Top Tweets for #tomasining
#TOMASining: “Monsoon Blues”
By Jan Dennis S. Destajo
From “Chroma” Ustetika Folio 2006-2014
“Earlier lives drift by on silver soles, and the shadows of the damned descend into these sighing waters.”
–Georg Trakl
II.
Rain is to win, to win is to sob, re-evaluating the sense of all poems,
in cartoony shapes or live action plays that it moves outside the walls,
molded to what we always call the future – afraid, inundated.
Rain of yesterday is no different; there are still the bashed and anxious
from the threats
of oblivion - the reckless, the brave, the drunk, the lonely, the loved, the
rich,
the poor, the naked, the sexless, the holy, the hopeful, the brilliant.
Rain falls the same to the eccentric and strange, purgatoried in the
extents of Cubao
where most of the incomparable are, rock and punk and indie, the
everlasting
local rhythmic jam, angels of the night; sounds, words and junk.
It even rains in the steamy blocks of Taft, Bonifacio, and Timog, those elemental zones,
the margin of my generation, inventing more words to define casual
and obsessed
with the enemy of alcohol, and smoke and pot and pills and EDM,
trapped into
the imagery of happy and contentment but only promiscuous and dark.
Glasses half-empty where the age of self-discovery can’t open their lids
wide open in
storm and rage of true mind and intellect. Half-full and lost,
and they all weep for the syntax of being more human,
living in the shadow of desires with the ambient sounds
of the wind in a stormy day.
(Art by Louelle Marie P. Bumalay/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Mariposa”
Ni Sonny Sendon
Karangalang Banggit, Ustetika 2004
Mula sa The Varsitarian Literary Folio 2001-2005
Sinimulan ang pagsindi
Sa kandila. Nilason
Ng liwanag ang dilim.
Isang mariposa ang lumilipad,
Naghahanap ng malulusutan
Sa kubong nilalamon
Ng dilim.
Sapagkat sanay sa liwanag,
Lumapit ito sa liyab—
Wari’y sa pagpagaspas, ramdam
Ang pintig ng mundo,
May bigat na hindi mapuntirya.
Ang tantiya: Nasa liwanag
Lagi ang kasagutan.
Nagmalas ang husga sa kaniyang abo.
(Dibuho ni Antoinette Lindsey G. Solis, Jed William V. Gocatek, at Aidan Raphael F. Caluyo/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Dress Me Not”
By Ana M. Rio
From Year VI, Issue No. 1 (June, 1933)
Dress me not with borrowed garments
From a distant, foreign shore;
But with dresses in our country
In the days that are no more.
Teach me not the styles of Paris,
Though of beauty they may claim;
Teach me styles of Maria Clara
Of our NOLI’s golden fame.
There is glory in the simple
Unassuming dress of old;
In our BAYA and our BARO
Hides a treasure more than gold.
They are marks that must not perish,
They are signs that must not die,
They are what hast kept our women,
In our hearts forever high.
(Art by Jon Angelo D. Pagulayan/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Ilang Nalalabing Taludtod”
Ni Mesandel Virtusio Arguelles
Mula sa “Montage,” (Vol. 10, Disyembre 2006)
Hindi ko inaasahan ang minsang pagdalaw
Ng tula sa aking malayong pulo.
Isang pangyayaring hindi rin naman
Akalain ng tula. Napadpad lang ito
Sa dalampasigan at nang makarating
Sa akin tahanan ay mabuhangin pa ang talampakan
Matagal na itong nakaalis patungo sa malayo
Ay nangingiti pa rin ako sa aming pagkikita.
Gaya ng dati, matipid pa rin itong magsalita
Sa kabila ng nababanaag kong pananabik sa mga mata
Halos naluha ako ngunit agad nitong sinansala
“Huwag kang malungkot, tingnan mo, hindi maramot
Ang pagkakataon. Hanggang ngayon tayo’y nabubuhay
Kahit man lang sa ilang nalalabig taludtod.”
(Dibuho ni Sophia Gwen B. Ledesma/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “To a dead boy of three days past” (for Chris, 1977-1996)
By Ivy Rose Baldoza
From “Daloy: Katipunan ng mga Piling Akdang Pampanitikan” (January 1998)
again,
you'd miss dinner
just when mother made tinola.
It saddens me
to say grace now, as my soul stands empty before this cold and stale meal.
I would only recall the alchemy
of vinegar, the scent of the last froth
from your weakening body. Helpless
as it laid there like a cocoon
encased on tubes and fed
by epinephrine-triggerhappy medics
A prison.
With that, I had to be numb
with rage and by a certain salinity
that stung so much pain in the eyes
much like a wave
taking over the senses I lost long before. Nothing could ever be so maddening.
Rest is never a comfort for living, Chris.
Rest was never divine.
(Art by Mhyzell Dayne J. Oblepias/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: Matampusa
By Michael Fancis C. Andrada
From Daloy (January 1998)
malamlam ang mata
ng pusang nakatunghay
simbilog ng buwang
dugong-dilim ang sinag.
marahil pagal
sa tulirong pag-aabang
ng hapunang sing-tumal
ng pagmamahal
(Dibuho ni Gwyneth C. Villavicencio/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: Mouse musing the next meal
By Amado O. Tandoc
From Ustetika Portfolio 2000
Second Place, Ustetika 1998
i can never really be free.
the hurt will remain deep
into the hours when i will
wake up afraid of all this darkness.
the night spills and drowns
every need i express,
filling every crack in the wall,
replacing the desolation with dread.
your sudden absence from
this room has made every
shadow and whisper a brick,
a frame, and a cold steel bar
which escalate the fear
and narrow me to these four
corners. So that if i have all
this space to myself
when having you here
beats knowing who will be next?
(Art by Shaniah R. Tamayo and Mhyzell Dayne J. Oblepias/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Déjà vu”
By Sheila Lyn A. Molarto
From Ustetika Portfolio 2000
I am not a part of this world of forms
White figures, white faces
I’ve left my heart in another’s hands
Somewhere in the middle of the unknown placid seas.
The gurgling fire
is eaten by the waves; nothing’s left-
all washed ashore to the dry, dry land.
I am not a part of this world.
I am only nothing. Nothing precedes nothing.
A fleeing ghost, floating in a vacuum
Of putrid space, no gravity, no matter.
If I am really here,
Really a part of this world,
Would I be a fact? A lie, or farce,
Or maybe again nothing?
Would I be felt—
Like the passing of the shadows in an old graveyard?
Being a part of this illustrious world
Seems a bit silly-
Because even if you’re here-
you’re still nothing. You are not here.
You’re still somewhere, waiting-
Waiting, waiting, and still waiting
To be something
On this makeshift planet
(Art by Aisha Sofia M. Fortes/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Sa Panahon na Walang Panahon”
Ni Paul Alcolseba Castillo
Mula sa “Montage: Enduring the Storms of the Ages,” The Varsitarian Literary Magazine (Vol. 12, 2014)
Ang oras, wari ko’y di matapos-tapos
Na paghahabulan nitong mga kamay
Na walang panahon upang makakaway
Sa mga sandaling laging nauubos.
Tila walang tugot ang pagpapalit-palit
Ng buwan at araw tuwing pinipilas
Ang mga panahong laging lumilipas
At ang mga taong sadyang nawawaglit.
Kaya’t lilimutin ang naganap noon,
Ang ngayon at bukas at magpapadala
Ako sa oras ko nang di natatakot.
Dahil parating na ako sa panahon
Na walang panahon para mag-alala
Sa langit: sa lupa, patuloy ang ikot.
(Dibuho ni Louelle Marie P. Bumalay/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Binhi ng Pangarap” (mula sa Paghahabi ng Kapalaran)
Ni Bienvenido Rebullido
Karangalang Banggit, Ustetika 2005
Mula sa The Varsitarian Literary Folio 2001-2005
Buong siglang itinanim
ang bawat punla sa dibdib ng lupa,
habang naglalaro sa aking isipan
ang pagsilip ng mga binhi sa pagkakahimlaay.
Hinurno ng mga bisig ang pansamantalang
magiging pugon ng bawat pagsibol.
Ang pagpatak ng pawis ay kasamang
dumilig sa lupa,
sa halaman,
sa pangarap.
Ilang linggo na rin ang lumipas.
Natutuwa akong pinagmasdan
Ang mga gintong butil na kumakaway.
Hintay lang… malapit nang mahinog.
Bukas, magsisimula ang paggapas.
Ang bagong aning palay
Sa balikat ay tangan.
Ang bagong saing na bigas at
amoy ng pandan
ang papawi sa kumakalam na tiyan.
Ang hirap, ang paghihintay, ang bunga.
Mamaya,
busog na ako.
(Dibuho ni Regina Louise DLC. Sanota/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “google can’t even tell me where he’s buried”
By Evita Garcia
From “Montage,” The Varsitarian Literary Magazine Volume 13 | August 2019
“Lopez Jaena was our very first hippie and beatnik—and he died outside the Philippine community.” — Nick Joaquin
call it cowardice, call it pride:
graciano, fiery-tongued charlatan and prophet
baptized in the madness of his time,
thought himself a spaniard and decided to sever ties.
he tried to tame barcelona,
ever-bustling with fiestas and revolutions.
he tried to contain barcelona,
but it is too big for a jittery hick.
cruel constellations had consigned him
to the fringes of lunacy.
loverboy of blackout weekends
had never even gone past forty.
we do not talk much about graciano
who loved to drink and drink and drink
until sunlight melts into a puddle on the floor
and he goes on to paint the warmness on his numb cheeks.
(Art by Mhyzell Dayne J. Oblepias/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Biyolin”
Ni Allan Popa
Mula sa “Montage,” The Varsitarian Literary Magazine (Vol. 13, Agosto 2019)
Nais kong hawakan
ang kuwerdas ng biyolin
sa pinakamarahang paraan.
Hindi para kalabitin
kundi para damhin
ang katahimikan
ng musikang hindi alam
kung paano lilikhain.
Hindi para haplusin
kundi para payapain
ang panginginig ng kamay
na tila nasa bingit ng pagsaling
sa mga labi ng minamahal.
Mahimbing na mahimbing,
ayaw pang gisingin
ng pagmamahal.
(Dibuho ni Aisha Sofia Fortes/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Holdap”
Ni Paul Padilla
Mula sa “Montage,” The Varsitarian Literary Magazine (Vol. 13, Agosto 2019)
At itinutok nila
ang mga salita.
Iniharang sa pinto
ay mga parirala.
Walang nagagawa
ang batas sa gatilyo
ng mga bantas.
Kutsilyong tumarak
sa mga gulugod
ang talim
ng mga taludtod.
Pinaulanan ng bala
ang mga katawan
ngunit tumagos lang ito
Sa katawan.
Sinubukang hulihin,
Dakmain. Paulit-ulit. Ulit.
Ilang ulit. Subalit
walang nadakip, wala
ni isang bumulagta,
walang nakita
kundi isang Tula.
(Dibuho ni Louelle Marie P. Bumalay/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Clearing Sky”
By Karen Ann C. Capco
Honorable Mention, Gawad Ustetika 2004
Rain falls with the sound of fishes slapping
Their fins against the ground, slipping
Like secrets off a stone angel’s tongue,
And clinging like beads on moss-covered
Rocks. I await the clearing of the sky —
Gray static giving way to a clearer
View of the sun setting, reminding me
That the horizon’s you lying supine
On the couch not knowing that I am watching.
(Art by Alyzza Daniella B. Lipura/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Kite String”
By Maria Leovina A. Nicolas
From The Varsitarian Magazine (Vol. 67, No. 5, September 1995)
We walked on this field
shadows in tow
and on the grass
we deserted the day,
a loose kite
dragged by the
wind
returning our
faint whistling.
Now I realize
there never was
enough of the green field,
its wind and your presence
to rein in that day for me
with a stretch more of
calmness.
There were patches
of laughter
on our sadness
and as we walked
the wind in passing swept
the fallen leaves away
like small kites
without strings,
like you
leaving for home.
(Art by Zymon M. Gailo/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Manila”
By Cindel Ong
From Montage, The Varsitarian’s Literary Magazine (August 2019)
Edward Soja's Thirdspace:
"A fully lived space, a simultaneously
real-and-imagined space, actual-and-
virtual locus of structural individuality
and collective experience and agency."
I.
In the Philippine archipelago,
Manila is the busy metropole
an eye spots in an instant.
It is black from smoke.
The space is teeming
with towering buildings.
They must want to defy God
by attempting to touch
the sky–an open halo ever
so out of reach. I wonder
why we even try. There is no point
where the human happens to meet
the divine.
II.
I see Manila constructed as this:
the concrete roads are cracked
from years of cement,
the vendors know only to exchange
coins for a meal.
The crowds flock the streets,
not for the hope of rain or miracle,
but for the chance to survive.
This is where strangers
meet on the daily.
This is where millions live,
but some are still in a state
of homelessness.
Manila had always been humid,
congested, loud. But its saturating
vibrancy calls me back
each time l ache to leave.
lIl.
This is the Manila I have come
to call home: her sweaty palm
on my skin as we navigate our way
around its dissonant landscape.
The cat jumping on the roof
that jolts me awake beyond midnight.
Listening to my mother speak in bisaya.
Greeting my grandmother a happy birthday
each time I come knocking on her bedroom
door. It makes her laugh and feel
she is nowhere near a hundred.
The quiet walk from my street to Retiro.
The coffee shop I escape to
when I am feeling restless.
The taste of the putrid air. My skin warm
each waking minute.
My skin red, yellow,
blue. My skin turning golden.
My skin holds each memory
I have of Manila.
It is akin to remembering –
life, moment, breath.
This is the city that seeks much,
but stays still upon a single touch.
(Art by Allan Christopher M. Sayat/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Bird Thoughts”
By Carlomar Daoana
From “Daloy: Katipunan ng mga Piling Akdang Pampanitikan” (January 1998)
In my desire to write a subject of sky
My thoughts pursue the direction of the sun.
They become birds in mid-air,
Quiet beaks in proportion to their tails.
But in the closeness of their distance,
Their feathers catch fire, their eyes blind.
Birds like phoenix consumed into ashes.
Those ashes fall, amber-colored, to the sea.
No trails of remembrances for me.
Only knowing that they have learned
The secret of the absolute circle.
Knowledge lost in the eternity of water.
(Art by Louelle Marie P. Bumalay/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Eskarlata”
Ni Kristine Sioson
Ikalawang Gantimpala, Gawad Ustetika 2002
Naghimagsik sa lansangan ang mga alipato
Nang masalat nito ang ulirat ng panulat na kulay-pula
Lumiyab, lumipad, napadpad sa palad ng mga Santo.
Napaso sa ningas ng triyanggulo:
Imperyalismo, pyudalismo’t kolonyalismo. Nakiisa,
Naghimagsik sa lansangan ang mga alipato.
Kahit ituring man na latak sa kastilyo
ng mga huwad na pinuno’y hindi nangamba.
Lumiyab, lumipad, napadpad sa palad ng mga Santo
Ang kanilang mga hilagyo na binutas ng mga punglo.
Nag-alimpuyo ang siga, nagsuot ng eskarlata.
Naghimagsik sa lansangan ang mga alipato.
Umiikot-ikot, umuulit-ulit, ang ganitong sirkulo.
Lubusang sumisidhi kanilang ipinaglalabang diwa.
Lumiyab, lumipad, napadpad sa palad ng mga Santo
Lumuluwang ang puwang sa pagitan ng hilaga at timog sa mundo.
Umaalingawngaw ang pagtangis ng apoy sa lupa,
Naghimagsik sa lansangan ang mga alipato.
Lumiyab, lumipad, napadpad sa palad ng mga Santo.
(Dibuho ni Michelle Ann C. Kalaw/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Butane Mouth and Gasoline Eyes”
By Mary Santos
From The Varsitarian Literary Magazine (Montage, Vol. 13, August 2019)
The eyes are devoted to seeing what it desires;
Faithful to the blessed and pleasant remnants.
So we close our eyes when we pray,
Because we beg to see the probable -
And we speak but the words do not bleed.
And we listen but it doesn't burn through the skin.
And we wonder how warm the blue water may feel,
Or how blinding darkness can be.
How furious a blank skyline may seem
Or how my eyes only saw what is far from real.
Maybe there is sunlight and lavender moonbeams
That calms your trembling knees as you fall asleep.
(Art by Alyzza Daniella B. Lipura/ The Varsitarian)
#TOMASining: “Praise”
By Edward G. Libunao
From The Varsitarian Magazine (Vol. 50, No. 14, January 1978)
greet you smiling bright
at break of day,
meet you too as evening steals
the sunlight away...
walk softly with you
along grass-covered loams,
behold you splendid and alive
in you gentle blooms…
see you in silken sketches
across the sky,
feel your breath upon my face
as winds pass by…
feel you soothing and warm
in the touch of a hand:
sense your holy presence, lord,
all over your land!
(Art by Chess V. Pua/ The Varsitarian)
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