.R. Tolkien included several in his novels, as did Lewis Carroll. Emily Dickinson wrote several riddles in poetic form as well. Here is a link defining “riddle”: https://poets.org/glossary/riddle
There are no restrictions on length or rhyme. You can give the answer at the end of your poem, or to make it a little more fun, allow readers to try to guess the answer. You can also provide the answer within your poem. Have fun!
🌹voting for SPILLWORDS PRESS 2022 AWARDS is still open. i would be glad if you could head over the link and vote for my poem “LOVE HAPPENS” as Publication of the Year (Poetic).
My poem, “Peace” is up now on MasticadoresUsa. I would like to thank Barbara, the editor for publishing my poem and for believing in my works.
Please head over MasticadoresUsa to read the full poem. I would love to hear your insights about the poem so don’t forget to leave your thoughts in the comment section.
Subscribe to MasticadroesUsa to get full access of its daily dose of literary pieces from brilliant poets all over the world.
voting for SPILLWORDS PRESS 2022 AWARDS is still open. i would be glad if you could head over the link and vote for my poem “LOVE HAPPENS” as Publication of the Year (Poetic). here is the link to vote: kindly find the link below to vote.
thank you so much to all those have voted already.
my love and gratitude to each of you always and forever.
i wonder how one mistake could end one great thing, such as love.
it was a bit gloomy, though the sun was up. i could hear the honking of the cars from where i was. i could smell my neighbor baking fresh bread. there was chaos around; a nanny was heard screaming and running after the baby she was paid to take care of and the intercom in each unit was ringing loudly. at some point, i could hear myself screaming, “answer that damn intercom,” ” give the baby something sweet to eat so she will stop crying and running.”
oh, well, i didn’t scream it out loud, though. i’m not like that. i’m used to just keeping things to myself.
so when you came ranting about me not telling you what happened the other day, i shrugged my shoulders. it was something i didn’t want to tell. well, for one, it wasn’t as if it would change the course of time or affect the country’s economic situation (just kidding, though).
seriously, i was imitating you, what you do and how you do things; you don’t tell me, you don’t talk to me. you always let things happen and allow me to find it out myself, and when i do, i have no right to even question you; i need to understand the situation.
oh, well, what now? looks like we are even. at least you know how i feel about not knowing things and being blindsided all the time.
and for the record, i tried to understand you with all humility. i wouldn’t say i liked the thought, i was not too fond of the situation, and i hated the idea, but never was there a time that i assassinated your character by lambasting you on a personal “below the belt” level.
but you did to me. you said things beyond my imagination. you accused stuff beyond my comprehension. and most importantly, you said, “we’re done, i am cutting off my ties with you.”
i must say, i wasn’t surprised at all. you did that many times. not once, not twice, not thrice, many times. i couldn’t keep track anymore.
and despite me not being surprised, i was hurt.
i know my mistake, and i am sorry. but it does not involve me being a slut, as you call it.
i stopped arguing and stopped explaining.
one thing i’ve realized, though, is the love you call infinite or limitless ends the moment i make a mistake.
“i wonder how service personnel in a 5-star restaurant feel about serving the best food, yet unable to provide the same to their own families?”
i saw you raised your eyebrows with my question.
“i also wonder how bank tellers feel counting money every day when their problem is lack of money?”
your eyes widened as your forehead narrowed.
“i admire your imagination and your compassion and empathy for people.” you finally said.
“i wonder ‘though, did you ever think of me when you left me broken, hurt, and devastated?”
i didn’t see that coming. i didn’t realize that even after all those years, you still remember the day i left you without the much needed explanation.
i didn’t realize that you are still hurting. i could actually feel the hurt in each word as you uttered them.
your words ushered me back to a doorway to the past. i could almost see your eyes in suppressed tears as I said my goodbye. i could see your blood oozing out of your face, for it has turned bloody red.
and for the first time, i saw your look of pain and agony, the looked i failed to know because i had just walked away.