Tulo Ka Matang

Poetry by | April 26, 2015

alibangbang
nitugpa sa bulak
gikulbaan
pako di mabuklat
alibangbang
nawagtang ang kiat
ginapugngan
sa hangin mukalat
apan…
alindanaw
nilupad kapaspas
gilamian
nikirig ang lawas
alindanaw
gibitbit ang hawak
nitugsaw
sa tubig gilamat
apan,
ang apan niambak.


Rory Ian Bualan usa ka OFW sa Indonesia.

Attack on Words

Poetry by | August 10, 2014

I am beneath your words
I climb up
Holding on to each word you say
I cling
To the nice adjectives
I am beneath your words
I stand up
With my chin up I look straight
I stare
On paragraph walls
I am beneath your words
I run fast
Sprinting towards the blockade
I hit hard
Your privilege speech –
down it came
yo ur
p er
su as
ive
e
s
s
a
y


Rory is a physics teacher in an international school in Indonesia.

Claveria

Poetry by | March 2, 2014

It is not fun, you know,
standing here in Claveria
with the jeepney barkers
mocking my uncertainty —
shouting names of places
where to go.

Where should I go?

It is funny, you know,
when vendors offer sympathy
besides sliced fruits or fried skins
and you nod, force a smile because
you don’t eat street food.
But then you go look around
the streets of Bolton, San Pedro,
even Torres to satisfy a craving
for crabs and eat-all-you-cans.

Perhaps, perhaps.

But them barkers’ voices ring loud:
Sasa! Panacan! SM Lanang! Toril!

Then, red light.
You cross the street,
walk aimlessly.
Hands in pocket,
jacket zipped up,
your steps doubtful.
Then you feel:
it’s time to go.

But where?!


Rory is a Physics teacher eating, praying and loving in Indonesia.

Thanks, Mayor

Poetry by | July 7, 2013

Nagpa-fireworks si Mayor.
Nagpakaon, nangimbita
Nagdala ug artista.

Bag-ong elect si Mayor.
Nagpalabas, nagpasikat
Ang army giimbita.

Nang-invite si Mayor.
Alfred Gatchalian, etc.
Kapamilya diay siya.

Nag-”thank you” si Mayor.
Sa namoto, sa kalaban
Nagpalapad ug papel.

Nag-speech si Mayor.
Plano sa kalambuan
Nangayo ug pagsabot.

Nag-end ang speech.
Si Mayor nilingkod.
Milabas ang mga dancers.
Nisayaw si Mayor.
Palakpak mga tawo.
Salamat! Salamat!
Mitugtog ang band.
80’s disco ang peg;
Nanayaw mga tao.
Lima, unom, pito ka kanta.
Pagaw na ang vocalist

Last song for the night:
”Boys do fall in love -”
Mayor is out of sight
Slipped through the VIP pass…
So the party ended –

And there goes my vote:
One night of band music,
school girls dance mix,
local showbiz celebrities
and transvestite hosts.

Next election na pud.


Rory is a physics teacher who likes to write poems.

Walking Alone in Ilustre



Poetry by | December 16, 2012

You stand there,

fixed with an intention

as I walk with uncertainty,

looking for street lights

in this cold, dark eleven thirty air.



The damp cement casts 

small, vertical white clouds,

breathing out the day’s frustrations 

telling me it’s empty; save for some 

taxis lining up for a late catch.



Tall, intimidating walls of 

this giant we hail ‘GS’ greet

me in a nonchalant way.

And my feet carried me to its

lonely, awkwardly angled corners – 

where fixed intentions meet.



Taking a sharp turn, 

I walk towards the
almost-erased street sign.

There I stand feeling pierced

by sharp, eager eyes probing.



But then, there you are.

You with your intention, 

heading toward me.

Co-Creator

Poetry by | June 17, 2012

Today, I decide to become
a co-creator of God.
I decide when mornings come,
and the colors they will fashion.
I decide how the skies will be
in the dawn, noon, dusk and
during the last part of the day.
I decide where the winds blow,
what songs they will sing and
which blades of grass to bend.
I decide how water comes forth,
from the sky as rain, hail, or snow;
from deep within the earth or from
the vast depths of the teal ocean.
Yes, I decide on the color of things.
I decide how the flowers and trees
greet the daylight and moonlight;
what colors they wear, what hue
or tint of this and that; I decide that.
I decide how loud or soft the birds’
singing, the animals’ calling and
the thunder’s clapping, I decide.
I decide which nation leads and
which ones bow to its glory!
I decide who and what will come
to pass: life, time, or money.
I decide on peoples’ dreams,
their will, what future they’ll keep.
I decide on fate; I decide.
And oh, I decide on love.
I decide on who gives it,
receives it, needs it, wants it!
Even the glitters on a butterfly’s wing,
the order of the afternoon rainbow’s skin,
the number of drops of the scheduled rain,
I decide on that!
I decide on creation.
I decide what ends, what begins,
what moves, what sits still!
I decide this, yes, I decide.
Today, I decide to become –
a creator of
g  o  d.


Thirtysumthing, physics preacher, poem writer, instagram avid user (which disqualifies me as a photographer/DSLR expert) and lover.

<3

Poetry by | February 6, 2011

They defined love right before we knew it;
boxed it, typecast it even before we saw it,
and actually felt it:
     bright red silk and sheets
     of sun-dried passion;
yet they never told us it could be this painful. About Rory Bualan: “I teach, read and write. 😉 …and eat and diet.”

Rampa

Poetry by | August 22, 2010

Mihiwi ang tul-id
sa pag-agi mo:

Buhok pay imo
nga dunay kompas –
giwakli-wakli sa huyop
sa hangin nangambras.

Mata mong gangisi
daw gisungog sila –
mipitok-pitok luyo sa
siga ning hapona.

Liog mo pang
hastang lunoya –
gaduyan-duyan uban’s
mitalidhay mong higala.

Hawak mo pa lagi
nga gahinay-hinay –
nahadlok mapiko,
sa batsi galikay-likay.

Tiil, duna kay tulo,
gapulihanay ug duso –
pirting amping, kimbot;
maski ang isa wa’y koko.

Mihiwi ang tul-id
sa pag-agi mo;
Ug ako mipadaplin
uban sa biay-biay’ng
wa gyud nimo gipansin.

—-
Rory Bualan enjoys reading Steve Berry.

Buddy

Poetry by | February 7, 2010

He took his time and made up his mind,
now he talks in front with spectacles on:

“This is not a way of life—it’s the way I am.”
So the line goes; and being sarcastic
makes him feel good, like a pat on his
square-model shoulders.

He glanced at the sun, noticed it’s early;
so he lingered and walked like forever.

“It is not fashion, babe, it’s passion!”
So he proclaims! And comments, rants,
insults with pure joy and pride—like
a panelist in one of those ramp realities.

Continue reading Buddy

Sabot

Poetry by | September 6, 2009

Kon mobawog na gani ang kumpay,
Mga bituon motalidhay,
Duyog sa kagabhion,
Mohulat pod nimog padayon.

Diri sa ko maglingkod-lingkod,
Subang gipayongag panganod;
Diris daplin ko moagik-ik,
Inig singgit unya sa langit –

“Pagdali na kay tili-tili na ra ba!”

Ang tangkay mibawog sa huyop sa hangin.
Ang mga bituon mitalidhay apan wa magpabilin;
Gikaon sa kagabhion, naputos sa dayon…
Padayon gihapon ko sa paghuwat –

Diri magtindog-tindog,
Sipa-sipaon ang tuod
Ug maghandom, mag-ampo,
Nga unta wala ka makalimot nako.

Continue reading Sabot