Thursday, November 30, 2017

Saturday, November 11, 2017


In the midst of tumbling drops
trampled by wheels upon puddles,
the sound of resurrection promised 


Motorcycles' side mirrors bathed
in mist, the starer almost crying, lined
the course home swiftly moving.
Twilight in might, vehicular lights
formed a globule: a tunnel's end

to all the deaths slipping by sight,
to all the perish melting in memory.

As the motorcycle cradled its passenger
towards the light at once confused
with concrete delusion, the whirring,

the blaring and the blasting

slowed the time down, fingers pointing
to light as if afar. Promises, meant
to lift a race, reduced to metaphors

for a bliss yet to come, to pour down.

Poem by: Aloy Polintan
Photo by: Joemill Veloso Flordelis

Image: Dumaguete City, Philippines

Sunday, August 13, 2017


Shoot whoever comes your way. Kill in whatever way whoever does not speak the way you do. That's the smooth path. Cleanse the way off dirt. Ease the pain. That's all I can teach you. So you could survive in my absence. So you could stand your way. Whenever guns are pointed at you. Guns not the same with yours. That's all I can teach and give. So you could feed yourself for a lifetime. Not with fish but ammunition. Eager to pulverize. Wrap your forehead with a band. So they will know you. That you are a cleanser of a man. Of a tribe. Of a land. Walk along the tombstones. Count the bodies you flagellated. Ones that decayed. Thrust your rifle on the ground. Urinate on the shaft. Own your kingdom increasing in number. That's all I can share. Multiply. Indoctrinate bereft mothers and children.

Poem by: Aloy Polintan
Photo by: Joemill Veloso Flordelis

Image: Talisay City, Cebu, Philippines