puppets very bold

sidewalk city flesh
tattooed by footsteps, rain
and spat out gum,
the night seemed so small
it could be contained in a can,
as walking
with hands held as consideration
more than love,
beneath our feet
the city, this beast
harbored many grudges
that seeded into nature
love affairs
side alley muggings
and falling down drunk,
when we found a moment
of thought connecting,
we spoke,
our arrangement was one
created from physical neglect
and no love or lingering passion
would occur,
yet we parted with difficulty
returning to the oblique swathe
of our normal lives,
brought a fear
neither of us could confront
yet truth would not let us
concede to the other

new york at night – vivienne gucwa

 

 

Typhoon ‘Yolanda’ Haiyan More Than Half a Million Left Homeless in Philippines

As the typhoon raged the worst storm on record my heart went out, we have friends whose family live in Cebu it all has happened so close to the earthquake last month.
Back in  1970 Gemino H Abad a great fillipino poet wrote How Our Towns Drown and i place a copy here for you to read, and send prayers, donate try to do whatever you can it all helps , keep Republika ng Pilipinas in our hearts as they recover.

How Our Towns Drown

how in the downpour
downstream of doom we are returned
houses and pigs in ceaseless procession
as skies boom and fall thundering spears
to beat down all curses and tears to tide
among driftwood, seaweed and water hyacinth’s
prayer wreaths for the dead and drowned

downstream of doom we are returned
tottering over manholes shivering in the blast
of a blind monsoon it’s hollow howl
the rolling dreariness of our emptied hills
our feet doubt the ground where streets
vanish in the gorge of swill and slime
to flood at last we are flotsam and scum

houses and pigs in ceaseless procession
and rushing past our brethren those lovelorn
cats and cockroaches among floating roofs
lumbering cadavers of cherished scrap
our naked brats scamper and gambol
over scavenged loot of murky things
tires and handbags , bottles and shoes

as skies fall boom and fall thundering spears
on Cherry Hill slumping down it’s slope
and shoveling homes in one boulder swoop
landfill of families in moaning mud
so sudden their screams no echoes bear
abducted to questioning rage of memory
by what “state of calamity” or “act of god”

to beat down all curses and tears to tides
Antipolo to Pangasinan the earth rivers
and shoves down Pinatubo’s  renegade ooze
to our paddies swelling to ocean of muck
fish ponds collapsing to swamp
for bridges are down and mountains too far
to flle and shelter from water’s gore

among seaweed , driftwood and water hyacinth’s
what word , what route, what water world
for breathing space, the floors of our dreams
but shiver their fittings and leak their gloom
clutch of seaweed for hair
driftwood for limbs , hyacinth’s for cloaks
what new indigene  only survivor  to offer

prayer wreath’s for the dead and drowned
requiescat  in peace .. vitam aeternam
so cradle the infant , swaddled in rubble grime
just now excavated and no mother to hush
it’s lost wail no father no sibling
surely now their wreck is deaf to cranes
or fingers digging, to what any change

how in the downpour our towns drown

Gemino H Abad

 

 

bones lost to violence

blunt nailed waitress peered

out of window,

watching a white Ford side step

move through a channel

of fading snow,

engine abrupt in the silence

crawling on wet tires

behind the wheel

eyes filled with cluster of stars

that waited for him,

knew he would use rifle and pistols

lain on the passenger seat,

an older man ducked in through

a door from the sidewalk

anticipation filled centuries bones,

oak casket shadows lengthened

over street,

as to traffic signals and crossroads

paused muffler rumbling,

a man stepped out a short distance

ahead and raised a rifle

sounding with a quick report,

windshield shattered

ducking across seats,

other men appeared

bullets clattered and punctured metal

crawled out the door

and as a shield returned fire,

blunt nailed waitress

placed hand on stomach

with a soft flutter,

from the roof of the bank

rifle leveled

became a victim tumbling to asphalt

with rifle expended

took up the guns his grandfather wore,

tightening belt

histories confidence made him stand,

before drawing

bullet clipped his shoulder

wincing not falling

fanned the gun,

two others fell,

a voice shrieked stop

blunt nailed waitress

stood between them,

gunsmoke scented cold air,

it had to be resolved

but not this way,

for the sake of a child

conversation was born

dVersePoets