Category: Poetry

Kalaw Street

Poetry by | December 15, 2025

I went back to this place in Tangub,
 where I could still hear the beeping of tricycles,
 smell the smoke from the Libot Tangub vehicles,
 and watch the golden shower leaves brush gently along the streets.

The place is still the same — simply home.
 Nothing has changed, except for Manong selling malunggay pandesal
 And the tarpaulins on the street corners printed with Bible verses.

As I walked, I found myself standing before a familiar name — “Kalaw Street”.
 Memories came rushing in like lightning.
 I remembered everything that happened here, 

the laughter and the tears we shared,
 the one piece of “kwek-kwek” we bought from Kuya Suki,
 the five-peso buko juice from Manong George.

It has been eleven years since I last came here — nothing has changed.
 It is still the old street that holds the memory of you — of us.

This street witnessed the crash of your red Yamaha motorcycle.
 the place where your body fell to the ground,
 and where your blood was scattered across the road.

It was on Kalaw Street where I last held you in my arms,
 and looked into your eyes —
 before you said goodbye.

Aaron Diapana is a Literature instructor from Northwestern Mindanao State College of Science and Technology. He considers writing nonfiction, poetry, and essays in his leisure time.

Halok Wanpipte

Poetry by | December 15, 2025

Kapila gipasundayag sa salida og sonata sa radyo—
ang tawo dili buot mag-inusara,
sama sa tihilap ug maya nga mobayaw sa lagyong kahumayan,
makatagbo og pares nga makigdalit:
sa pagbukot og habol, sa kabugnawon sa kagabhion,
sa pagpamainit og tabliya sa sayo sa kabuntagon,
sa panag-uban, sa pagpaulipon, sa pagkamalipayon.

Apan subo pamalandungon:
basta bayot o tomboy, taman ra’g huna-huna og damgo.
Kinahanglan kwartaan,
kinahanglan nindot ang lawas,
kinahanglan mahal ang mga butang.
Ako nga uyamot pa sa pit-os, niundang na’g damgo—
kay wala’y tinuod nga mohigugma, ako nakaamgo.

Hangtod nga niabot siya sa akong kinabuhi—
lagom pero baruganan,
pobre pero nag-uros-uros ang kakugi,
di himansinon pero hitsuraan,
sama sa libro nga nibag-o sa akong tinoohan mahitungod sa gugma.
Wa nako damha, nga ako iyang giilad og gipangwartaan ra.

Sakit, pero nganong wa nako tagda ang iyang mga ‘pero’?
Sakit, pero di angay katingalahan.
Sakit, pero akong sala kay akong gitugyan, bisan kabalo na daan.
Wanpipte, kung halok.
Tripipte, kung hikap.
Paybpipte, kung tibuok lawas.
Pero kung gugmang tinuoray,
nganong naay presyohay?

Carlos Martin Benanwa is an Iliganon writer whose work revolves around gender, Indigenous lives, memory, and the quiet violences that shape everyday life. Grounded in the landscapes of Northern Mindanao, his writing reveals how survival, tenderness, and identity are intricately connected in the stories of the communities he calls home.

Surely, The Cosmos Was Made By Someone

Poetry by | December 15, 2025

I write all my marrow-deep desires
in a tender list, cast it into
a prayer, a super-condensed,
nuclear hope, ready
to welcome me—once truly
answered—as a surprise,
in a gentle, slow gust,
an anti-explosion, in a big
crunch, towards the singularity,
that is me, like a hug, in the warping
of matter around the Maker’s cosmic
finger as They tap
on the wishes that I held
inside my clasped palms,
like the first nucleus, to reveal
the grandest evanescence,
that is
this life.

James Bryan Galagate Delgado is a fourth-year Medical Biology student at Mapúa Malayan Colleges Mindanao. He is also a fellow of the 2018 ADDU Summer Writers Workshop and the 2025 Davao Writers Workshop.

Jokes You Can Use When You Have A Dead Father

Poetry by | December 8, 2025

  1. Have you seen my dad? I haven’t either, ever since he followed the light.
  2. My dad always preached about Jesus when I was young. He kept telling stories about the goodness of that son of God. He was dying to be with him. So, once the two of them met, he never came back.
  3. I have been taller than my father since I was 11 years old. He didn’t have a condition that restricted him from growing; he was just six feet under the ground. 
  4. I haven’t been able to contact my father lately. Perhaps they ban phones in heaven.
  5. My old man would not be proud of who I am today. But I don’t mind. What is he going to do, rise from his grave? 

When your audience hesitates to let out a laugh or even a chuckle, as if you can pluck the expression of pity from their faces, you can throw these lines to dispel the tension in the air: 

  1. Don’t feel bad. 
  2. You can find it funny. 
  3. It doesn’t bother me anymore. 
  4. Anyway, he was gone longer than the time we shared together.
  5. My dad will not haunt you. He doesn’t even visit me in my dreams. 

Laurehl Onyx B. Cabiles is a writer from Cotabato, Province. He has been a fellow of the Sox Writer’s Workshop (2023), NAGMAC-YWS (2024), and Ateneo de Davao Summer Writers Workshop (2024), and Davao Writers Workshop (2025). 

 

Babae, Baril, at Baybay

Poetry by | December 8, 2025

Ang distansya sa pagitan ng babae at baril
ay pinananatili ang diwa at igting
ng himagsikan at labada.
Siya ang rebolusyon ng pag-aalimpuyo ng mga kalan;
ang sigaw ng katipunan.

Ang pagitan ng babae at bibig ng makata
ay laway at tinta—
minsan, bala ng colt at asin.

Ang pagitan ng pag-ibig at babae
ay hindi bugbog at pasa,
hindi birhen at imahen
kundi ang baybay at himig ng apoy
at hindi ang bigat ng taludtod
na nakakahon sa dibdib
ng bayang paulit-ulit na sinusunog
ngunit ayaw maging abo.

Bago ang huling bigwas
ng buwayang nakakulong sa kusina.
Ang kanyang katawan ay kanya.
Sa sigalot ng karit at bigkis ng ani. 

Aleah Sulaiman Bantas is a queer Maguindanaon writer who hails from the floodplains of Datu Paglas, Maguindanao del Sur. A fellow of the SOX Writers Workshop (2025), her works have appeared in the Bangsamoro Literary Review, Dagmay, and SunStar Davao. Her zines and poetry anthologies have been published under Tridax Zine, Cotabato Literary Circle, and the Socsksargen Writers Collective. She is currently studying at the University of Southern Mindanao.

 

Humba Espesyal

Poetry by | December 8, 2025

Tausi, asusina, ug patis,
Adunay lami nga tambok sa baboy gilahi.
Hiniwa nga dagkong unod, apil bukog,
Ang dakong kalaha gipabukalan na’g mantika.

Ang mga panakot andam na,
Ang mga panakot andam na,
Andama na ang kutsilyo, luwag, ug kutsara.

Sa paglunod sa preskong karne,
Giapilan ug lamas, suka, ug sili.
Sa kada ukay ni Papa, mosiga ang kusina,
Ang iyang sekreto mao lami kaayo,
Mura’g pista sa lamisa, puno sa kalipay ug gugma.

Krisghe Rose Icao is a third-year Literature student who writes from the deepest parts of her own lived experiences. She writes to inspire, to speak, and to express the emotions she once kept silent. Through her poetry, she hopes to reach others who need to feel seen, understood, and unafraid to use their own voice.

acid-rich

Poetry by | December 8, 2025

a carton, in a closed room, half-sealed
still, yet swelling, bulges
from gas release, yet not still
out small softened delicate creases.

spoiled milk, our heart, that is
sour smell filling trapped air
nose scrunch, flares

at the stench of spoiled zeal.
my chest, tight, still burns
from past love’s residue:
acid-rich ache. a burp
not burped, a fart not farted. 

Yra is, at times, an aspiring writer from Davao de Oro. Her notes are filled with to-do lists she never gets to cross out.

Kahakog sa Dalan

Poetry by | November 29, 2025

Sa Tacunan, magsugod akong paglakaw
Misakay ko’g bao-bao subay sa dalan nga lubakon
Nagligid kini nga puno’g untol-untol ug lapok
Mga sakyanan, kusog mopadagan
Walay lingi-lingi kung kinsa’y napisikan
Sa daplin ra ko naghulat, nanghinaot nga adunay masakyan
Kahakog sa dalan.

Sa Mintal, naggukod-gukod ang katawhan
Sa jeep nga pirting puno-a gikan pa sa Calinan
Mga estudyante, trabahante, tiguwang, ug kabatan-onan
Nag-ilog sa ganghaan aron makasulod
Makakuha lamang sa gitaya nga lingkoranan
Ug wala nay pasiplat pa nga aduna ba’y napasakitan
Kay wala man gipalad, nitabok ko sa pedestrian
Nangurog sa kakuyaw sa mga sakyanan
Nga murag walay plano mopahinay’g dagan si Manong
Kahakog sa dalan.

Sa Bangkal ko ninaog, atubangan sa Adventist Hospital
Kay mopalit pa’ko sa kinaham kong pudding sa Convenience
Apan samtang motabok na unta, akong tuhod nangurog
Kay bisan naa sa pedestrian, wala gihapon mopahunong
Ang mga drayber nagpadayon sa ilang gahum —
Kahakog sa dalan.

Niadto ko sa dalan atbang sa Ateneo Senior High
Namasin ko basin makatabok pa diay
Kay daghan naman mga magtulungha nga makasabay
Sobra napod kayo mo uy!
Kung di gihapon mo mohunong o mopahinay
Kay wala na gyud moy laing sama
Kamong mga drayber na adunay
Kahakog sa dalan.

Sa tibuok dalan sa syudad sa Davao
Kaniadto, makatabok pa man ko nga dili nerbyoson
Kay tinood nga dakong buhi pa ang Dabawenyo DCplinado
Apan karon, pirmi na lang ko makapanawag ug mga santos
Tungod kay nanaghan ang mga sakyanan
Ug di na maihap usab ang mga drayber nga tampalasan
Kahakog sa dalan.

Nanghinaot ko sa atong mga opisyales sa LTO
Nga ipahugot unta ang pagbantay sa mga pedestrian
Aron hapsay ang among paminsar pagtabok sa dalan
Daw sama kami na maglakaw sa dalan sa Japan
Unta dungagan ang pampublikong sakyanan
Ug ipalambo ang sistemang pangtransportasyon
Aron maundang na kining mga hasol na kabuang
Kamo, mga drayber —kahakog gyud sa dalan.

Jerry T. Epefanio is an English teacher in the Senior High School unit of Ateneo de Davao University. He is also a freelance writer with a deep passion for Bisaya poetry and short fiction. Beyond the classroom and the page, he advocates for the revitalization of indigenous languages—the root of our identity and cultural heritage.