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"In March I'll be rested, caught up and human."

– Sylvia Plath, from a letter to "Aurelia Plath" written c. February 1953

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i have seen the protagonists– the central roots of the  house– godless sometimes,

often a fever i don’t know how to soothe, even  my hands bald its nails;

still incapable to pull daffodils out from backbones.

it is what i wished to scatter– O sweet, sweet infestation– of bare people; bare,

yet flowery.

—admer balingan, excerpt from Name Your Fist After Tenderness, "The Liar Protagonists"

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i wanted to see the world in a clearer view

than the water i remember from my mother’s eyes.

it glistened, and i once thought that the world was right there;

the beauty was there because the water

came from my mother.

wasn’t that a clear picture of the world?

fluids leaking from a compassionate body, often wordless,

and the gods have always spoken on her behalf.

i heard her silence, of course–

it was quiet needles frolicking like sleepless children also lulled

by blades,

—admer balingan, excerpt from bury my leaves in your ears, "mother"

#poetry #poets on tumblr #poets of tumblr #poems #poetsofinstagram #poetsofig #poem #poets #poem of the day #writers and poets

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tell the city to stay quiet, 

like a serene sky after a war. 

let the room be occupied with soft-spoken 

flowers, soundless trees, introverted neighbors—

almost like statues;

free of long, long, long speeches.

—admer balingan, excerpt from fish deprived, "from the dead to the living".

#poetry #poets of tumblr #poems #poetsofinstagram #poets on tumblr #poets #poem of the day #poetsofig #writers and poets #poem

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besides, sunset stands next to our bones. the night lingers on our fingertips, and we are so, so used to what fades before our eyes, and to the darkness that comes after it.

—admer balingan, excerpt from fish deprived, "kiss against the tide".

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what curse does this back carry? it's as if a kingdom had crumbled like a tender age, fruits then become wrinkled– like a Vendor deep-burnt to the sun– another face was born, yet still marked with old generation,

—admer balingan, excerpt from metamorphosis, "kingdom eyes".

#poetry #poets on tumblr #poetsofig #poems #poets of tumblr #poets #poetsofinstagram #poem of the day #poem #writers and poets

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i am not sure, i just walk directionless –

all bare –

and bones vividly scatter outside the skin

without a birthplace. 

or who owns them?

i don't know, where the ground is,

or a body with two large eyes,

and feet– well-connected – one.

i float, perhaps.

what is this? air? dream? nightmare? clouds?

—admer balingan, excerpt from name your fist after tenderness, "shiny slates".

#poem #poetsofig #poetsofinstagram #poems #poem of the day #poets #poets of tumblr #poetry #poets on tumblr #writers and poets

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and i wish, sometimes, the birds carry my voice to you 

by pecking at your windows–

loud, successive, almost raging–

until your windows leak, and

get broken. until the glasses rattle to the

foot of your bed, to your bedsheets, to your

blanket, to your eyes.

i wish, sometimes, you won't hate the

birds for waking you up.

—admer balingan, excerpt from fish deprived, "hear the birds pecking at your windows".

#poetry #poem #poetsofig #poems #poem of the day #poets of tumblr #poetsofinstagram #poets on tumblr #poets #writers and poets

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i want to be like that –

largely a morning person

or nocturnal roses compelled 

to survive fogs, molten guns

and stay wide awake

with vivid eyes, eager

not to miss the bullets 

that burst into twilights.

—admer balingan, excerpt from name your fist after tenderness, "twilight bullets".

#poetry #poem #poetsofig #poetsofinstagram #poets #poem of the day #poems #poets on tumblr #poets of tumblr #writers and poets

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i do not long for the sun to dry me;

i have discarded it in front of your god– with my hands

wide open, bold-faced– see? 

nothing.

the child there is dead now; nobody glows gold from there–

warm-blooded– and baby fingers

climb up like edible flowers.

i have no names for them; they look unbaptized, faceless

when they cling to my body

like beggars wringing for miracles

out of me.

—admer balingan, excerpt from beggars of god.

#poetry #poets on tumblr #poets of tumblr #poems #poets #poem of the day #poetsofig #poem #poetsofinstagram #writers and poets

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This poem is stained with my absence, it refuses to write itself.

— Fray Narte

Photo screencapped from: The Secret Of Roan Inish (1994) // Dir. John Sayles

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i’ve then got an excuse to rescue my teeth– the shiniest ones out of corrosion. 

this is my right to exit from young tragedies and enter again with

a prosthetic tooth; an alternative for voice echoing backwards.

—admer balingan, excerpt from birthright.

#poem #poetsofig #poems #poets #poetsofinstagram #poets on tumblr #poets of tumblr #poem of the day #writers and poets #poetry

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i want no leaves from you, falling heavy

as soulless eyes,

devoid of human– standing before me as

though a proud god

with tongue moist and pampering–

forgive me, i don’t soften terribly with this adulation.

—admer balingan, excerpt from forest boy.

#poetry #poem #poetsofig #poetsofinstagram #poets on tumblr #poets of tumblr #poets #poems #poem of the day #writers and poets

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"for a while. i'm breathing clean, and anibong is home tiptoeing on my hair, on my skin, softly. lovingly. for a while, i sink into this sweet fleeting reverie that blurs all the bitter recollection of mornings."

— admer balingan, excerpt from metamorphosis, "daydreams on my desk"

#poetry #poem #poetsofig #poetsofinstagram #poets of tumblr #poems #poets on tumblr #poets #poem of the day #writers and poets

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... the roof just becomes a landfill for god-wasted human whose skin, desacralized. whose heart, a popped tire. and flowers grow ill, flowerless, unanimated; miracles don't grow shiny teeth, face, sense; and become a shrine, a boy– white porcelain– so, so beautiful to touch.

— admer, excerpt from metamorphosis, "dreamscape"

#poetry #poem #poets on tumblr #poetsofig #poets of tumblr #poetsofinstagram #poems #poets #poem of the day #writers and poets

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"I inherited the sting of my mother's wounds — her madness and propensity for hurting. But not quite her bravery nor her capacity to carry such wounding weights."

Femininity meets madness in my second book, Persephone, Descending.  🤎✨Buy a copy for your girl dinner 💋 ₱380

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"inside this chest, mostly— angels sing of unquiet sorrows,"

— admer balingan, excerpt from metamorphosis, "Sweet Elvie"

#poetry #poem #poetsofig #poets of tumblr #poets on tumblr #poetsofinstagram #poets #poems #poem of the day #writers and poets