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A review of Michael Earl Craig’s “Yes, Master” by Estella Ramirez.

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This was part of my final portfolio for Fiction and Poetry Writing II with Amy Eisner.

Carlos Macasaet
7 December 2004
220.106 - Final Portfolio

The demitasse
cylindrical
single arm akimbo
waiting

The vermouth
barely there
dry
subtle aroma
of white grapes
spices
and oak
ready to give
selflessly
all that she is

At last your essence
dripping impatiently
to join your bittersweet sister
your aroma consumes the air
this is your moment
nothing exists
but your full-bodied darkness
beneath caramel-coloured foam

Would you believe it
I broke and sank the 9-ball
my first time ever

Procail is working
and with nmh no less
my life is complete.

This is a poem written by my great granduncle Alejandro Sumagui of Mendez.

Sa Mendez ako kumitang liwanag
Amat Ina ko poy anak din sa hirap
Sa sinop ni Ama at kay Inang sikap
Maligaya po kami sa lahat ng oras.

Nagising ako sa tapik ni Nanay
At halik ni Lolang may pulot pukyutan
Alam ba ninyo? si Lolat ang Tatay
Nang dahil sa akin malimit magbangay.

Kalaban si Lola kung akoy paluin
Bata pa raw po upang pagdusahin
Ngunit si Amay may isang tuntunin
Lumaki ng huko, mahirap unatin.

Ako namang ito bagamat bata pa
Maalam na rin ng mali at tama
Pag-ibig ni Lolay batid kong dakila
Ngunit takot akong lumaki ng kuba.

Nais kong lumaki paris ng kawayan
Matuwid ang puno, ugat ay matibay
Iyang tao raw pong may matuwid na asal
Ay kabig ng Dios at dangal ng bayan.

Kung akoy lumaki, kawayang tanghalin
Huwag pong magitla ang inyong paningin
Isang Labong akong sa sukal sumupling
Pinanggalingan koy tinik na masinsin.

by Alejandro Sumagui

I wrote this multi-part geographic poem for Fiction and Poetry Writing with Joshua Malbin during my first semester at the Johns Hopkins University. This was part of my final portfolio for the class.

Carlos Macasaet
Introduction to Fiction and Poetry Writing
Final Portfolio - Multi-Part Geographic Poem
December 10, 2001
 
Oakland (of Pittsburgh)

Movies at the Park

The afternoon sun shines
on the grass covered hill
Families come accompanying young children
Students of the nearby colleges walk from their dorms
Frisbees fly through the air
The Cathedral of Learning serves
as a backdrop to people setting up
the large white screen

blankets are spread
friends, families congregate
the sun sets
the movie starts

The O

On the corner of the street
with a large neon sign of a flying potato
the informal gathering point
of teenagers and college students
every weekend, year round

The best fries in Pittsburgh
$2.55 will buy a small
too big for one person
from the counter that only sells fries
and pop

two dining levels
three counters from which to order
there are restrooms downstairs
but best to cross the street
and use Burger King’s

The Mexican

If you walk down Forbes
towards Brackenridge Hall,
a block away from the Beehive
you’re bound to encounter him.

Donning a Sombrero
he’ll call to you in garbled Spanish
perhaps you’ll discern the word “change”

As you walk away
he’ll pick up his guitar
strum out a tune
and sing

Yum Wok

Pan-Asian cuisine,
popular among local students,
fills large plates
A bottle of Srirachi on each table

Noodles, their specialty, their passion
As shown by large photographic prints
I find them slightly disturbing

As a waitress walks by
the back of her T-shirt reads
think quick
take chances
eat noodles

This poem was written on March 18, 2001 for English class with Chantel Acevedo while I was in 12th grade at Winchester Thurston School. This was also intended to be a “slam” style poem.

The characters depicted and referenced in this poem are purely fictional. Any semblance to persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

The English student I should have been looks intelligent
And he always dresses nicely
He would have longer hair
But not too long and parted at the side

He would understand poetry
He would always see the hidden meanings
And his opinions would always be correct

In class he would cross his legs and say things like
I really like your shoes
and when he gets his tests back he would say something along the lines of
and let me see if I can get this right
Deeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaam boy. I got bum-rushed
93.2, what did you get?

Outside of class, he would say such things as
now that is bumpin or biz-numpin if you will
or perhaps
bomb diz nigity
and he would address people as Riz-noy, Biz-nyron, Liz-nindsey and Hiz-nesky.

This person is the perfect English student
He understands everything and he always does his work
In fact, he spends a lot of time doing his homework
Although he would claim that never does work at home
And that he never studies

Unfortunately, I am not the perfect English student
I have a hard time understanding poems much less writing them
I never see the hidden meanings
And my opinions are always wrong

I never compliment the way my English teacher dresses
I always manage to perform fairly well; not good
and I’m not in danger of failing English
That would be unpossible!

No, I’m not the English student I should have been
But then again, my friends have yet to say that I’m
Fliz-naming.

This poem was written on March 15, 2001 for English class with Chantel Acevedo while I was in 12th grade at Winchester Thurston School. The assignment was to create a “slam” style poem.

The mild air of spring
chirping birds fly through the sky
such a peaceful day.
At the marketplace,
I am tasked with buying fish
the daisho is worn.
Walking to my house
I hear the gait of someone
suspicious behind.
Further up the road
an assassin to the left
I need to buy rice.
And then I see him
Hitokiri Battosai
he never loses.
He must be the one
the one chosen for my death
all who cross him die.
I do not fear death
I know I stand for justice
serenity reigns.
He calls me by name
I smile and show my respect
his daito is drawn.
As he approaches
his sword ready to bring death
I draw and kill him.
A flick of the wrist
removes the blood on my sword
the sky is so blue.