LAUREL LEAVES POETRY


Monthly Poetry Magazine



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POET AND POEMS OF THE MONTH

BRIDGET EU YOKE LIN




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DECEMBER 2015

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MS. LUCIA E. DAMACELA

Born in Ecuador, Lucia currently lives in Singapore with her family. She writes poetry and prose in English and Spanish. Her poems have been featured  in print and online in publications such as RiverLit, Poetry Quarterly, Three Line Poetry and Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, among others. Two of Lucia’s poems were awarded first and third prize at the UPLI 2015 Global Poetry Contest. She writes for local magazines, blogs in Spanish at www.apuntes-de-aqui-y-alla.blogspot.sg and tweets as @lucyda.

 

SELECTED POEMS

 

Recession

 Winner of the first prize at the 2015 UPLI contest in the Alexander Fui Sak Chang Award for short free verse in Chinese or English.

 

A meager stream ebbs
where the river used to flow


It glistens on the bedrocks

like scales on a serpent


The weeping willow

a thirsty lover


bending over the high bank

twisting its wilting branches


vainly offering its flowers

stretching its parched roots


trembling for its freshness
crying itself a river.

 

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Perennity

 Winner of the third prize at the 2015 UPLI contest in the Rex Valentine Award for Narrative Verse.

 

She carries my essence,
the key to my future…


We met at that age when saying
that you believe you are Superman
doesn’t begin to describe
how high you think you can fly.


When we were sophomores,
we started to create the algorithms,
building blocks of our cyber empire.


Then, the downturn hit us strong,
bankruptcy followed by years of pain
and a more modest start up


Believe me, this is not
the world financial domination
I thought I’d achieve.


And now this.
Untreatable. Manage your pain.
Make the best out of the time left.


I have managed,
but had to endure the
collateral damage
of the lost war against cancer.


So, getting my stuff out
before it was too poisoned was spot on.


Now my college sweetheart, my life mate
is carrying it,
a tiny whatever the combination
of our genes looks like.


I won’t meet her, she is six months away
and I am pretty much done,
playing injury time here.


I have her ultrasound with me at all times.
It doesn’t show her rosy cheeks,
but it will have to do for me.

 

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Predators

First published online in Riverlit in December 2014


We, humans,
are a sensitive bunch.
We wince
whenever NatGeo
brings to our screen
a lion jumping on a zebra; or a spider
capturing the reflection of the moon
and passing flies with its web;
or a boa shedding worn skin
and donning a new jumpsuit
next time
it snacks on a mouse.


But watching a fracking well
—devised to inject our angsts
deep down on Earth
while raiding its entrails—
doesn’t revolt us that much; it is rather
an acquired distaste.


Fractured and poisoned, Earth
has no recourse
but to convulse
and repel us all, creators
of the unnatural.

 

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Joy, Repeat

First published online in one sentencepoems.com, April 2015.


Jubilant Sisyph,
the neighborhood kids climb and go down in their sleds,
carving with their laughs the snowy hill.

 

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The Rise


First published online in onesentencepoems.com, June 2015.


The room
brews in the dark
–the silence strong and black–
then the phone rings, life makes its call,
and coffee is ready.

 

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Portrait


First published online in onesentencepoems.com, June 2015.


The incandescent click doesn’t reach you;
you, who moved out of the picture,
photobombing with your absence.

 

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Rain Over Singapore


First published in Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, June 2015.


The dry spell lifted,
it is raining on parched soils
all over the Garden City.


Drops, silver eggs crashing
against the glass windows,
dance on the reservoirs,
chase away the Sumatra haze,
bring down to earth the construction dust,
dilute the Equatorial glare.


But after too many days
of fast, of thirst, of angst,
like a hungry ghost,
the soil is unable to swallow.

 

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El Tiempo, De Nuevo


El campo donde caminábamos,
tan pardo que es ahora irreconocible,
se ha resignado a no esperar más por la lluvia.


En sólo una semana,
el equipo de demolición
ha desollado las entrañas
del edificio donde vivíamos.


Mi mano ha durado siete segundos
despidiendo al tren bala
que ha dejado la estacíon contigo,
bruma instantanea en mi memoria.


En el cafe de la esquina
hay un par de tazas a medio beber,
abandonadas
sobra la mesa donde nos reunimos por ultima vez.


Toda evidencia de ti se ha evaporado.
Fuiste un espejismo
y ahora eres real ausencia.