Sa Ukay-Ukay

a binalaybay by Roger B Rueda

Sa ukay-ukay, ukay-ukay gid ang tanan.

Ukay diri, ukay didto.

May ara nga nagaluhod

sang pili, may ara nga daw wala

pakadtuan, ang iban galalambing

na sang ila napilian.

May ara man nga ginakagab-ihan.

May ara man nga nagaagiagi lang,

kuno abi wala sia iya gasuksok

bayo halin sa ukay-ukay.

Dugaydugay, ang bata

sang haciendera

nag-abot kag nangukay man.

Amo man ang sosyalera

nga manunulat sang pagkaon

kag tag-iya sang mga bantog

nga kalan-an.

Sa ukay-ukay, ukay-ukay gid ang tanan.

Suba sang Iloilo

a binalaybay by Roger B Rueda

Sang una, ang suba sang Iloilo damu
nagalangoylangoy nga maduagon
nga putos sang kalanönon.
Ang mga bata tapos kaon sang ila
balon, dayon dalagan sa taytay
kag didto ila ihulabog
ang nanarisari nga plastik
nga nanarisari man ang duag
kag kadakuon.
Katahum sa ila tulukon.
Daw nagahampanghampang
lang sila sa babaw sang taytay
samtang ang ila mga nanay
nagayuhumyuhum.
‘Toto kag Inday,
tapos kaon, ipalak ninyo
inang putos didto,’
dayon tudlo sang taytay.
Ang iban didto man gapamusön.
Ang mga pamalay
sa suba ang ila ugsaran.
Ang iban nga mga bata
kasadya nga nagalangoylangoy
sa malaata nga tubigsuba.
Subong  ang suba maduagon
man gihapon.
Damu bangibangi
sa panghigadon.
Wala na ang mga plastik
nga nagautawütaw sa tubig
kundi mga panganod na
kag mga pispis nga
nagalupadlupad sa idalum sang tubigsuba.

Purple Puto

a poem by Roger B Rueda

Was being had for lunch by a couple,

their faces looking famished,

pale, underfed,

their clothes – ukay-ukay ones

were much better,

an elevated patch of plants

their seat.

At our approach they hid

themselves behind a luxury car

and a squad car

parked along the street

across from a hall of justice

jarred by an earthquake.

I tried to point at the purple puto

they were eating but my friends

carrying their Chowking

and Greenwich takeaways

hadn’t got interested in it

as we all were about

to enter a hotel,

just happy about the colour.

I turned my face back

to sneak  a look at the couple

to see what they were doing:

They were kissing and cuddling

in front of scooting passers-by,

feeding each other

the purple puto. My friends were

busy with their iPhones and Samsungs.

Aga Pa Taksi Na

a binalaybay by Roger B Rueda

Ang mga bata nagabarangisi

samtang sila nagataksi –

ang ila tingong gapalanglapaw,

hala daw walay katapusan

nga kinalipay, nga binahigay,

ang ila mga nanay 

saku inistoryahanay –

nagahingutänay,

nagalinagsanay,

nagasinuyaay,

kag nagalibakanay.

Sa punta ayon may nagatumpok 

nga higku sang idu, ginalangawan,

may ara man nga ginlapta

sang nagägi nga salakyan,

mauluaslum sa panimahuan.

Dugaydugay inaway,

singgitanay.

Dala lang ina sang hilab sang tiyan 

kay may ara pa nga

wala pa kapamahaw

kay indi na sila pagpautangon sang

tupad-balay kay wala pa  nakayö 

ang sikad nga ginaarkilahan sang ila amay.

Taksi means coin game. A player has to knock all the coins in a grid, from the starting point.

Wild Grasses

a poem by Roger B Rueda

All of eight, I’d pull up wild grasses

like our neighbour’s gay boarder

removing

his moustache with a straight,

firm pull with tweezers,

or our neighbour

shaving her leg hairs off.

When I went for a walk

with my grandmother, Nanay,

I’d nip the shoots

of wild grasses along the road.

I’d smile to think

how useless they were.

When Nanay called my name,

I'd jump to my feet

and lobe the shoots

onto the sky.

It'd send the birds flying away,

fazing them.

Now I wag my head sorrowfully.

Laws

a poem by Roger B Rueda

are now circumstance like virulent toxic put in

like nameless berries

in the garden, deliberate & posited,

their gazes so dumb like gourds

hanging from their trellis.

Guard against them –

they’re noxious when the gardener

wants to set you against everyone

in the garden.

It’ll come to be pestilential,

in a flash, so mystical,

so mercurial.

It’s a ruse, not a rose –  

everyone can scoff them,

but only on the sly,

or amongst heavies,

or amongst mangoes, bananas,

pumpkins, lemons, curries,

valenciana, yolks, honeydews,

mums, ylang-ylangs,

sunflowers, corns, ducklings!

When the gardener spurns you,

don’t be a grasshopper grasping

at a spur; you’ll snuff it.

Remember you’ve had the deadly drupes.

They all will finger you

as if only you were filthy.

Slope off in silence

before everyone yanks you out of the garden.