Yldara - A Glimpse at Poetry & Life

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Treats At Davao Times Beach

Friday, October 23rd, 2009

Treats At Davao Times Beach

Those oysters to be had fresh and sweet
just clinging to some rocks; fishermen
pulling in their load before sunrise –
bygone treats. Who is footing the bill?

Yldara / Maria Stanphill 0611070918

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Above is another example of a quatrain considered good enough by my editor/mentor for publication. The writers in our group were tasked with writing poetry in any form that depicts the man made changes in nature and our surroundings.

Since I happen to have been born and also grew up in Davao City, I decided to make it my own “mini” challenge. I love the beaches of Davao and nearby Samal Islands, but Davao Times Beach holds a special place in my heart. Many of my happy, childhood memories happened thereabouts.

I remember the many times my siblings, cousins and neighbors sneaked out to go to that particular beach. There were not a lot of huts for rent then. The structures that were there were mostly what I would call organic in composition.

Davao Times Beach at sunrise was peaceful. It was quiet except for the sound of waves crashing and the occasional splash and giggles we kids would make.

One could make a meal out of the bounty we would find on the beach. There were also these rocks that jaunted so and most had oysters just waiting for anyone to make a treat out of. Back then, you could help the fisherman pull in his net and as a reward you get some of the haul: fish, shrimp and whatnot.

I have not been back for over ten years. Recently, I googled (such an odd term!) Davao Times Beach and got quite a surprise. Instead of endless sandy beachfronts - I was being shown houses, resorts and everything else but the beach that I remember.

What my childhood friends and I experienced was not a dream but sadly now are just memories. Hopefully, Davaoenos will take steps to NOT make Davao Times Beach - a nightmare.

(1 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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Akamai smiles

Thursday, January 8th, 2009

swaying, dancing
in silence
music streaming
from her soul
graceful, hardy
she is more

like blue green waves,
rising tall -
falling, breaking
unmindful
of hot white sands
underfoot

Yldara/ Maria Stanphill 1211070932

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Of Creaky Steps And Yellow Roses

Tuesday, September 16th, 2008

Attached to a house, up a hill
is a porch time has weathered well.
Yellow roses, in bounty spill
through a latticework’s weaving spell.

Paint has peeled all over the place;
some rusted nails have come undone;
still it exudes, a warmth and grace
that to me, comes second to none.

Creaky steps add an odd beauty
to this porch I hold in my heart.
For it speaks of its own duty -
when I come and when I depart.

How I treasure the times of old
impressed, engraved on every post;
the never-ending stories told,
by this quaint space, I cherish most.

Yldara 200807223

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Unlikely Couple

Monday, January 28th, 2008

He is an Anglo Saxon man
Protestant by faith, a Texan
She is brown of skin, dark of hair
raised by tradition and prayer

He swears to never marry one
whose faith is like that of a nun
She holds no hope for foreign men
Faith and work kept her going then

He looks for something on the net
finds an agency without sweat
She gets asked why she’s not married
by a friend who has remarried

He gets on with his selection
can cook: a must in description
She receives many letters now
politely writing back somehow

He then writes to thirty in all
considers one or more, to call
She obtains her nineteenth letter
and answer it, she had better

He reads her note taken aback
not by what she had written back
She wrote again, after a week
his letter was a tad unique

Somehow it worked and came to pass
eight years of marriage, now surpass
He is her friend, husband you see
She is his match and mom to three

yldara 050507700

(1 votes, average: 5 out of 5)

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Joaquin

Saturday, January 19th, 2008

Growing up in poverty and conflict, I may have known some people who could be classified as “Notorious”- in one form or another. Yet, for the life of me, when tasked to pretend to know one and write about them, all I could do was ask my father-in-law, if he knew or heard of anyone notorious enough to write about. He then proceeded to tell me of about this guy, Joaquin Murietta, who supposedly got captured and beheaded, with his head being put on display.

There seems to be a lot of myth, good old-fashioned rumor and half-truths about the guy and his story (life and death) from what little research I could do due to an imposed time constraint. But I figured, if he made a good subject of both fiction and truth, he would make a good subject to write about in a poem (however weird, it may seem).

Here’s what I came up with under 15 minutes of writing and editing:

Joaquin

You walk a path, grim trodden
Bent on avenging those you lost
Blood, stains your worn dark boots
Dead bodies, strewn in your wake

Was it not but a while ago
you tended to farming with such love?
Now your eyes are cold as ice
Your heart, beats terror and death

Wish time could be rolled back
to days of love, hope and peace
when your smile and laughter
yielded more, than golden fields

Yldara 2511070642

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She reminds me

Sunday, January 13th, 2008

She reminds me Of a pale yellow rosebud
attempting to bloom in the rain
while the frost of winter thaws
slowly seeps, into thirsting earth

She blossoms in defiance
petals opening, reaching out
to touch hardened hearts
and souls, aged by sorrow

She believes, hopes and endures
more than most, yielding only
to time; withering, resistant
fragrant still, even then

Yldara 1101080712

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Gift and Witness

Thursday, November 15th, 2007

Gift and Witness

The clink of your coin in a tin cup
was all that bore witness to a gift
just a moment caught in time, impressed
in the heart of a blind street beggar

Yldara 0611070734

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Shoe Shine Boy

Thursday, November 8th, 2007

Shoe Shine Boy You made them shine,
all sizes and kinds. Shoes,
of others, entrusted to hands
chaffed and callused – yours.

For years, you polished,
worked – before and after
school; struggling with a load
of rags and borrowed books.

Recently, I saw you give
a shoe shine boy his tip;
his eyes grew big as saucers –
a chauffeur drove you away.

Yldara 0811070722

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Patchwork Child

Thursday, November 1st, 2007

Patchwork Child

You rode the harsh storms in silence
a warrior with lips pursed tight
Tresses, parted in the middle
A white blossom behind your ear

In your bare hands are held tightly
Strings and rags, age-yellowed and worn
Your eyes, a veil of pain endured
In the hushed dark nights of conflict

Hunger is just one more worry
Your weary mind cannot indulge
Like the sadness that hung heavy
At your hearts door - unsatisfied

Through it all, you rise, soul intact
With collected strength, weaving dreams
Piece by piece, patch by patch, joining
A patchwork of life: full and true

Yldara 201007808