Poetry

Title

Poetry

Language

English

Year

1961

Rights

In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted

Abstract

Time treasures, the sacred hours by Roger V. Lactao
Love could be you by Daisy Mate
2 verses on the lighter side by Praxedes P. Bulabog
Embolden by Wilfredo M. Chica
Call by Lamberto G. Ceballos
Unravel by Wilfredo M. Chica
Firefly by Paul M. Rodriguez

Fulltext

O £ 7 K Y e by: ROGER V. LACTAO Time treasures the sacred hours Of tvhoever cleanses his brain Though gospels often shine unseen. Truth is sunrise, it is one Meaningless now as has been, Like fragrance from blooming flowers: They’re magnets to minds awakening. Enroll now in this free school Sling your books of tarnished aims Leave nothing, bring them all Stand for sentence, its your claim Swallow everything, sweet or sour This moment is your sacred hour. COM by DAISY MATE love could be you in a scent of blue-grass, playing tricks on memory, like a tune love could be in your voice whispering like pain or melody. love could be in the promise of autumn, beautiful to memory love could be in the long look you gave me that went with words love could be in the influence of sweet summer tvinds love could be in every hurried weather. it could be you somewhere in the tumblings of white balloon clouds on blue sky. it could be you in the mood of June: bird-song around love could be you . . . SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER, 1961 Page VERSES on the Lighter Side by PRAXEDES P. BULABOG eason (during Lent) How young are you today, my lad? Sir, Tve reached the age of reason. But why, my hoy, look you so sad? Sir, it is the season. He sighs, he mutters and moans; He tears his hair for inspiration; Then lo! comes that haunting line Which he scribbles long and fine But heck, how can I be a poet When I ape ditties from a song hit? 7 by WILFREDO M. CHICA if i can utter you and sigh to find my breath so fondly heard and whispered soft to homing breeze as that sweet answer my heart craves, then i will dare what distant cliffs to mule these lips and songs they lay. if i can warm my soul to bear the cool, lambent morning’s spray with nascent hope your sight will fill those silk-empty chambers of my sleep, then i will dread no dear dream lost, no silence, no darkness, no waiting on the lee the soul of fire must rise and reach so will my love climb yon Darien peak. by: LAMBERTO G. CEBALLOS let what winds hear: this world wears ugly, the air sick — come, death. let what flesh bear witness: mail-fisted hands of pain, my body writhing mute — come, death. let tortured minds tell: birds seeking nirvana, up where space dwells — come, death. Page 12 THE CAROLINIAN ]nrave by WILFREDO M. CHICA these things i ponder, being young: silk, slimy snake hands stealthing on white flesh the glow of mother kissing little Beb good night people passing this beggar, afraid of other looks lyo Terio, hungry and impatient before the sunset that question from the depths: what does God want of me? that girl, this feeling, eluding grasp or reach middle-aged men, haunted by dark, half-open doors somewhere this prince, cursing the stony silence of his God and time, wafting these in the mind, like Penelope tveaving and unweaving her tapestry. by PAUL M. RODRIGUEZ I can see you only in the dark, this dark that devours your light. Firefly, flying in the night, searching in the dark, questioning the night: What is it that you find? Love wanderer, do you know you are portrait of my mind, meandering through the halls of life, thinking, reflecting, searching the meaning of it all with mortal reason as my guide? The night speaks of men all blown to high conceit, are now begone; But I, I am no color to the light: 1 can be seen only in the night That devours my own light. SEPTEMBER-OCTOBER. 1961 Page 13

Media