Time passed so quickly. Its just seems like yesterday that I was very nervous about writing my first Haiku. Yes, It is just short, but its is a crucial stage for an aspiring writer- the first poem. I believe that I could not call myself a poet because most of my work did not really meet up the expectations of a true poem. Anyway, it is commonly stated that a writer is made not born, therefore I strongly believe that I could be one someday. Though there are people who are born with a good ear, with will and patience, I believe that I will master the manipulation of words.

Maybe will and patience are essential in becoming a poet, however, as an aspiring poet, experience and sightings are needed to write a good poem. Reading will be a very good way to experience things that I could not try and see things or places that I could not go to or see. The problem that I can see in myself is that I read books with similar topics, those that I only like. Usually, I end up reading so many books that I like that I end up gaining no new information that is essential in reading. I know that it’s an unhealthy habit  and unproductive, so I am trying hard to be open to more topics.

Writing needs a brain that could render any topic. Sometimes, no matter how much a writer focus on making a poem or write, there are still some words that is staying at the tip of the tongue but the pen refuses to drip it on the paper. But there is a harder situation that that, it is when you have many things to write but the pen could not lust keep track of what your mind dictates. Sometimes it is also hard when you are bounded by so many rules.

Rules are hard to follow sometimes, but life is easier with rules. Every time we are required to do a metered poem, i hear some of my classmates commenting on how they dislike metered poems. However, on my part I love making metered poems. I always feel  challenged in making it. In a reading in this subject it is said that Robert Frost commented that writing poetry without form is like playing tennis without a net. It is uncomplicated thus giving no sense of fulfillment. I absolutely agree with him as I love making rhymes and the way it sounds when it is read.  Though metered poems bounds a poet in his ideas, I believe that too much freedom is not freedom anymore.

Actually, I feel that it is easier to write in metered. In free verse, I feel that I should be cautious of line cutting, defending why the line cutting is that is needed, unlike in metered,wherein one can get away with it because of the syllabication.

Also, as an amateur writer and a “wanna-be-poet” like me, one needs to know the traditional way of writing poetry before defying it. One of the reasons why I like the metered poems is that because while making it I discover more things from the experience or the idea that is not there yet in the original. It is also true about the free verse, but if a writer uses free verse, he already had an idea in his mind, and because there are no obstacles or rules to follow, he ends up making whatever he feels like writing.

Whatever one writer feels or remembers, those are still essential to what he writes, however, as Oscar Wilde once said, “all bad poetry springs from genuine feeling”. Sometimes, I can say that I tend to be too emotional, but it is hard to choose the words meter and style that I would like to convey to my readers. It is depressing sometimes that all my poems seems to be a funny poem as my classmates read them, even the serious ones. It is also sometimes very amazing that my readers interpret my poem in a deeper way than what I have intended to do. That makes me sometimes wonder if the famous poets really wrote their famous pieces that way or is it just something that the present readers invented.

In writing my pieces, ( as I still don’t have the courage to call them poems)  I usually see to it that I go out and look at the scenes around me, especially on the nature poems. On the part of the love and hate metered poems, those are just long time feelings that I haven’t yet discovered and acknowledged. On the Haiku, as it is a traditional nature poem, while I am alone, I tried to look at the things around me. I did it when I was alone as a haiku usually reflects simplicity and loneliness.

On the piece “On a Road” , it went a revision wherein I inserted some information about tracing the stinky smell. In the first draft, I just mentioned the stinky smell, but on the edited version, I really mentioned where it came from. Another poem that went a revision is the poem entitled, “The Newspaper Boy”, wherein I later changed the point of view and the title itself. “The Newspaper Boy” then became “My Newspaper Boy” which I changed the point of view from the first person point of view to the third person. In the revision it is now a girlfriend that speaks. Then, the rest of my pieces are made clearer on the revision as I had the tendency to be vague and unclear about things.

Editing is like the polishing or the cutting in a diamond that makes a diamond beautiful. It is very important. The workshop really helped me a lot. However, it is hard to differentiate the wrong from the right suggestions. I am not sure what to follow and what not to. Some comments from the class helped me a lot on my poems. Some opinions, sad to say, made me more confused on what to do.

All in all, poetry as a subject helped me not only in writing but in my way of thinking, it seems that one needs to be very logical in making poems.

Metered Poems (5)

Manang’s Memories

(Lyric Dialog)

Years ago before I left you,

You cried so that i could not go.

Below, you grasped my knees with grief

So that I would not leave.

I just remember it before,

You were coming with sores,

there running, shouting like crazy

“ants-they’re itchy!”

When I feed you avocados

You ran away to a barrio

riding your newest bicycle

because you liked popsicle.

“Thank You for all you’ve done for me,

It hurts me to see you that way.”

What you just said gave me strength to live life more.

I’m amazed, glad, and somewhat sad

That you are here now; a good lad,

It’s just that time passed me so fast,

But I know past is past.

Last Night’s Awakening

(Shakespearean)

In times like this, I just feel like screaming,

because he is carefree and very happy.

There, the crowd’s the cake and he’s the icing,

While here I am stressed and looks so crappy.

He is someone so hot and I am not.

Every girl’s head will turn as he pass by,

from nerds, even up to the campus slut.

But he’ll just leave- all deceived by a lie.

Rumors says he’s never been in love,

Never been to any relationship

Like me, many asked for him from above,

and at nights we deprive ourselves of sleep.

Poor us! How can love one of us back?

When I saw him kissing a man in black.

Haiku 1

Lizard on the bench,

Alone and proudly crawling-

But it has no tail.

Haiku 2

Lamp posts glows like stars

and the raindrops falling tears;

all came with darkness.

Caged

(Petriarchan)

You are a god while performing at stage,

Master of your guitar and band.

Everyone in the club knows you are grand,

All sways  to music, setting aside age.

Through your music, you put me in a cage,

Captured- though this I know you never planned,

Because If she knows this she’ll be in rage.

But tonight, I’ll be singing and swinging.

In my confinement I will be merry,

Thankful for every little thing you bring.

That smile at me, I will give no meaning.

But this night I will forever carry,

and when I think of her, there’s no pity.

Free Verse Poems (10)

The Keeper

Black electric tape

it covered, it surrounded

the green live wire

from that, there-

it helps lives

then kills.

The Nagging

A small glimpse of light awakened me,

like the way my mother used to nag me.

As I saw the bright clouds from the window,

it reminded me of moving

and go to the four walls

that would awaken me-the nagging water

in the bathroom.

The Highest Throne

Foggy morning and sun still hiding,

Women with wet hair fresh from the shower.

It seems that that coldness like the birds flying: now leaving

Everyone- men women, children, have their hair drier

And the sun is here again to gain its reign.

A Doorknob’s Confession

How I wish I could jump off from this door,

I always get stinky and dirty.

Now I admit though it’s hard to accept,

To be the most ill-fated of my kind.

If only everyone could be a little hygienic,

If only you could wash your hand before and after,

Perhaps, I’ll be happier than ever.

Grease Cleaning

Is stomach the only way to a man’s heart?

There are unwashed plates in the sink.

Like them, my hope is waiting

to be cleaned from its greasiness.

And when could I get to your heart?

It’s hard to wash the grease off the plates,

As hard as letting you come and go.

The plates are all washed now; clean.

But anytime you want, I’ll cook for you,

The plates are ready to be used

in serving again.

On A Starless Night

Black ants crawling fast on the mossy trunks

Of the big and shady Durian tree.

The full moon beams on everything

When a black bird flies on the dark sky

That later camouflaged high above.

A Life Cycle

(Dialog)

I need money Pa, I need money Ma,

I need to see something I should not miss.

It seemed to me that you don’t believe me,

But I swear to you two, it is true.

We gave you money enough for some weeks,

That was only three days ago, Oh no!

That’s why you come home late every evening

Baby, please end all those parties and trips.

Please finish all your useless tips,

then give me money so you could go too,

Leave me here alone as you always do

Then I’ll party all year without a skip.

My husband wake up! I had a nightmare,

About our baby in my womb this night.

She’s really like me, yes it should be fair,

but I hate it, her future is not that bright.

“Stop darling, it’s just worry that you create.

She will inherit your positive traits

and like you before, she’ll be a good lass.

Our baby will grow full of love from us.”

I will call my mom, she’ll wake up right now,

She’s been through this all, she knows what to do.

Hello mommy, help me, what should I do?

What if she’ll be like me- stubborn one too?

“There- you will reap what you sow my daughter,

But remember, dreams are far from the truth.

My weapon against evil is prayer,

I prayed long ago when you were bitter.”

My Newspaper Boy

Pedaling his bicycle today,

he tries to deliver the news on time.

On the bumpy road the ink smells

As fresh printed paper is on the way.

He must deliver it on time

To have coffee and bread-

To be with me.

Here Comes the Typhoon

Your old bicycle is rusty now,

The avocado tree,

That we used as shade

Is now dead,

destroyed .

Playing in our tree house,

you said

“our little family,

will live a thousand years more.”

I smiled to you

then agreed back,

“yes, no one could destroy this.”

The typhoon destroyed

Our little family.

Just like the way

It wants you to be

destroyed in my memory.

On a Road

The jeepney stinks as I travel,

Maybe it’s the man on my left.

I feel the heat in the morning;

It’s freshness was ruined by things

That’s about to spoil the new day.

The jeepney stops, then the man pays,

And my day was back to its fresh start.