*
Tuesday,
let me mourn for those
in the fields, browned by the sun.
let me cry for those bodies
I let my hands fumble my curiosity with,
let me hold sea urchins and hurt for
those places where I left them
Wednesday,
A school of fish will run around me
in circles, ask me about my legs,
my breasts, my thighs, my pubic hair,
and why I look like those men with cigarettes
throwing dynamites.
Thursday,
Picking dead shells for the most alive person
I have met up there, a soul which held mine
from that very day I listened to the willows
sway, margining the runway.
Friday,
The mermaids will comb my hair and tell me
stories about humans they have
fallen in-love with
but have
all chosen to forget.
Behind the rocks, they hid
as the salt on their cheeks mimicked
the taste of their eyes.
Saturday,
The ghosts from the sunken ship will write
letters for their families, for their mothers waiting by the door,
for their fathers in umba-umbas, sleeping with memories of 1994,
for their children and the paper boats they lick and fold,
for the next years that never came, for the deaths that did not
end with engraved names and carabao grasses.
Sunday,
A hand will pull me up from the ocean,
a wounded palm that smelt gas,
broken oil lamps
and years of waiting
.
I forgot to say I love the last part. It’s very hopeful, I’m sure you have so much love to give and he will be the luckiest man, alive. I love you!
Posted by maurya at October 4, 2008, 9:30 am@maurya: but sometimes, it’s sad too. 
on the other hand, i am happy that this certain was inspired by that song up there. mondays suck. hehe.
*this certain poem
Posted by modernpatadyong at October 4, 2008, 2:36 pmthis is so beautiful. i love friday and saturday. ♥
for their fathers in umba-umbas, sleeping with memories of 1994,
for their children and the paper boats they lick and fold,
for the next years that never came, for the deaths that did not
end with engraved names and carabao grasses.
and i wonder what happened to monday. i hope wala siya nalunod?
Posted by kimay at October 5, 2008, 6:03 pm@kimay: super thank you kiat 
thanks for wondering and i wonder why you know me that well. or am i just getting too predictable? 
how was the other side of the world cover? 
haha. sister kiat man gud ta. mao na.
poetry jud imo native language. the best part of it is your poetry not only communicates with your readers. it captures people, bewildered and in awe. reading you tells me how (quote and quote from p. herrera) you were born with a gravity not of this world’s.
the cover? hahaha. naa ra gihapon ang cover in this side of the world. weeeeee. *does a cartwheel*
Posted by kimay at October 6, 2008, 12:13 amand you’re not getting predictable! your works are always fresh and different and out of this world. LOL. fresh like the smell of earth when first few battalion of raindrops touch it.
i guess i read you well.. is all. LOL!
@kimay: kim pls tamaaaaa naaaa. i might die blushing. oi you’re too kind. i mean coming from someone whose writing and creations, i adore? giloka. haha.
o tingale alien ko sa? oi send na nako kimay ba. pls? metaphorical ka kaayo da. *bogo look*
Posted by modernpatadyong at October 6, 2008, 1:25 pmnoh? that would be the first time i’d hear of it. someone dying from blushing. gahaaaaa. bitaw oi. maulaw man ko oi. panghadluk sa mga lizards ang cover. hahaha. sige send niya nako. shet. ming baga na ug samot akong nawung ini. LOL.
Posted by kimay at October 6, 2008, 4:50 pm@kimay: ungas, dayun tong banda ta ha? hango sa BEIRUT, KEAIAT (sosyalized term for? )
u owe me tonying’s reaction. kung wa sya nalipay, minyo ta
Shit.
what the.
Posted by officem8 at October 7, 2008, 8:22 am
*
she likes seashore naps and the view of everything from the bus window. she likes tiny moments and the small spaces between faces when people talk.
sometimes, she wakes up to that odd feeling of being a fallen leaf, an old tree, an azotea or a waitress somewhere-- talking to a taxicab driver about that random song on the radio.
*
---
---
and this. a proof that:
how you see LIFE is how
you actually see YOUR self.
*
*
***
maddening spurt:
----------------------
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”
-Jack Kerouac-
It’s like this: you have good ears to listen to people and great music like this band, good eyes to find beauty in every corner and a great heart and soul to write all of what we needed to read. i am too busy here but reading you is like smelling the flowers.
Posted by maurya at October 4, 2008, 9:25 am