Sunday, September 18, 2016

New poems by Vaughan Rapatahana




three hour GCE O level examination, bandar seri begawan, september before the monsoon.

 

school hall is so 

crammedthat the walls

cry out in

clammy angst.

 

each tudong/songkok

bearing

pupil

troves                

leg-room safety       

through               

bent-knee anguish,           

 

                                     e,

                                    v

                                   o

                                  b

                                 a

                             well

while,           the arcane fans

 

stir 

in tepid throb,

their own sirocco stew:

dust, mold &

the skeletal stumps

of long-dead

gecko.

 

eyes gaze glazed,

as

sweat

coagulates

on leaking faces,

 

and

the slow drip-feed chug

of that niggling clock,

astride the haggard plinth,

lifts its own

rusty hands,

in genuflection

toward 

the 

airless

sky.

 

the

listless

staff

slump,

ruined,

 

 

all

crave 

the signature

just

one cloud

might

scrawl

upon

this

relentless

day.



pass or die in tin shui wai

 

it is a classroom

without any caste.

 

in      s  p  r  e  d  e  a  g  l  e  d     legions

these starchily-uniformed

pubescents

 

regurgitate whatever 

may have seeped in somehow

their subjugated brains

 

        while

within their vast begrudging

psychographic spates,

 

they probably

cannot even hear

the brontide brewing;

 

crenelating 

evercloser

to thinning     out

 

their      

sha m

pe dan tic

ran ks



hong kong town, 2015

 

oh, I went down to hong kong town

searching for a feed

yes, I went down to hong kong town

to fill an inner need.

 

hong kong, you old bastard;

your flabbergasted lips

basting the back alleys

in jisms of sputum,

disabling sophomore solons

garbled in yellow

under colourless sun.

 

your cctv coders,

scrawny necks craning

from cinereal crannies;

as thickets of taxis

defoliate ring-roads

like locusts on heat.

 

an omerta of towers

sworn into silence

moans in the background,

ever ready to pounce,

as the spit of your harbour

desiccates daily – 

there’s nowhere to run.

 

yes, I came home from hong kong town

head down on my knees,

oh, I came back from hong kong town

a chastened man indeed.

 

a chastened man, indeed.



afternoon traders, santo tomas

 

the top windows wink

in fissured feint,

 

the aloof front door

feigns a faint faux

smile

 

&

the dense

cement

walls

don’t even

dare

emote

at all:

 

- a conspiracy of sorts.

o  u  t  s  i  d  e    

o  n    t  h  e

narrow rutted road

 

the haphazard motley

         co

  syn      pa

              tes:

 

an epileptic fit

aftermath of some 

a la carte ejaculation

just as doomed to                         miss

their targets,

 

behind the jailbarred glass.




pampanga back lot

the sun is a liar.

he swindles the shrubbery

each

          and

                   every        day,

 

as   they   g y r a t e                              that

                                     way

                                                                 &          this,

scalded by his scorches.

 

he merely sneers

                                &   glares;

        some      times

just sulks;                                                  skulks

                                        behind

the nearest nimbus.

 

theirs’ is NO choice.

 

they     thirst    for

                                 some    sort      of

                                                                                                                                                        

                                                                                                            salvation.

 

s   t   r   e   t   c   h      &       s   t   r   a   i   n

y e a r n i n g l y,

 

                                           before

this   final  decollate

           wilt 

i

 n

     t

        o

 

desuetude.


morong beach barrio

 

there’s not much     left;

 

a vaudeville show

bereft of stage;

 

a series of shells

disdaining roofs

pinioned at the nub

by the 

one 

remaining

sari sari store

that refused to die

&

a trick tricyclist

or three

who have 

nowhere else

to snooze.

 

    up there

while   ^

the village idiot sun

just can’t take the hint,

&

preys fulsome

on this fuselage,

 

this butchered carcass 

of a town,

marooned

near 

the

lagoon.                    


             


  sari sari – small family store [Tagalog]





Bio



Vaughan Rapatahana's 2016 collection of poems, Atonement, published by University of Santo Tomas Press, has been nominated for a National Book Award in the Philippines.



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