Passion.
I hold
a depth
free of
grip.
Van Gogh’s strokes
masterpiece.
Yet,
why?
He cut an ear.
—
Katrina is studying BS Secondary Education at Ateneo de Davao University.
Extremes
Poetry by Katrina Kate Dianne Punay | March 23, 2014
Category: Poetry
A Year Without Rain
My window’s open
I searched for you
in burning heat
in cracked soil
in withered leaves
in empty fields
in dusty highways.
The season’s lonely
all wells are dry
no flower blooms
no grasses grow
no heavy clouds
no cold wind blows.
The sun now burns
each rays pierced
my wounded heart
my lonely soul
a year of drought
a year without rain
a year without you.
—
Abi Andoy is a student from AdDU.
What could have been at Macasandig 2011
Poetry by Gari Jamero | March 16, 2014
I awoke to a shriek
Conscious but almost blind
Sight was nil, pitch black
All I hear, a gush, now sleep
Light has returned, and I see
It was a mere dream, our dream
Nothing seemed to be weird
Other than my being drenched
I got up, very much doused
Dried off with the most peculiar towel
It was warm, warmth I have not felt in so long
The sensation akin to my mother’s embrace
Now I am dry, the house and all else
I made myself decent and dressed up
The clothes fit snug, strong yet free to move
It feels as if I am carried by my father
I turned on the music player, listen
The song playing felt oddly familiar
The sound very much like my brothers’ singing
Reminiscent of when we all played together
I sang and sang along; I inhaled
The air felt like velvet against my lips
And as I exhaled, it healed my heart
A fondness identical to her, a love unknown
I awoke to a sob; no, lots of sobs
I see my family around my body
I kiss them and bid them adieu
I dove, descend to space not shown
—
Gari Jamero is a BS Biology Student from Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan.
Morning Blues
Poetry by Simon Anton Nino Diego Baena | March 9, 2014
The light is heavy like the weight
of an open wound. And I hear
no sound of laughter nor prayer,
only the coughs and puffs of smokers
outside the haunting streets of Bais.
The landscape remains blistered.
Rainless for days. And my throat
wants something more than water—
every morning, the world is in pursuit
of harmony, the balance between
the wave and the ash and the dissonance
of speech, my father used to tell me.
What is visible to the mind is the shoreline
of guilt with no waves nor gulls to kiss
it. And the pebble in front of the acacia tree
remains indifferent, while I am burdened
by these artifacts of guilt. I know exactly
where in my memories my scars are
located. Inside the old chapel,
I feel the presence of the void. God
does not speak to me. Not even
in a language of metaphors.
—
Simon Anton Nino Diego Baena is an undergraduate student of MSU-IIT, Iligan city.
Originally from Bais, Negros Oriental, now based in Iligan. Some of his poems have already been published in Philippines Free Press, Philippines Graphic magazine, and Eastlit online literary journal
Home
Poetry by Glyd Jun Arañes | March 9, 2014
I gaze at the morning sky,
My eyes following the plane
That carries you
And I know
you look outside the window,
Searching for me
Hidden in the shrinking Davao.
Because, while you disappear into the clouds,
You left your heart unfolded
With your clothes in the closet.
Because, no matter which foreign land
you escape
You belong here,
In our home I built with my arms
Here in my bed
That does not remember your distance,
But only your weight.
And you will come back
I shall be waiting
To welcome you back home.
—
Glyd Jun Arañes works as a research assistant at Philippine Women’s College of Davao. This poem is the English translation of his French language homework.
Claveria
Poetry by Rory Ian Bualan | March 2, 2014
It is not fun, you know,
standing here in Claveria
with the jeepney barkers
mocking my uncertainty —
shouting names of places
where to go.
Where should I go?
It is funny, you know,
when vendors offer sympathy
besides sliced fruits or fried skins
and you nod, force a smile because
you don’t eat street food.
But then you go look around
the streets of Bolton, San Pedro,
even Torres to satisfy a craving
for crabs and eat-all-you-cans.
Perhaps, perhaps.
But them barkers’ voices ring loud:
Sasa! Panacan! SM Lanang! Toril!
Then, red light.
You cross the street,
walk aimlessly.
Hands in pocket,
jacket zipped up,
your steps doubtful.
Then you feel:
it’s time to go.
But where?!
—
Rory is a Physics teacher eating, praying and loving in Indonesia.
I declare a poem
Poetry by Angely Chi | March 2, 2014
Like naming a newborn
I declare a poem has been made
Like growing a tree
I declare a poem has been made
Like losing virginity
I declare a poem has been made
Like wedding a couple
I declare a poem has been made
Like losing religion
I declare a poem has been made
Like taking up arms
I declare a poem has been made
Like closing a casket
I declare a poem
has been made.
—
Angely Chi works as a freelance writer and researcher.
Hyphenated
Poetry by Genevieve Mae Aquino | February 23, 2014
This little line
is as thrilling
as the feel of your hand
holding mine.
A sign of my changing
civil state,
this bridge connects
us across the invisible
chasm between your family
name and mine.
It proclaims
with wedding
bells ringing:
I am not alone
in this life.
We have each other
like the matched pair
of salt and pepper
shakers for the dining table
where your face
has replaced the view
from an open window.
This punctuation
is our union
on paper:
two hands welded
into a single segment
for all the world to see.
—
Genevieve Mae Aquino was born in Manila but calls Davao her home. She has a clutch of diplomas in molecular biology and genetics. She was fellow for Poetry in English at the INWW, ANWW, and IYAS Creative Writing Workshops.