Poetry by Jobelle Obguia | October 31, 2010
Sa bula ng beer
May nakakubling tamis
Sa bula ng beer
Ngiti ay pagtangis
Sa bula ng beer
Mundo’y higit na maganda
Sa bula ng beer
Napuno ng akala
Sa bula ng beer ibinurda
Mga yapos at pagsinta
Sa bula ng beer naniwala
Sa walang katuparang sumpa
Sa bula ng beer nakatala
Mga wikang agad nabubura
Ang bula ng beer at aking mga luha
Sa pait hindi nagkaiba
—-
Jobelle Obguia graduated with a degree in Business Management from Ateneo de Davao University.
Poetry by Allen Samsuya | October 24, 2010
Someday, when science makes it possible for us
to put up convenient stores in space,
we’ll build one and do business and live our days
by selling everyone pure unadulterated stars
It’s sure to sell like crazy since everyone
wants something stellar, something brilliant,
cosmic and quaint, yet familiar
enough for comfort.
Something like all other things—
kept in order in neat shelves,
tagged with fixed prices,
readily available over the counter.
And when on the verge of being black holes,
they’d remain just as convenient—
instant escape to inescapable places, the end
of all things, the universe’s Doomsday special.
—-
Allen Samsuya studies creative writing in UP Mindanao. He was a fellow at the Davao Writers Workshop 2009.
Poetry by Vida Mia Valverde | October 17, 2010
Splintered into a myriad pieces
A noiseless breaking
Into bloody shards and salty droplets
The world stands still.
Resting on the ground
Feebly glistening in the sun
Turning every which way
Searching for the whole
Nothing resounds.
Poetry by Dominique Gerald Cimafranca | October 17, 2010
I am a bullet.
Small. Insignificant.
A speck in the air:
hardened mote of
tears from the rock,
molten from fire,
and drowned in water.
Poetry by Hannah Louise Enanoria | October 3, 2010
And the books will still be there on the shelves, detached souls,
That emerged once, drenched
As shining mangos under a tree after the rain,
And consumed, tasted , delicious fame
Despite defying seasons, crawling ants,
children stoning, the earth in motion.
“Even if” they said, “our pages are worn to shreds,
Shabby and brown, or a fly has been preserved
Between sheets, so much durable
than we are. Whose delicate heat
chills the heart and memory, scatters, expires.”
I imagine when I will be faced out
Replaced by audio, video books – nothing ensues,
no bereavements, no harm, it’ll still be television shows,
Make-ups, money, women, a moment with music.
still, the books will be there on the shelves, able-bodied,
ripe because of people, and also sunlight, crowning.
—-
Hannah Louise Enanoria is a 4th year AB Sociology student of Ateneo de Davao University.
Poetry by Genevieve Mae Aquino | October 3, 2010
The shortest distance between us
is the line that begins on my palm,
travels past a row of cubicles,
exits the revolving doors
and goes around the corner
of the Open University buildings;
meanders along the highways
onto the southern tollway
then with the crisscrossing wires
of the Manila Metro Transit rails;
Poetry by Fritz Gerald M. Melodi | October 3, 2010
We write to reclaim a part of ourselves about to be lost in time. To put in cryostasis, a part, a moment of our lives so heavy, so important, so significant we cannot trust our memory to keep it. So we write. To capture a fleeting nest of emotions that wrapped an experience, to nurture an imagination of what could have been. It is to craft into things that can be understood what your being has expressed not in human terms understandable. It may be a flight of the spirit into worlds known only to your universe. Or a profoundest experience so mundane as a clock or a sunbeam. We write to allow the public a glimpse of the private with the risk of being understood or maligned or both. It is to bare oneself, but still with clothes on, words, words as clothes.
—-
Fritz Gerald M. Melodi finished BA Psychology with minors in Philosophy from Ateneo de Davao University.
Poetry by Elmer Sayre | September 26, 2010
Early morning when you left without saying goodbye
Frantic about meeting a schedule or so
You should have wakened me up
To cook omelet for you and pack your lunch
For the long trip to meet your schedules
Wiping the early morning sweat from your brow
As you go.
But the schedule has to come first
Early as early can be
You may have prodded the pedal to the floor
Squeezing the last gasoline drop
One hundred twenty measures to the hour.
Later at night I could no longer expect
Your light kiss as you arrive
From meeting your schedule or so
Your cold body arriving
In a hearse of the funeral parlor
In Bacolod we hired to pry
The crumpled car open.
—-
Elmer Sayre is a Dipolognon now living in Initao, Misamis Oriental, as a gentleman farmer and a free-lance social development consultant.