The Ofi Press Magazine

Poems by Jonel Abellanosa (Phillipines)

Published in The Ofi Press issue 44

Manual

Articulations of shaping the human

Body, enjoying echoes in my hands from

Clay.  (I wonder if I could cut my heart like a

Diamond.)  Sometimes drawn to wood,

Excisions of the mind, carving out

Fecundity of imagination.  I look for

Grave angles, discarding strength in

Heaps.   Biceps tend to trap my gaze    

In perfection.  I mold a disdain for faces –  

Jetsam of my craft, like the radio out of

Kilter.  How countenances loved to

Linger in my dissatisfaction.  With

Muscles I was gratified, but not for long.

Not before venturing in belly flab have

Overtures of completion been firmer,

Perfecting less acute.  Like tender tickle –

Quizzical feather – this paunch fixation,

Rounding urges.  ( In repressed

Silence, quick pleasures with my hand. ) 

The languages of chest bones, reflections,

Undulations more fire than marble,

Vigor of material in the manual.

Worshipful thanksgiving to the hours

Expending wicks like nourishment.  For  

Yawps of my idolatry I enshrine my creations: 

Zests of my taboos, me as its devotee

After Midnight

I smell more after 24 hours

Of sleeplessness.  Wafts of ceramics,

Mothballs, leather belt

Warp me to childhood.  I’d hide

Under the bed, suck thumb, wet pajamas. 

Inhaling, falling asleep.

Tonight I notice apple pie and soursop

And it brings me to the church

Of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

I close my eyes to see the park,

Watch leisurely churchgoers.

I hear Derek Walcott:

I may have many sorrows,

Dawn is not one of them.

I rise from the bed’s self-gratifying smells.  

Roosters will soon remember their songs.

I brew more coffee: If sleep eludes love,

I’ll tend a garden of smells.