Poetry by MJ Tumamac | July 29, 2012
Lumubog ako
sa dagat
ng mga tuyong dahon.
Sumisid ako
upang likumin
ang mga tagong yaman.
Sa pag-ahon,
gumawa ako ng kastilyo
at nagsaboy ng mga dahon.
Hindi ko napaghandaan
ang pagdating
ng alon ng mga dahon
na kumain
sa aking mga yaman at kastilyo.
—
A poet for children from General Santos City. MJ Tumamac is a member of Kuwentista ng mga Tsikiting (KUTING) and Linangan sa Imahen, Retorika at Anyo (LIRA).
Poetry by Karlo Antonio David | July 22, 2012
Nature-nature ang gusto mo na date?
Na! wala man tayo mapala niyan, babe!
Sige, maghanap tayo ng mga shape sa clouds
pero intawon,
usok na lang baya ng mga factory
ang clouds ngayon!
Okay lang sa iyo
may pagka- brown ang cotton na makita mo?
Pag-sure diyan sa “halimuyak ng katsubong,” babe uy
sige daw, subukan mo huminga
kay halong lechon manok,
tambutso,
haplas
at sigarilyo lang maamoy mo.
Swerte na kung walang halo na ihi o imburnal
… love man kita babe ba
pero alangan naman
pinturahan ko ng glow in the dark
ang mga lamok
para lang may fireflies tayo…!?
Bitaw, pwede gud tayo mag-Shrine Hills
pero kay wala na man tayong
mahanap na stars,
ilaw na lang
ng mga poste ng Davao titigan natin
para mag-horoscope..!
– babe, hindi yan mountain spring, ha
nasira lang yan na tubo ng water district.
…Kalayo man ng Marilog uy!
kung gusto mo ng breeze
sa Abreeza na lang tayo magpalamig
Bitaw, babe
sa Abreeza na lang gud tayo, uy
may garden-garden bitaw dun…
(Update: ginatulungan ako
ng music ng mga jeep
na kalimutan yung ingay ng gangis
pag-break natin)
—
Born in Kidapawan, Karlo Antonio G. David was a fellow at the 2011 Iyas Creative Writing Workshop in Bacolod and the 2012 Silliman National Writers Workshop in Dumaguete. He is a regular contributor to Dagmay.
Poetry by Bejay Absin | July 22, 2012
sa una, init imong sabaw
may balanse ang katam-is ug kaaslom
may sahog nga kusog makapabaskog
sa panglawas ug balatian
ug may pagmahal ang matag halad
ug sa una, init imong sabaw
sa una, kada adlaw’ng matagamtaman
imong lami-an nga sabaw
pangpainit sa nagkurog kong kaunoran
tunga sa pagbunok sa ulan
sa matag higop ko, di malikayan ang pagbalhas
sa singot nga muanod sa kahago sa kinabuhi
apan milabaw ang mga adlaw
wa malikayi napan-os imong sabaw
bugnaw na ug mupatigbabaw na ang kaaslom
ang kahumot nga kanhi kong madimdim
ang katam-is nga daw gihalad sa mga anghel
wa ko na makaplagi sa mangkok sa imong sabaw
basin may laing kamot ang nikawkaw
o imong gihalaran sa imong sabaw
bisan unsaon og init ang bahaw
ug bugnaw mong sabaw
sa pagkapan-os kini mipaingon
hangtod ilabay na lang sa lubnganan sa kagahapon
—
Bejay Absin works full-time in a call center and is involved in theater. He loves to cook.
Poetry by Djamyla Millona | July 22, 2012
“Nais kong ilibing sa maputlang papel na ito
Lahat ng nagawa nating kwento.
Lahat ng kabanata ng ating samahan.
Ang saya. Lungkot. Hinagpis.
Pagtataksil. Ang pagtangis.
Iluluha ng aking panulat ang lahat ng
Pasakit na hindi kinilala ng aking mga mata.
Ililibing ko sa pirasong papel na ito
Lahat ng bubog ng nasira nating samahan
Upang tumahan na ang nagdurugo kong puso.
At pagkatapos, iiyak ako sa pamamagitan ng panulat ko.
Hindi mo ako makikitang tumatangis.
Ang mamasdan mo lang ay ang puntod ng letrang
Pinagtagpi-tagpi ko upang buuin ang lapida
Ng yumao nating samahan.
Isang beses lang akong magtatapat
Ng aking tunay na nadarama.
At ililibing ko iyon sa isang piraso ng maputlang papel.
Kasama ka at Kasabay ng isang pangako:
Ito na ang huling patak ng tintang
iaalay ko para sa iyo.”
—
Si Djamyla D. Millona ay nag-aral sa Ateneo de Davao University at kasalukuyang nagtatrabaho sa DILG.
Poetry by Krisini Nanini | July 8, 2012
I made myself
a
cup
of
coffee
while I was
busy
waging wars
inside
my
head
creating
fictions
out
of
beauty
lies
love
and
envy
Continue reading The Coffee Burnt My Tongue
Poetry by John Ferdinand Torralba | June 24, 2012
I mourn for those lost souls
for those souls are like mine;
Lost and with no one to follow
Vanished along with time.
I seek those wounded hearts
for those are like mine;
Drenched in the shroud of darkness
A melody without rhyme.
I thirst for love, but where is it?
Is it hidden? Is it gone?
How would I find it,
When all my deeds are undone.
There is more silence than silence,
More of me than me.
I should be in a beacon of light
But where could it be?
—
John Ferdinand Torralba is a 3rd year Bachelor of Science in Information Technology student at Holy Cross of Davao College. Born on June 6, 1994 in Davao City.
Poetry by Paul Randy Gumanao | June 17, 2012
I catch you bite your lip while you inspect
the test tube if it has cracks
and scratches. But I would like to believe
that you just check how well it resembles
your finger,and you remember how pleasurable
is your finger as it lingers on a thing
that doesn’t touch back, or sometimes,
on a thing that grips by surprise.
Behind you, I watch and enjoy the scene
as I pretend to boil the liquid inside
this round-bottom flask. Then you turn
to look at me, and I quickly pick
the thermometer to check the rise
in temperature of the boiling liquid
until it distills and purifies. I, too,
wish to purify my feelings into impulse.
I can see in the edges of my eyes that you
are glancing. And when it’s my turn to glance,
you get back washing your test tube,
by plunging the brush, in and out,and in, ahh
and out, ahh, and wet bubbles flow. In my seat,
I am intoxicated by the familiar smell of vapor
and the smell of something that, I know, comes
from you, comes from you, comes, come, com…
…until the rusty iron clamp breaks,
the erlenmeyer flask falls and spills some
unknown broths on the floor. The room echoes
the sounds of broken glass and a lady’s moan.
Until all I can utter is, ”sorry, this is just
a third world lab”. And you take me by surprise
with your response, ”It’s getting dark.
Would you like to finish this somewhere else?”
—
Paul Randy P. Gumanao studied BS Chemistry at AdDU.
Poetry by Rory Ian Bualan | June 17, 2012
Today, I decide to become
a co-creator of God.
I decide when mornings come,
and the colors they will fashion.
I decide how the skies will be
in the dawn, noon, dusk and
during the last part of the day.
I decide where the winds blow,
what songs they will sing and
which blades of grass to bend.
I decide how water comes forth,
from the sky as rain, hail, or snow;
from deep within the earth or from
the vast depths of the teal ocean.
Yes, I decide on the color of things.
I decide how the flowers and trees
greet the daylight and moonlight;
what colors they wear, what hue
or tint of this and that; I decide that.
I decide how loud or soft the birds’
singing, the animals’ calling and
the thunder’s clapping, I decide.
I decide which nation leads and
which ones bow to its glory!
I decide who and what will come
to pass: life, time, or money.
I decide on peoples’ dreams,
their will, what future they’ll keep.
I decide on fate; I decide.
And oh, I decide on love.
I decide on who gives it,
receives it, needs it, wants it!
Even the glitters on a butterfly’s wing,
the order of the afternoon rainbow’s skin,
the number of drops of the scheduled rain,
I decide on that!
I decide on creation.
I decide what ends, what begins,
what moves, what sits still!
I decide this, yes, I decide.
Today, I decide to become –
a creator of
g o d.
—
Thirtysumthing, physics preacher, poem writer, instagram avid user (which disqualifies me as a photographer/DSLR expert) and lover.