About ferayag

silent as moss

Boatman

A boatman promised us the shore.
Mouth frothing with blabbers,
he took the oar and paddled right,
right to where we wanted to leave –
the mouth of a whirlpool.

Our boat capsized. Drown us?
We know how to swim. Has any boatman
swum free from his own sticky spittle?

O wind, tell the tale of a young boy from Lamud*

That day on the hill sunlight leapt and laughter rolled –
a fate pregnant with a tongue tingling to be born;
O wind, tell the tale of a young boy from Lamud.

A crumpled leaf on a wild vine glinted like gold,
inside, a spider still refused to greet the morn;
that day on the hill sunlight leapt and laughter rolled.

Tender fingers tiptoed on the vine to the fold
where the spider lay asleep – dreaming or wayworn?
O wind, tell the tale of a young boy from Lamud.

Suddenly, something whizzed and the grassblades trembled,
the earth – pummeled by combat boots – echoed a groan;
that day on the hill sunlight leapt and laughter rolled.

Blots of blood clung upon the silky silver web,
the threads sagged heavy with a dragging breath, forlorn;
O wind, tell the tale of a young boy from Lamud.

Can a concrete cross lighten the loss, bear the load
weighing down the mother’s heart left to wrath and mourn?
That day on the hill sunlight leapt and laughter rolled,
O wind, tell the tale of a young boy from Lamud.

*Lamud – a barangay in South Upi, Maguindanao, Philippines.

Merit Promotion

Apolonio Paria Dionisio. Assistant
Professor 7. Salary grade: 21 -5. Finished
PhD in Panitikan in 1986. Original
Appointment:  June 16, 1976. Last
Promotion: 2002.  Publications:
Diona, Tanaga, Dagli, Balagtasan,
Bugtong, Ambahan, Oyayi, Tagulaylay.

Rank Deserved:  Professor 12.  But
Won’t Advance; no ISI-Scopus publication.

He throws bread crumbs to the pond
And the fishes swarm –  the big ones
with the big mouths gulp the big chunks;
the small ones nibble the particles
that escape from the big mouths
of the big ones.  He is 64.

He is 64.

selfie (12)

WHATTA!?

I am a Filipino, defender
of freedom and democracy.

Lover. I love

regurgitating refuse
from the Bald Eagle’s
ass, and here I am stricken
with twin sickening diseases:

mental diarrhea cash-ridden isms fresh or putrid surge from my mouth like sewage
gushing through septic tank sewer

con
stipated con
sciousnesslikha-diwa (8)

not
even the
tiniest of
light
could pen
etrate
my mind, an ass so tight

through which only
the fain
test of fart
could pass, a stin
king fume
that could
send a hermit
buck run amok,
lamenting
why on
earth he broke
free from
his moth
er’s womb.