Poetry by Jhoanna Lynn Cruz | August 23, 2007
On our sixth anniversary
your parents surprised us
with ice cream and cake.
You cooked my favorite
dish and I brought sweet
red wine. We drank
to each other’s
happiness with a dagger
gleam in the eye. A toast
to a long life, knowing
this would be our last.
Poetry by Lia Lopez Chua | August 12, 2007
He knows the fine hours are over
the neighborhood cars all starting
grinding to dust the singing of neighborhood birds
then they will roam the streets and the city
will growl like an awakened beast
he loves the beast nevertheless
He loves what he does not have to get used to
if at its designated time and place
because everything moves a little closer home
he says to himself
including those that hurt my ears
and those I have never heard
In the evening my father tells his story
in a voice ripened by his own silence he says
a street is stretched longer
by cars that speed on it
the length shoots beyond space
beyond what men see and know
When cars speed on
they iron out the heavy trudges
left by men whose footsteps know
the weight of the universe
cars have no feelings
they do not understand what footsteps are all about
My father comes to stand very still
by the window late in the dark
when he finally goes to bed he speaks
to himself his hands clasped as in prayer
a day always turns itself in he says
no more innocent than men it needs sleep
Poetry by Angely Chi | August 12, 2007
limbo is the worst place.
in another world,
we were ready to die again
suffocated in this sac of stagnancy–
but a push and a heave,
a breathe of protest
against the bred silence,
and we pass through another birthing.
this one slower and more painful
until we see
the light
again
and burst out laughing.
Poetry by Joan Edades | August 5, 2007
The groans of earth can be heard by your saints; while the poets are appalled, feeling in their bones the future not so future debacle, yet their warnings remain unheeded, the public go their merry way, ignorant that the end of their world was long ago prophesied.
Your majesty divine creator; No one can measure your understanding of us foolish mortals. Nothing is hidden from thee, and most surely thou art aware of those small places of the planet where the integrity of your creation is respected and preserved. And as for the rest of us, it is cosmic destruction. The overripe fruit awaits the moment to drop in the furnace.
I do not presume to know where are your human saints that obey your laws and respect your eco-balance, but my prayer is for them, that thou would protect these few, that they would be strong enough to continue as they are so that there would still be a remnant of beautiful earth where birds sing, where grasses wave, where the leaves of the trees would clap their hands, as your word goes forth and returns, O god of mystery, O consuming Fire!
Poetry by Amanda Fe Echevarria | August 5, 2007
You stole it!
You made me sit!
Bit by bit…
Now I’m in a fit!
I missed my education
In a learning institution
Where’s my retribution?
You have all the solutions.
Empty words
I shouldn’t have heard.
I wish I were a bird
Is that something you earned?
It’s eating me, this life
I never did improve my sight
I want to fight
But you withheld my flight.
Oh, I’m in no treat.
I’m nothing but beat,
What’s there to eat?
An instant microwaved seat.
Poetry by Amanda Fe Echevarria | August 5, 2007
It is funny how leaves dance on their branches.
They spin
With a magnificent finale of letting go
Gracefully playing with the wind.
People dance too.
They hold on
To their dreams, loves, ideologies
As they move on the dance floor.
My dance is limited to swaying and spinning.
My leading man-
My dance partner
Myself too
Still groping for steps.
Sometimes I lose the beat
Go whirling with no direction.
Today my feet are tired.
My toes are beginning to hate me.
My fingers are crying.
I have been dancing wildly.
I feel myself rebelling.
I trip.
I watch the dancing others…
On my shoulder,
I feel a tap.
I see a hand.
I take it.