Speaking of Women on Bigkas Pilipinas

Tags

Bigkas Pilipinas, charlotte aninion-de guzman, Creative writing, Filipino poetry, Filipino poetry in English, saintcharlotte, sanctuary, spoken poetry

Grateful to have my poem featured in the episode, Speaking of Women, by Bigkas Pilipinas. You can listen to it via #Spotify #ApplePodcast #GooglePodcast – simply search for Bigkas Pilipinas. You can also listen to it by clicking on this link:

https://open.spotify.com/episode/2oHy4u3P3hvrvx6J7Toccy?si=axhQ0ZwsQeGKSIw7TxQZFw

Thank you Bigkas Pilipinas Entertainment and Kooky for this wonderful blessing 😊💖

The text of the poem I read can be found below 😊 :

In the Name of the Mother

I reclaim my mother’s name.
Syllable by syllable.
Letter by letter.
I reach out and lay hold of it.

This name was forged upon
the blood of women.
Generations upon generations
who stood on their own
withstood the fear of being alone
fought for their ground
for their right to speak and be heard
to own their soul and their words
to be wounded and stay alive
to bleed and yet choose to survive.
Yes, this woman, this name
forged in their blood
I claim with no shame.

And across no man’s land
I join my fate with them.
Now, I understand.

Hear me roar!

As I dig myself out of the pit,
you buried me in
to hide away your sins. You fed sand into my mouth,
so I can speak only what you wish to hear.
Poured sand into my eyes,
so I will be blind to your affairs.
Shoveled sand unto my skin,
So I will be numb to my own despair.

But I say enough!
And now I rise.
Now, I stand.
In defiance against the burning sand
of this barren, unforgiving land.

Now, I speak
with the strength of women who bore me.
I refuse to fall victim, enough with your lies.
Now, I see
the truth with their eyes and enter the light.
I reject your snares and turn away from the night.
Now, I feel
the beautiful intricacies of my thoughts and feelings.
I welcome my broken self and the peace that it brings.

I am the daughter of women.
I am a child of their womb.
And with their help, I will not succumb.
I will pick up the broken pieces.
Sit down with them.
Listen to their voices across the age.
As I weave my story with theirs
within this circle
within this sacred space
of affirmed existence
I am finally reborn
to guiltlessly celebrate
my true essence.

Image was taken from the web.

Stay Safe

Tags

asian poetry, charlotte aninion-de guzman, Covid, Filipino poetry, Poem, Poetry, saintcharlotte, sanctuary, Stay Safe

Two words
We tell one another now.
Two words
We say to people we love.
Two words
We unselfishly speak even to strangers.

Stay – \ ˈstā
Say it, feel the words linger on your lips.
Close your eyes and listen,
To the silent meaning at the end.
Stay \ – ā \ longing, hear the unspoken desire to see the person remain unharmed.

Safe – \ ˈsāf
Breathe in, exhale, and speak the word.
Do you feel air leaving your body?
An act of passing on precious breath to another.
Safe \ – āf \ blessing someone with the very act of breathing, of living.

Two words
We utter nowadays.
Two words
Our prayer of protection.
Two words
Filled with life and determination.
To continue fighting
To keep on living.
Two words
Stay safe.

A year of quarantine and the COVID cases has risen. Yesterday (April 6) there were 9,000 new cases. We have a total of 803,000 cases since the virus appeared. A lot of people have died (13,435 deaths). The hospitals have reached their maximum capacity. Our health workers are tired, frustrated, and angry. Manila and the surrounding areas are in lockdown again. The government, it seems, has no concrete plans on how to go about things. The people are tired …. We try our best to keep on going. Every day we pray for one another to stay safe. (Manila, April 7)

A City of Words

Tags

charlotte aninion-de guzman, charlotte de guzman, Creative writing, Filipino poetry, Poem, Poetry, saintcharlotte, sanctuary

I have not the language of writers
Born from distant mountains
Children of the fields and the sky
For their words reflect the river they came from
Slow, languid, and flowing like waters from pools
Where sleepy banana trees recline on banks
Blessed by the ancient rain
And where needlepoint of sunlight never fades
But shine brightly even behind closed eyes

No, I am a daughter of the asphalt
Of the long and winding streets of this city
Where a million feet never rests
Even as the moon rides high across the midnight sky
You can hear hundreds of souls shuffling
Making their way through narrow alleyways
That lead to houses upon houses of dreams
Nestled under a sea of tin eaves
Separated by weathered roads
Where jeepneys reign and sputter at standby
As their barkers, in unison, heave and cry
A crescendo of sound, a concert of destinations
To attract the people passing by
“Come now, come now. Just one more. And we are off.”

Off deep in the city. Off to reality. Off to the daily grind.
And my words run
Letters spilling on top of one another
Like buses racing against each other
And my words intimately know the cracks on the pavement
My syllables fit snugly into every pothole
Forming neon lighted sentences beside shanties
Furiously carving out their existence,
Punctuated with the rise of every building
Reflecting the red sun against windows of glass
And all the while, people stand and fall
Just like a crowd of words, pushed and pulled
Shaped and molded into steel and grimy concrete
Never knowing rest, always changing, sharp and knowing
Tenacious, street-smart, no sugar added attitude
Dripping from my tongue like the acid retort
Of vendors and pedestrians alike
Fighting for space, fighting for life
And my words, are born out of them,
Blades of phrases, bound together
Cutting deeply into city-bred flesh
And all the while,
The sunlight shines through
Manila’s open bloodshot eyes.

Another Reason to be Thankful

Tags

charlotte aninion-de guzman, charlotte de guzman, ecopoetry, Filipino poetry, Filipino poetry in English, Poetry, saintcharlotte, sanctuary, Sustaining the Archipelago, Yolanda: The Language of Grief

Thank you, Lord 😊❤️ Finally got the personal copy of my poem – “Yolanda: The Language of Grief”, which came out in the book entitled, “Sustaining the Archipelago” from UST Publishing House. This book is the first anthology of ecopoetry in the Philippines. I am so grateful and honored that one of my poems was able to make the cut and be included in it. Thank you Rina Garcia Chua for this opportunity. God bless you more 😊 And of course, thank you Lord for everything ❤️ The glory and honor be Yours forever. #LoveYouLord 😊

The Meaning of “Hey”

Tags

charlotte aninion-de guzman, Creative writing, Love, Poetry, relationships, saintcharlotte, sanctuary

Hi, how have you been?
I know you and I haven’t talked.
Been only seeing you in my dreams.
And it’s the same old shit it seems.
Where I pretend that each IG story you post
has a coded meaning meant for me,
that only I can understand and see.
But it never really is, is it?
And it would have been great if it wasn’t so.
And it would have been greater still if you were here.
Right beside me, just like before, ready to step over the edge.
And fall totally crazy in-love, but now it isn’t so.
Because as soon as you told me how you felt, I let go.
I don’t know why, maybe I was scared, maybe it wasn’t the right time.
I was never sure and all I could hear is the distant melody of a love song.
And all I could remember is the sound of you leaving.
And sometimes I wonder if it was the right thing to
do.
But I won’t think of that, those thoughts can get me
lost.
Those thoughts lead to a crossroad, so I block them out.
And as I see your familiar face walking down the street,
those thoughts told me, to maybe reach a hand out to you.
But I steel myself and the cold wind blows the past away.
So no, I won’t think about what we once were to each other.
I’ll simply smile, nod your way, and walk past with a casual “hey”.

Image: Strangers, friends, lovers, strangers by Crystal Kung (Behance.net)

Speechless

Tags

charlotte aninion-de guzman, Creative writing, Filipino poetry in English, Love, Poetry, saintcharlotte, sanctuary

I cannot write today, dear lover
for your kisses took my words away.
Igniting little tongues of fire,
where your lips met my soft willing flesh.
Launching fireworks of desire,
which set the night ablaze with unrest
as multitudes of sparkling blossoming flowers,
illuminated the darkness with multicored lights.
Promising endless warm nights
are reflected in your bright shining eyes.
And my words burned away without rest,
for they cannot compare to the heat
of the glowing blaze of embers
left by the aftermath of your embrace.

Lovers by Lokman (IG: @princelokhmaan)

Thoughts of Rain

Tags

charlotte aninion-de guzman, charlotte de guzman, Creative writing, Filipino poetry in English, loneliness, lost love, Poem, Poetry, saintcharlotte, sanctuary, Thoughts of Rain

The world lies in a cozy blanket of gray,
and the city is a surreal painting
of misty realities, shades of dreams.
Unspoken wishes pouring from murky clouds,
raining down on window panes framing
shapes of you, racing across the sky.
Too swift, too fast for me to catch.
And in the end, all I end up holding
is the haunting memory of rain ….

Photo is mine

Grateful for the Aquarium Workshop

Tags

Aquarium workshop, charlotte aninion-de guzman, Creative writing, Poetry, saintcharlotte, sanctuary

Yehey!!! I’m grateful that our poems were exhibited in France 💖😊💖 I’m thankful to my friend, Charms Tianzon, for inviting me to join the workshop. She was an amazing workshop facilitator and we all had a great time while crafting our poems under her direction 💖 Thankful as well to have met, Issay, who was an eloquent and gracious host.

Our works have been published in the Aquarium website and I was told they are going to be published in print as well 😊💖 Thank you, Lord 💖😊Please visit the Aquarium website (https://aquarium.cargo.site) for our poetry that were inspired by various images of water, sea creatures, and aquariums 😊😊😊

Piyaya

Tags

charlotte aninion-de guzman, Creative writing, food, Literature, memories, nostalgia, piyaya, saintcharlotte, sanctuary

Food, I believe, has a way of connecting us to poignant moments in our lives. Just this morning, a small piece of simple looking bread became my source of comfort. It took me back to another time, another place – an elsewhere of good memories. This food was the piyaya.

I remember the first time I became acquainted with the piyaya. It was an overcast day. I could see the clouds racing past each other and the cold wind brushed by me with the whispered promise of rain. I hurried inside our home and I was glad school was over for the day. I was hungry, and then I saw it. I didn’t know what to make of it. It was a flat circular bread. It didn’t have any glaze, color, icing, or frosting. It physically looked unappealing.

“Piyaya!!!” My mother exclaimed happily as she took a plateful of them from my Uncle Jose’s hand.

“Here you go, manay*.” My Uncle Jose said smiling. He looked pleased with himself. “I had to line up to get them. I got you three boxes of them.” My Uncle Jose arrived from Negros at around dawn that day. He was so tired that he fell asleep as I was getting ready to go to school that morning, and judging from his uncombed hair, I could tell that he just woke up. This piyaya is probably his gift or pasalubong from Negros to us.

“Thank you, toto**.” My mom replied happily. Toto, was the pet name she had for my uncle. “I’ll give some to our neighbors. They’ll love it.”

“Lot, you’re home.” My uncle said smiling after he noticed me standing by the door. “Come here, quick. It’s piyaya. ”

I looked at it dubiosly. I reached out and gave one of it a poke. Flakes fell off it. “Ay! Don’t be an idiot, a manol****, when it comes to food. It’s delicious. Namit****. C’mon eat it.” My mom said laughing while gobbling down her third piyaya. “It goes well with coffee, I swear. Here, have some.” She said while thrusting a piece of piyaya in my hand.

I took a bite out of it, and to my surprise, a burst of sweetness melted in my mouth. It was yummy! I took one bite after another. “It is delicious.” I told my mom. Both she and my uncle laughed as I reached out for another piece. “It’s sweet, but not too sweet.”

“It’s the muscovado sugar that’s making it sweet.” My uncle explained. And so that afternoon, the rain started pouring outside, but we didn’t mind it. My mom and my uncle started telling their stories of how much they enjoyed the piyaya when they were young. They shared those memories with me. We were all partaking of the piyaya, but with each bite, we were also communing with one another. There was a downpour of laughter, stories, and shared lives.

Today, I felt lonely. I missed my mom and my uncle. I looked outside our window, and it looks like rain is coming. Then, I looked down at the piyaya on my plate, and I suddenly remembered a distant rainy afternoon. I was taken back to that other place and other time – that elsewhere of good memories. I remembered my mom smiling and I heard Uncle Jose’s laughter all over again. I took a bite of the piyaya. The sweetness filled my senses. I didn’t feel so alone anymore.

*Manay – elder sister (Hiligaynon)
** Toto – little boy (Hiligaynon)
***Manol – low, boorish, uncultured (Hiligaynon)
****Namit – delicious, yummy (Hiligaynon)

The Irony of Being Heroes

Tags

charlotte de guzman, Creative writing, Filipino poetry in English, Martial Law, Poem, Poetry, saintcharlotte, sanctuary

There are no martyrs in our land.
They say, we have no heroes.

No one chose to speak up
when they gagged our mouths.
No one chose to break free
when they tied us down.

There are no martyrs in our land.
They say, we have no heroes.

No one chose to leave their families behind
to fight for justice and democracy.
No one chose to swallow down their fear
to stand their ground and fight for dignity.

There are no martyrs in our land.
They say, we have no heroes.

No one was taken blindfolded from their homes
and their life, their brilliance, snuffed out like candlelight.
No one was shot dead in the middle of the night,
their bloated corpses found floating down our rivers.

There are no martyrs in our land.
They say, we have no heroes.

No mother or father went out looking for their child, wailing.
Pleading and crying for mercy, endlessly searching.
No one’s sister or brother lay lifeless in a ditch.
Face crushed, body mangled beyond recognition, beyond salvation.

There are no martyrs in our land.
They say, we have no heroes.

No one was whipped into silence.
Until only shreds of flesh were left,
reduced to inhuman non-existence.
No dead woman was found abused.
Eyes popped, teeth bashed to pieces, skin bruised.

There are no martyrs in our land.
They say, we have no heroes.

No one unselfishly faced death.
No one bravely fought the giant.
No one bled and painfully died.
No one defended our rights.

There are no martyrs in our land.
They say, we have no heroes.

And all your stories
All your history — are rewritten.

There are no martyrs in our land.
We have no heroes.

Ulan

Tags

charlotte aninion-de guzman, Creative writing, Filipino poetry, Love, Poetry, rain, saintcharlotte, sanctuary, tula, ulan

At dumating ang ulan,
dahan-dahang dumampi.
Isang kaibigang napadaan
sa dapithapon ng isang sawi.

Diniligan ang pag-asang nawala
at ngayon ay pinukaw ang saya
dala ng tamis ng iyong pagsinta.

Kaya halika na, sa gitna ng bagyo.
Angkinin natin ang pagiging tayo.

Sumukob ng sabay,
Sa daloy ng ako ay saiyo.

The Sunset of Us

Tags

charlotte aninion-de guzman, Filipino poetry, heartbreak, loneliness, Love, pain, Poetry, relationship, saintcharlotte, sanctuary

You are sunset to me
setting the sky ablaze
for a moment, but only for a moment,
with the colors of a thousand roses
swirling in the golden pool of desire
glittering with the sparks of stolen kisses
and the fiery touch of skin upon skin
locked in the heated promise of forever
desperately whispering promises
that would fade ever so softly, so painfully
gradually slipping through our hands.
Like the diminishing sunbeams
our story will now become a memory.
You and I, will be nothing, but distant dreams
that will keep me company
during the stillness of the oncoming night.

Photo is mine. Unretouched and unfiltered. Manila Bay. October 1, 2021. 5:51 pm

Of Wine and Wishes

Tags

charlotte aninion-de guzman, Creative writing, Filipino poetry, Filipino poetry in English, Life, Love, Poem, Poetry, saint charlotte, saintcharlotte, sanctuary

My friend, as you and I sip this wine,
under the darkness of the heavens
broken only by the light of stars
glittering in their fixed appointed places,
you told me that you realized,
after all these years of false hopes and faded promises
that one can live without love.
Forgive me, but seeing the eternal stars above,
I must confess, I have to disagree.

Listen my friend, what would we do without love?
When the cold wind blows to remind us
that somewhere in this world
there is warmth to be found,
that in the midst of a dark lonely night,
we dream of a heart beating against ours
and within our silent rooms, we embrace ourselves,
wondering as we twist and turn
the paths life carved out for us.
Yet still … we dream … that one person is out there.
Under the pale light of the moon,
we whisper a wish
for that one destined star to appear
in the vastness of the night.

Written on May 22, 2022

Photo was taken by me. December 15, 2021. 2:02am. Manila Bay

By Faith

Tags

charlotte aninion-de guzman, Covid, Creative writing, Filipino poetry in English, Life, pandemic life, Poem, Poetry, saintcharlotte, sanctuary

The 3’o clock prayer came on
and grandma started her ritual,
“You died Jesus, but the source of life
flowed out for souls, and the ocean of mercy
opened up for the whole world.
O fountain of life, immeasurable Divine mercy,
cover the whole world and empty yourself out upon us.”

I waited for her to finish before I left.
I checked and double-checked the things I needed.
Muttering under my breath, my everyday mantra –
Extra face mask – here
Alcohol – ok
Lysol spray – good.
Nowadays, we all live by faith.

“O blood and water which flowed
from the heart of Jesus as a fountain of mercy for us. I trust in you.”

While I waited, I can’t help but remember, yesterday’s conversation with the washerwoman.
Her truth rings in my ear.
“Covid ain’t real.
It’s just a sickness for rich folks.
Our children run with no masks on
and they’re alive and okay.”
She declared, her mask pulled down below her nose.
I tried to teach her the facts
while keeping my distance.
But she shook her head and grumbled,
“rich people” and turned her face away.
I asked her then in confusion,
“So why wear your mask at all?
If you believe Covid is a lie.”
Her simple reply – “I don’t want to get fined.”

The prayer ended.
Jolting me back to reality.
I left with a whispered, “amen.”
Outside, the street was crawling with people,
just like the washerwoman,
walking around with their masks pulled down.
I took a deep breath and looked up.
The bright blue sky seemed so far away.
Perhaps the washerwoman is right,
but the mask scratched at my skin.
Grandma’s prayer was somehow looped in my mind.
I chose to hold on to it.
“Holy God, Holy Mighty One,
Holy Immortal One,
Have mercy on us and the whole world.
Jesus, King or Mercy. I trust in you.”