Artchil Daug Poems

The swinging axe, my axe, disturbed,
beneath the grim and bitter skies
of Skyrim, the orcs and elves, werewolves
and witches, the great Geralt the Witcher from
...

A RAINBOW for the murals of being!
You intimate time observers hiding in ages few!
You on the mountains, tall and short, beneath the skies of Mindanao!
You smoke belchers and environmentalists! You bigots!
...

The Moon galloped sleepy hills,
Black robe, purple and silver;
Dreams like lightning riding thrills
All in the mind, a quiver,
...

I doubt the sun will not rise tomorrow
or the moon will crawl with its mild corpus
whether we found ourselves in deep sorrow
while standing on a cliff without purpose.
...

Death in the morning,
death in the evening,
stormy death, peaceful death;
...

The art of basic reading
is achieved in fingers
that pointed the syllables
and target the sound
...

Early in the evening
in the minuscule gaze
of fainted stars, overlooking
the deserted part
...

Rosary beads are
hanging on the roadside
post, beside a cliff,
reminding people that
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The Higaunon,
lost, in time
not knowing, time
never getting tired,
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Procrastination,
the floating feather,
on soft air, melodic
rhythms of
...