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.
Fiction by Vanessa Marie Lim | February 23, 2014
I am staring out the window as our driver is taking us to the regional courthouse. My dad sits in the passenger seat and my mom is next to me.
“How are you feeling?”
I look at my mom and her warm expression. My dad steals a look at me from the rearview mirror.
“I just want to get this over with.” I mutter, looking down. My mom reaches out to pat my knee then sits back.
Three years ago, one innocent night in July, I went to the movies with my best friend. I was twelve then, completely unaware of the girl code that dictated we should never go anywhere without each other. The theater was completely full; it was the weekend of Kris Aquino’s second horror movie, after “Feng Shui.” Although it was rated PG-13, Jen and I were able to get in easily. For a thirteen-year-old, my best friend looked way older, and we used this to our advantage all the time.
“Let’s meet at the CR after, okay?” she whispered as she watched me take a seat near the left set of stairs, next to a man in a plain white T-shirt and jeans.
“I’ll text you,” I whispered back absentmindedly, my eyes already on the screen before me.
Before long, with everyone around me screaming because of ghosts, I realized in that dim theatre that it really was the living that we should be afraid of. The man next to me was now standing in front of me, pants down.
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.
Poetry by Raul Moldez | February 23, 2014
treadmill for thirty minutes
after a five-round brisk
walking at the plaza
prune the duranta
its leaves cover
the window’s horizon
do the laundry
whites first,
coloreds next
pay the electric bill
arrears only
to avoid disconnection
cut cauliflower, broccoli,
carrots and cabbage
for four seasons
iron uniforms
take a rest
dream a dream
these tasks
will disappear
tomorrow
—
Raul Moldez has been a fellow to various writers workshop and has won several awards for his fiction and poetry. He writes from Cagayan de Oro.
Fiction by Madel Catre | February 16, 2014
The floor needs sweeping. That was the first thing I thought when I opened my eyes and saw the floor, its cold hardness slowly waking me from sleep. I continued to stare at the dust that accumulated under our bed, forcing my brain to work and commanding my body not to move. The tambis tree outside our window already cast shadows on the walls. It must have been five-thirty in the afternoon. I could already hear the sizzling of Aling Elsa’s pans and the grating sound her spatula made as it caught its bottom. Berto had turned on the garden hose and started with the watering. Children’s laughter and chatter filled the street as they made their way towards our house that our neighbors envied. Somewhere down the same street, my children were making their way home to me. My angels, my two beautiful boys, my world. Nothing in this world would keep me from giving them the best. They deserved nothing less but the best home, the best food, the best clothes, and the best memories. These things could only be given to them by the best family. Nothing would keep me from giving them these things I never had. Not even the pain that prevented me from standing.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed at the corner, on the couch where we had made quick love a few times.
Poetry by Nonoy Narciso | February 16, 2014
Mas mahimbing tulog ko sa sala
Sa sahig, upuan o sofa
Ikaw may babangungunit
Ikaw ri’y magigising
Pinipilit binubuka
Ang matatamlay na mata
Pilit ginigising ang isipan
Upang magsaing ng tubig sa umaga
Mga bitwin sa gabi naninigas pa
Mga mansta sa bangin ng bunganga
Mga asin sa labi tuyong –toyo na
Ayaw ong magsalita nangngamoy ang bunganga
Nakatayong tasa
Palubog na kape
Daloy ng tubig
Natutunaw’ng asukal
Dahan-dahang sinasagi
Ang manit na kape sa labi
Dahan-dahang sinasagi
Mainit na kutsara sa labi
Sumasayaw ang usok sa ere
Palaroy-laroy ang kaluluwa ng kape
Nanainaginip ng wala
Nag-iisiip subalit nakatung-nga
naghihintay ng wala
nakatingin sa bawat isa
Walang imik, walang salita
Babangilan ang gutom sa sikmura
May tinapay
wala namang palaman
hindi mapalagay
Ilu-lob- lob nalang ang pan
Sumasayaw ang usok sa ere
Palaroy-laroy ang kaluluwa ng kape
Nanainaginip ng wala
Nag-iisiip subalit nakatung-nga
—
Sunod-sunod ang timpla ng kape ni Noy Narciso sa Catalunan Grande.
Poetry by Reymond Pepito | February 16, 2014
Kon mamolak ka’g usab
dili unta paliron sa kusog nga hangin,
dili unta mapopo sa uwan.
Tugoti sa maka-usa pa
nga alirongan kas mga higala
mong buyog ug alibangbang
nga maoy magdala’g kalipay sa oras
nga ikaw mobati’g kamingaw.
Tugoti pud ang adlaw
nga mobusikad, sa tinuod
dugay mo kining gihuwat.
Dili na unta ka motago.
Dili na unta ka mairog
sa pagsugat sa hayag.
Naibot man ko layo kanimo,
sa akong pagkahulog, huwata
ang panahon mamolak pa’g usab
ang imong kasing-kasing.
—
Si Reymond usa ka Social Media Specialist ug journalist, fellow sa Davao Writers Workshop niadtong 2010, og nahigugma sa literaturang Bisaya.
Poetry by Paul Randy Gumanao | February 9, 2014
(after Paulo Coelho’s Veronika Decides to Die)
Visit my dreams, Veronika,
when you finally decide
to die. Wake me from my slumber
with the melody of your sonatas
behind the echoes of your cries.
Make me mad, make me mad,
if only madness would set me freer
than the rest of the humanity.
I’d love to have the freedom
of whom they call crazy:
the youth who love to taste tongues
without fear of nakedness,
the kids who believe that lizards talk
without fear of whips and pinches,
the man who first said that the earth is round
without fear of rolling down the dark abyss,
the young friar who gave his riches
just to live with beggars
to teach them to talk to birds
and to snakes and to flowers
when the sane do not know
how to listen.
I’d love to have their courage
to show their madness,
for the soul of insanity
is freedom.
Only madmen eat
leftover fried chicken
that the sane call waste.
Only madmen rise up
when the sane keep dreaming.
Only madmen scream to curse
poverty, which the sane
call blessedness.
Nobody’s freer than the madmen
who fear of losing nothing
but their chains.
Veronika, when you finally
decide to die, visit my dreams.
When I wake up, I shall be mad.
I will go to the mountains
to sing, to live, to kill,
to love.
And you will understand.
—
Paul Randy P. Gumanao is a licensed chemist, journalist and literature enthusiast. He was fellow at the 2009 Davao Writers Workshop & 2010 Iyas National Creative Writing Workshop in Bacolod. He writes poetry & fiction.