Poetry
please, sun
Friday, January 16th, 2009
bring me your light
that shimmered on the wings
of yellow moths
i scurried after as a child
and cast shadows that carried no forebodings
and saw me traipsing reckless on a footbridge
at midstream
my smile up to my ears
like a slice of watermelon
as the floodwaters raged below me
tailing a hurricane.
dissolve this iceberg moored in my soul
that breathes a deadly chill
into the core of my bones
and makes me shiver like an old dog
caught in an out-of-season rain.
please, sun, touch me with your luster,
irradiate me with your glow,
electrify me with your hell-fire,
turn up your heat
set me aflame
for i’m a lightless creature prowling the land
and leaving bits and shreds of my self
across an endless route
that strays into abandoned buildings,
digresses into alleyways,
rushes toward lighted fields,
confusing you with floodlights,
and stumbles into places
warmed by a quiet drone of voices –
trying to find you.
(1996)
barbara barquez ricafrente, monologues and other poems
Don't Quit
Monday, December 22nd, 2008
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must; but don't you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up, though the pace seems slow;
You might succeed with another blow.
Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor's cup.
And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.
Success is failure turned inside out;
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt;
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit;
It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit.
≈≈≈≈≈
This was the favorite poem of the late Og (Thor) Aldea of Ligao, Albay. Those who knew him well are familiar with his naughty disposition and his brand of humor, including his propensity for rearranging songs to suit his comic intentions. But whether he was in a light or somber mood, he repeatedly recited this poem – with gestures to match – until it was coming out of one’s ears. He always emphasized the last stanza, especially the last two lines.
In these tough times, this poem takes on added meaning and urgency. It is hoped that its message of courage against the odds would bring some light to those of us who are on a journey through the long, dark road of our borrowed life.
for a dog named bullfrog
Friday, February 13th, 2009
as the skies weep down
the very roots of trees
that breathe the lament of cicadas.
i ponder at the grass
its cool ecstatic green
a reprieve from vaguenesses
the sight of you infects me with.
i wonder if you ever find yourself
dreaming of absent suns,
or if that gloom in your eyes
is yours indeed
or mine.
(1987)
barbara barquez ricafrente, monologues and other poems
questions, after Neruda
Friday, January 2nd, 2009
i.
do comets wag their tails at the sight of Titan
crossing the face of Jupiter?
do constellations contemplate ever changing places,
rearranging themselves, reconfiguring their positions
for the sake of something new?
is the constellation Sirius acquainted with a smile?
and will the Red Planet, like an injured eye, ever clear up?
does the Universe have corners
like a box full of galaxies turning endlessly
like the tiny wheels in a grandfather clock?
how long did the man who stole a pig stashed in a sack
take a rest on the dark side of the moon
before he vanished with his loot?
is thunder at night the stolen pig’s cry for help
or a giant gone astray in the mountains howling for his mother?
ii.
does Yellow try to keep its teeth from clattering at the sight of Black
and scurries off with its tail between its legs?
is Black a creature with deadly hooves,
or an unsettling presence with menacing eyes?
does it delight in striking fear in leaves and rendering them yellow?
does it ever have a benign spot?
does Blue like its face long, its music dolorous?
does it seek out solitude in rat-smelling rooms?
does smiling make it sick?
does laughter give it fatal convulsions?
does Red like being chased by bulls?
is it always choleric, ready to explode?
does it scald and seethe and threaten to kill?
is White forever spotless, the rare virgin sought
for offering to the gods?
is Green forever young, amateurish, untrained, artless?
or was it born with prurience on its mind?
iii.
is Orange sweet enough for ants?
or does it need more sugar to gain their attention?
is Silver always brimming with hope?
does it tinkle like wind chimes
or sparkle like points of light in the water?
and is Gray too old to care –
its bones brittle as dry leaves,
its heart a wrinkled valve?
(2002)
barbara barquez ricafrente, tales grandmother told (unpublished)
things that move me
Thursday, January 8th, 2009
the thought of things that move me
now pulls back
to one small hand that waves
from across a field
to children perched on iron tanks
their imagined supermen pushing trains
that drag forever on the tracks
to strings of houselights
that bruise eyes
and force out one small blob of water
from old eyes.
(1982)
barbara barquez ricafrente, monologues and other poems
