“Beauty and the Beast”

“Mom please read me this book that daddy brought,”

The mother smiled sweetly to the dear child,

“Her father was lost in the thick forest,

She found herself in a magical place,

And she was dared by a bargain to stay.

Beast was not as cold-hearted as he seemed.

And through love they lived happy together.”

There was a loud knocking on the front door,

It was the drunken father who came home.

“Daddy please don’t hurt mommy. Stop it.”

“Get back to bed you little brat,stay there!”

The child was still shaken and trembling then,

Her father becoming that night a beast.

She could not help crying for what happened.

“Locked Up”

Cheeks blushed,

Giggles hushed,

Don’t be in such rush,

Resist his thrust,

This you must:

While I lock things in a box,

Even if he throws at you rocks!

Be unmoved knob,

Don’t let yourself be robbed.

A Hatched Poet at Amherst

When I first read about Emily Dickinson in our American Literature class, I noticed how brief her poems were compared to those of Walt Whitman’s which were first discussed. I was given the opportunity to introduce her in our class through reporting. I encounter her again and her name reminded me of a recluse yet a quite admirable woman poet.

According to T. W. Higginson she was a “partially cracked poetess at Amherst.” It was quite understandable since, she was a poet ahead of her time. She brought poetry that was different from the traditional forms during her time. Poets that time faced struggles: external as brought about by the Civil War and internal since there was the issue of originality of purpose, to be freed from the traditional modes of life and thought, and the struggle to create a new world.

Atubang sa Kawad-on(Upon Facing Nothingness)

Samut kong nabati,

na adunay mga butang nga dili mamahimong ako-

sa dihang malantawan ang hulagway mo.

Kun ibasol mo kanako

ang sala akong angkunon

alang kanimo

Samut kong nabati,

Nga dili palabihon ang gugmas kasing-kasing

Kay dili kini atol sa oras paghinigugma-ay.

Psalms

Without arms outstretched for alms,

His can lay there empty.

A child alights his bike,

Slips his hand into his pocket,

Then drops a coin for the beggar.

I walk past

My wallet,

much like that can

Bare.

Three of us

on that sidewalk

Thought of singing along—

As the sun readily sets

music to their singing of Psalms.

On My Uncle’s Burial

On my Uncle’s Burial

On headstones are names,

To call no notice

not year, not month, not date

Nor that which drew-

A candle lit upon their beds.

Its who they were and what they are,

That made the others cry.

Into some age unseen,

Who knew it was not Time,

That plucked the man to die.

Gauzed Wounds

The second brother came home,

as the other siblings did,

without a wife

rather with a beloved

sister

in his mind-

her sweet smile

and the gentleness of her gestures

incomparable from the other women he met.

This affection

if only he was warned

to put love aside

from brotherly care

would’ve saved them

from such a predictable strife.

For in the guise of foreseen obligation

The Scene outside My Window

The luminous moon
against the night sky
showing elegance
amidst the darkness
towards the shimmering stars,
who lose their existence,
to the fullness
and beauty of
its borrowed light.
And I amazed
At such episode
In that chill, silent night.

Like in dreams being interpreted this piece entitled “The Scene outside My Window” is open for the interpretation as psychoanalysts look upon the work based on the writer and beyond what he/she is trying to say. In its means this entails that all the psychological aspects of both form and content are looked upon. And in this piece,I want to say how nature creates such wondrous expressions(“,).

Luck Coin

A five- centavo coin
Glistened
Among the cobble stones
He thought,
Too small
to pay the bills,
And even not enough
to buy anything.

Nobody was around
that sunny morning
except himself.

He bent down
picked it
stood straight
and slid the coin into his pocket.
Then he brushed his wrinkled suit with his hand.

In Marxism, everything is a commodity and so is a five centavo coin for a wealthy businessman.

My Brother’s Toy

The little girl looked at her older brother playing with his toy cars.
She held a stuffed doll on her hands. She was about to go upstairs when she felt her brother’s hand reach out to her.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’m going to mom’s room. I heard her shouting.”
“No, you shouldn’t go there. Dad will be angry.”
“But I want to. I want to tell her to buy me a toy car too.”
“No she wouldn’t buy you any. Stay here!”
She cried.
Her brother wouldn’t let her so she just seated herself in a low chair and threw her doll to the corner. Her brother smirked at her.

In this piece, I want my to show binary oppositions that are also part of the system of language in structuralism. It reveals some the “cognitive models” of reality.