Haiku
Grappling with air, the
Fish just out of water swim
'Cross plastic valleys.
----------------------------------
Couplets
Grappling---the thoughts
fluttering still,
Within captured
essence, silent
Air. We hang still
like marionettes.
--------------------------
Villanelle
The table, empty and clean.
The boss, still not risen up from bed.
She asks: What do you mean?
Cloth, white to the seams.
The fish, finished up to the head.
The table, empty and clean.
You, ordered: polish 'til it gleams.
The daughter has, instead of him, broken bread.
She asks: What do you mean?
You didn't dare interrupt as you think he dreams.
But she insists, and there had to be led.
The table, empty and clean.
'Tis not good, she deems,
As you echo her dread.
She asks: What do you mean?
Nothing is what it seems.
The patriarch, now dead.
The table, empty and clean.
She asks: What do you mean?
4.9.08
oro, plata, mata
written for CW100--fiction--under Prof. Coscolluela
Her high heels echoed as she walked out of the service staircase and into the marble hallway of the building's top floor. The heavy wooden doors, marked "Executive Offices", waited for her at the end of the corridor.
She knew he should still be there, as she turned the ever-polished ever-bright brass doorknob. She then stepped inside and found him there, seated in front of a reproduction of Caravaggio's David and Goliath. It was not as hard as they--the veterans--had said, she thought.
"O iha, akala ko ba tapos na shift mo?" he casually asked, surprised at her arrival. "Baka naman masobrahan ka na sa OT nyan."
The remark nearly caught her off-guard. She tried to look the part--stoic, cold. This was a man, that despite all her preconceived notions, managed to earn her respect in the short time that she "worked" for him. It was just so sad that we had to be on opposite sides, she thought.
"Sir--"
"Yes?"
She hesitated...but she felt the cold metal brush against her skin, with only her thin blouse between steel and flesh.
"I'm sorry."
She drew the gun and shot him in the head, point-blank.
---------------
Revision: 26Sep08
Her high heels echoed as she walked out of the service staircase and into the marble hallway of the building's top floor. The heavy wooden doors, marked "Executive Offices", waited for her at the end of the corridor.
Her high heels echoed as she walked out of the service staircase and into the marble hallway of the building's top floor. The heavy wooden doors, marked "Executive Offices", waited for her at the end of the corridor.
She knew he should still be there, as she turned the ever-polished ever-bright brass doorknob. She then stepped inside and found him there, seated in front of a reproduction of Caravaggio's David and Goliath. It was not as hard as they--the veterans--had said, she thought.
"O iha, akala ko ba tapos na shift mo?" he casually asked, surprised at her arrival. "Baka naman masobrahan ka na sa OT nyan."
The remark nearly caught her off-guard. She tried to look the part--stoic, cold. This was a man, that despite all her preconceived notions, managed to earn her respect in the short time that she "worked" for him. It was just so sad that we had to be on opposite sides, she thought.
"Sir--"
"Yes?"
She hesitated...but she felt the cold metal brush against her skin, with only her thin blouse between steel and flesh.
"I'm sorry."
She drew the gun and shot him in the head, point-blank.
---------------
Revision: 26Sep08
Her high heels echoed as she walked out of the service staircase and into the marble hallway of the building's top floor. The heavy wooden doors, marked "Executive Offices", waited for her at the end of the corridor.
Such a far cry from where she began, just another employee from a rival company. Then the offer came to join the elite Circle; and propelled by the need to do something about her mother's allegedly accidental death, she said yes.
She knew he would still be there, as she reached the door and turned the ever-polished, ever-bright brass doorknob. Probably poring over work—and the little dirty details associated with it, such as forcing another company CEO to resign. But no matter--the business is dirty as it is.
She then stepped inside and found him seated in front of a reproduction of Caravaggio's David and Goliath. It was not as hard as they—the veterans—had said, she thought.
"O iha, akala ko ba tapos na shift mo?" he casually asked, surprised at her arrival. "Baka naman masobrahan ka na sa OT nyan."
The remark nearly caught her off-guard. She tried to look the part--stoic, cold. This was a man, that despite all her preconceived notions, managed to earn her respect in the short time that she "worked" for him. 'It's just so sad that we had to be on opposite sides,' she thought. Had only he joined their side.
"Sir--"
"Yes?"
She hesitated...but she felt the cold metal brush against her skin, with only her thin blouse between steel and flesh.
"I'm sorry."
She drew the gun and shot him in the head, point-blank.
31.8.08
flashback
Yeah, I know, long time no post--and I'm not even completely posting all new material. The thing is, I'm scrounging around for material for my flash fic due Sept. 11 (ominous date) and I did manage to find some on my lappy. Some were previously on the old Roseboards (now deleted) or made for it; the other still unfinished one I just imagined earlier. So, enjoy.
--------------------------->
15 minutes
I glance at my watch the moment I step out of the classroom. 16.45hrs, it said.
The event was scheduled to begin at 1700hrs +8 GMT. 15 minutes to get home. No other choice: run.
So I break into a run. Run past invitations from friends (‘Uhh, listen, I’ve got to go home early today’) and through suffocating crowds hustling to everywhere. Run across streets of cacophonous traffic, up stairs and into trains that are full of strangers that are also in a hurry to get to wherever; and those wherevers don’t seem important now. Getting home is the only important thing.
Yes, I know, just a game. But I am a gamer (and a very proud Pinay one at that), and this is my life. We are the movers and shakers of worlds in pixel through the ethereal maifestations of ourselves; and these strangers, they wouldn’t understand. Much less care.
I jostle and push my way out of the train. Bags checked, then I try to walk as fast as I can—running would attract unwanted attention at the moment. Then the last obstacle—traffic as I ride the jeep home. Only a few minutes left.
Finally, home at last! Connected, login….wait---what the hell?!
“Prepaid game time has elapsed. Please reload your accout to continue playing at http://www.roseonline.ph.”
That was the last thing I saw before I threw the mouse at the screen.
----------->
Annatariel's Story
You go inside an ordinary, almost empty room with off-white walls, and see a woman with strawberry blonde hair seated on the solitary chair inside the room. She was clad in armor--similar to the armor worn by the class of Hawkers--but you know that she is not one, from the way she sits and conducts herself. Slightly slouching, she stares back at you intently, her sea-blue eyes critiquing every inch of you, and you wince; she seems to be sticking probes in every inch of your body.
You come closer, and introduce yourself. "You must be Annatariel," you manage to utter, and offer a handshake.
"And for what reason am I summoned here?" she replies.
'So what they say about her is true' you think. "I'm here to ask you a few questions--it's for the city's Lore Compilation Division. They wished to know about your story."
"I'm surprised you actually exerted all that effort into looking for me, just to ask these questions. To sum it up in a few sentences, I had stopped training for the meantime--after all, the battle seems to be futile at this point. I laid down my sword then.
I decided to roam the plains beyond the Seven Realms, some beyond the reach of the Goddess herself, I presume. But I have always kept in touch, and I do drop by once in a while, though in different guises."
She looks slightly amused as you quickly grab a pen and a scrap of parchment, jotting down what she said.
"Well, I'm afraid I cannot tell you the whole story. I am sure that the city's rumor mill can compensate enough for that, and if you are not satisfied, you may ask my old clanmates."
She stands up and leaves you inside the room, wondering what you had said to wrong her.
------------->
Unfinished -- same time as Umbrella
His letter to me lay on the pavement, unnoticed.
I'm still waiting for him. I want him to explain, face to face, not in the form of some letter. And this bird hanging from his supposedly lofty perch has mocked me enough for the past few minutes.
Now where in the world is he anyway? I'm halfway through this cheap paperback already. It's so unlike him to become late.
---------->
Drive
How odd does this end, she thought, a taxi driver and his rearview mirror the only witnesses to a world's ending.
It was almost perfect earlier: dinner for two at a fancy restaurant, complete with violin serenade and candlelight. And him, of course, he that she hasn't seen for a long time. Then slowly the evening unraveled, culminating with a grand melodramatic phrase.
And as the Makati skyline passed her by, she realized how different now it was, now that she's all alone on the backseat of a taxi.
“Miss, okey ka lang?” the taxi driver glanced at the rearview mirror, hearing her muffled sobs.
“Okey lang po...” she replied; knowing full well that in the next few days, weeks, months she would be repeating the same phrase over and over in her head.
--------------------------->
15 minutes
I glance at my watch the moment I step out of the classroom. 16.45hrs, it said.
The event was scheduled to begin at 1700hrs +8 GMT. 15 minutes to get home. No other choice: run.
So I break into a run. Run past invitations from friends (‘Uhh, listen, I’ve got to go home early today’) and through suffocating crowds hustling to everywhere. Run across streets of cacophonous traffic, up stairs and into trains that are full of strangers that are also in a hurry to get to wherever; and those wherevers don’t seem important now. Getting home is the only important thing.
Yes, I know, just a game. But I am a gamer (and a very proud Pinay one at that), and this is my life. We are the movers and shakers of worlds in pixel through the ethereal maifestations of ourselves; and these strangers, they wouldn’t understand. Much less care.
I jostle and push my way out of the train. Bags checked, then I try to walk as fast as I can—running would attract unwanted attention at the moment. Then the last obstacle—traffic as I ride the jeep home. Only a few minutes left.
Finally, home at last! Connected, login….wait---what the hell?!
“Prepaid game time has elapsed. Please reload your accout to continue playing at http://www.roseonline.ph.”
That was the last thing I saw before I threw the mouse at the screen.
----------->
Annatariel's Story
You go inside an ordinary, almost empty room with off-white walls, and see a woman with strawberry blonde hair seated on the solitary chair inside the room. She was clad in armor--similar to the armor worn by the class of Hawkers--but you know that she is not one, from the way she sits and conducts herself. Slightly slouching, she stares back at you intently, her sea-blue eyes critiquing every inch of you, and you wince; she seems to be sticking probes in every inch of your body.
You come closer, and introduce yourself. "You must be Annatariel," you manage to utter, and offer a handshake.
"And for what reason am I summoned here?" she replies.
'So what they say about her is true' you think. "I'm here to ask you a few questions--it's for the city's Lore Compilation Division. They wished to know about your story."
"I'm surprised you actually exerted all that effort into looking for me, just to ask these questions. To sum it up in a few sentences, I had stopped training for the meantime--after all, the battle seems to be futile at this point. I laid down my sword then.
I decided to roam the plains beyond the Seven Realms, some beyond the reach of the Goddess herself, I presume. But I have always kept in touch, and I do drop by once in a while, though in different guises."
She looks slightly amused as you quickly grab a pen and a scrap of parchment, jotting down what she said.
"Well, I'm afraid I cannot tell you the whole story. I am sure that the city's rumor mill can compensate enough for that, and if you are not satisfied, you may ask my old clanmates."
She stands up and leaves you inside the room, wondering what you had said to wrong her.
------------->
Unfinished -- same time as Umbrella
His letter to me lay on the pavement, unnoticed.
I'm still waiting for him. I want him to explain, face to face, not in the form of some letter. And this bird hanging from his supposedly lofty perch has mocked me enough for the past few minutes.
Now where in the world is he anyway? I'm halfway through this cheap paperback already. It's so unlike him to become late.
---------->
Drive
How odd does this end, she thought, a taxi driver and his rearview mirror the only witnesses to a world's ending.
It was almost perfect earlier: dinner for two at a fancy restaurant, complete with violin serenade and candlelight. And him, of course, he that she hasn't seen for a long time. Then slowly the evening unraveled, culminating with a grand melodramatic phrase.
And as the Makati skyline passed her by, she realized how different now it was, now that she's all alone on the backseat of a taxi.
“Miss, okey ka lang?” the taxi driver glanced at the rearview mirror, hearing her muffled sobs.
“Okey lang po...” she replied; knowing full well that in the next few days, weeks, months she would be repeating the same phrase over and over in her head.
21.7.08
plurk'd
Just to keep my sanity while writing those one-paragraph critiques for CW100 (and yes, I was pretty busy this weekend), I finally succumbed to the lure of plurking (see little widget below the shoutbox at right). That doesn't mean that I'll be abandoning this blog; on the contrary, I'll use it as my corkboard of sorts for random ideas that are too short to put up on the blog, or good phrases that I want to keep for later.
I'm also planning to start on the 140-character flash fics/poetry on Plurk (because of the 140-character limit that they have when, well, plurking)--thanks to Jojo for the idea. 8-> So far I haven't thought of anything yet, but well, I'll try to get there--it's something different from just asking questions and stuff on your Plurk. :)
Now to go back to the poem I'm supposed to submit tomorrow. @_@
I'm also planning to start on the 140-character flash fics/poetry on Plurk (because of the 140-character limit that they have when, well, plurking)--thanks to Jojo for the idea. 8-> So far I haven't thought of anything yet, but well, I'll try to get there--it's something different from just asking questions and stuff on your Plurk. :)
Now to go back to the poem I'm supposed to submit tomorrow. @_@
8.7.08
bananacue
Cheap, common, delicious.
I'd find you along Aurora
Peddled by old ladies
In the darkness between watch repair stores
And cheap stamp-makers.
Your fried, golden-brown skin
Breaks on my lips
As I bite.
But you're of old stock banana
Overripe, even.
You're beat-up
By the days and nights,
Mushy with the promises
Of old love songs
And princes that will carry you away.
Somehow, the heat
Made you tougher than you were
Firmness of your flesh.
And you're sweet, sugar
Like your name.
I withdraw the stick,
After it has so (un)ceremoniously
Pierced your flesh.
I'd find you along Aurora
Peddled by old ladies
In the darkness between watch repair stores
And cheap stamp-makers.
Your fried, golden-brown skin
Breaks on my lips
As I bite.
But you're of old stock banana
Overripe, even.
You're beat-up
By the days and nights,
Mushy with the promises
Of old love songs
And princes that will carry you away.
Somehow, the heat
Made you tougher than you were
Firmness of your flesh.
And you're sweet, sugar
Like your name.
I withdraw the stick,
After it has so (un)ceremoniously
Pierced your flesh.
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