web.breakfast

Every Day Poets
April 26, 2013

the fried eggs are sunny, the sky’s grey and dreary
still full of sleep, i creep
to the table.

breakfast is ready,
but the house’s empty;
from my pocket, my smartphone
whispers,
“online, you’re not alone.”

in america, friends are at dinner,
in asia, at lunch.

a quick picture uploaded,
and i add my breakfast
to my friends’ online food.

all is set, so i take a bite
at friendships measured by megabytes.


-Prospero E. Pulma, Jr.

sa ilalim ng iisang bubong

 

mula sa bahay na marmol

at bahay na kariton, sila’y umalis

at sumilong sa iisang bubong

para mag-pasalamat o mag-sumamo.

 

 

sa ilalim ng bubong ng bahay

ng tinatawag nilang Ama

maririnig ang maraming tinig ‑

tinig ng tuwa, tinig ng hinagpis.

 

 

iba’t ibang panalangin pero iisa ang sinasabi:

“Panginoon ko, Diyos ko.”

                                                                                                      -Prospero Pulma Jr.

Love’s Misshapen Face

broken, haunted by
love’s misshapen face,
i huddled in the
darkest corner shivering.
i dare not gaze
at its uninviting eyes
and frigid smile,
or wander to the
room’s brightest corner
where love blooms
the loveliest –
and coldest.

-Prospero Pulma Jr. (www.you.inq7.net, November 11, 2005)

The Mist

she comes stomping
on the stairs
early at dawn.
garbed in the cold,
unraveling arms
of the morning,
she fades by the sea
stirring from slumber.

--Prospero Pulma Jr.- (www.you.inq7.net, November 09, 2005)