Elegy In A Flower Garden
each petal that falls even
from the homeliest blossom
is grieved by the congregation
of blooms in the garden
a solitary demise
is not an isolation
though not heard nor seen
the emptiness it creates
hangs heavy and tumid
untunes the euphony of echoes
and casts thick darkness
in the serenity of white clouds
puts the glade, the lake in gloom
pink and yellow bells toll
an earnest elegy for the fallen
poem by Eddie Roa
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Ill Wind
The wind told me you’re leaving today
With voice so harsh it laid trees bare
Again he said you’re leaving today
Hissed through the vines his ill tidings
You can’t leave today my love
Not when the bougainvilleas frolic
Oh no, not today my love
Not with orchids in festive glee
Even in the morrow you cannot go
For the fruits will be in harvest then
Oh no, not in the morrow you cannot go
For the arid sod awaits your benediction
The wind told me you’re leaving today
Absurd! I said to this malignant tattle
The wind insisted that you’re leaving today
Ill wind begone, was my incensed outcry
poem by Eddie Roa
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A Wake In the Barrio
Funeral wakes in our barrio
Are simple but picturesque
Amidst boiling cauldrons of
Rice porridge with strips of tripes
A gathering of mourners intone their grief
While downing jugs of native grog
The sakla master shuffles the deck
Cards bearing luck not auguring death
Children past bedtime hours scaring
Each other while hiding under the casket
Wilted floral wreaths line up the walls
Like sentinels with nauseous breaths
The honored one somber in slumber
Indifferent to the homage paid him
[...] Read more
poem by Eddie Roa
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Red Lace
I espied a red glint
In between the cracks
On the wooden panels
Of a locked up closet
How many sphinxes
Stood guard with riddles.
Halting curious eyes?
No sentinel more vigilant
I caught glimpse of a
Red lace stuck
Between mahogany doors,
Some past vanity imagined
Standing there unmoving,
Drawn by intrigue, I was
Like a cat sniffing on
A netted pantry window
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poem by Eddie Roa
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Bells of Barangay San Jose
The Bells of Barangay San Jose
The bells of Barangay San Jose
Rang against the din of the windblown rain
Struck from bell towers from four directions
The wet July weather deadened the tolling
Unable to reverberate in the thick as soup fog
Eager acolytes swinging on strong bell ropes
Coaxing the brass cones to clang out loud
The bells furiously called out the faithful at dawn
Loud summons to attend the eucharistic celebration
Nuns in white with colorful umbrellas stepped lively,
Matrons with missals tucked in braided belts
Waddled through the half opened seminary doors
Rosary beads dangling, in quickened half steps
Hurrying before the wet fog turns to cold rain
A blessed Sunday morning in Barangay San Jose
My love and I eavesdropped on the early birdsong
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poem by Eddie Roa
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Garden of Evil
Little kernels, hard and rough
I planted them in the shade of the stone heap
They were seeds of spite sown to cling
On walls of old hurts and unforgiven wrongs
The little stalks pushed their bulbous heads
Unsightly growths on hard ground
Grotty green brown stains on the garden floor
Malevolent seedlings with haughty bearings
The fiendish vegetation thrived in dark nooks
Unhappy for the sun to touch its leaves
The tiny branches had threatening spines
And oh, a redolence not known by any man
Each morning I went out to see
How the dark of night have nurtured
The budding menaces they were to be
Verdant mottled green now covered the wall
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poem by Eddie Roa
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