poetry from my youth
October 19th, 2005Here are a few poems I wrote, a long time ago.
Actually, I was rummaging through some old boxes in my garage and found all sorts of interesting things from my past. These are a few of them (and I’ll post more poems later):
. . . .
Untitled (#53)
tensions ease
and friends converse
while savoring the
taste of dark, red wine
street lights
create a mysterious glow
through the fog at night…
topics like
politics, world religions, and
personal philosophies come
to mind
And the conversation
leads to a friendly chat
with occasional yawns
all is quiet
it is quite late
by Carlos Rull - May 27, 1980
. . . .
On Narra Street
funny how the heat
was deadened by shock
when that echoed call
had altered the moment
on a bright and hot Iriga morning
heat and humidity was never felt
(perhaps never will)
Nono and I sprinted
down the long, narrow street
thick jungles of coconut trees and sago palms rose
then diminished to each side of us
gazing up the street
at the growing crowd;
quick flashbacks of conversation
with old grandfather
intermingled…
with the scene
before my eyes
(talks of “the States”… the central theme)
oh how grandfather wished to go there
and I looked up at that morning sun
amongst cumulus clouds…
the sun’s rays on my back
the damp moistness in the air
from grandfather’s porch we sat and talked…
then Non and I left him for a while…
on approaching the crowd
my mind read all in total prediction
funny how the pain seemed
to permeate through, that
blanketed moistness of the air
and, inside… the crowd
an ocean of grief remained
and more relatives flocked
in foreboding confusion
on approaching the tricycle
where grandma was helped to
perplexed and delirious
she was almost fainting
and i remember she was fanned by
one of the twins
(a young girl, one of my cousins)
and tears escaped grandma’s eyes
and with a first glimpse, of true agony
she reached out to me…
“Carlito! Carlito! Your Lolo is dying!”
later…
my youngest auntie asked me,
“Do you want to see your Lolo?”
I said, “Yes”.
I jumped into the tricycle
and we drove quicky to the hospital….
by Carlos Rull - October 23, 1978
October 21st, 2005 at 4:52 pm
oh carlos… your works/ art or music or poetry…. fantastic. i think you have this ability to really state clearly what’s happening and although i wasn’t even born in 78…. i feel like my heart has felt the same as yours.
i’ll try to dig up some of my poetry… i think it’s lost under my bed in boxes somewhere.
October 21st, 2005 at 10:33 pm
thanks so much, annie! i would love to read some of your poetry.