Panumdom

Poetry by | May 6, 2012

Niagi ang kuwarenta minutos
Apan ang bus dili mo-isbog.
Ang akong tupad nga mga Hapon
Mikuhas ilang earphone,
Daw naminaw ug tukar o di ba balita,
Napungot kay ang mga sakyanan
Sa Beretania dili gasibog.
Sa akong atbang, dunay duha
Ka Amerkanang sigeg tan-aw
Sa ilang relo, dala yam-id
Kon ang bus mo-irog lag diyotay.
Sa way dugay, adunay mga nanganaug
Nga daw samas sundalong samdan.
Ug wa ko hipugngi ang pahiyom
Nga naumol sa akong mga ngabil
Sa dihang nikidlap sa kong panumdoman
Ang akong gigikanan.

—
Jayson Parba is currently enjoying his Fulbright Foreign Language Teaching Assistantship (FLTA) Program at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. He comes from Cagayan de Oro City and teaches literature and ESL courses at Capitol University.

Grave of Pens

Fiction by | May 6, 2012

We have all your pens. Every single pen that you purchased and lost is now in our possession. The black ones, the blue ones, the red ones, the new ones, the old ones, the empty ones, the ones with bite marks, the ones that you think are in your bag, the ones that are important to you, and the ones that you’ve forgotten. We’ve got them all.

We keep them in a dark room somewhere between nowhere and everywhere. It’s an odd room now that we think about it. It is dimly lit by faint patches of sunlight that would fade from one spot then illuminate in another. The smell of dry ink and rusted pen-points pollutes the air and makes living here a pain. The sounds of pens being stored and sorted reverberate throughout the entire room, giving a rhythmic tick to the place that we find endearing. And there’s an unusual pewter-colored fog that would hover over an empty mahogany stool. All these make up the peculiarity of room. The room where we keep all your pens.

Continue reading Grave of Pens

Fast-break Breakfast

Fiction by | May 6, 2012

“Dino, did you know that there’s some really good toast served in a mysterious island somewhere around Samal? It’s rumored to be the greatest dish of toast ever toasted. One hell of a breakfast!”

“Rex, dude, are you serious? That sounds seriously interesting. The world’s best toast, huh? How do we get there? Is there like a secret boat that will take us there?”

“No. We’ll have to swim.”

“Swim? To Samal? From Davao? Fart yeah! How do we recognize the island though?”

“It breathes fire. I don’t think it’ll be that hard to miss.”

“Should we go now? I mean it is 2 am.”

“No better time than the present, bro.”

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An Open Letter to Ms. Long Lean Limbs

Nonfiction by | April 29, 2012

Dear Ms. Long Lean Limbs,

Right off the bat, I would like to say that I have this unwavering need to decline your friend request on this social network site that we both subscribe to. For one thing, I have no idea who you are. At the same time, I doubt it very much that you know anything about me at all.

The truth is: before I saw your friend request in my message box, I was living a boring virtual and real life existence. I was actually pretending that the articles I was writing about would somehow change world views and rewrite history, despite the fact that my client had limited my online literary expertise to: how to cure athlete’s foot, and how to avoid smelly armpits, and how to eliminate other yeast-friendly environments on the human body.

Continue reading An Open Letter to Ms. Long Lean Limbs

Future Husbands and Nail Polishes

Fiction by | April 29, 2012

As I am painting my nails on this 26th of January 2012, I wonder what my future husband is doing. He might be someone I haven’t met before. He might be someone who just got his heart broken, sad, angry, and alone.

Or he might be laughing at some joke his girlfriend just said or just buying milk from the grocery.

Or, I might have already met him.

He might be reading a book or pretending to listen to someone drone on and on and wishing I was there beside him. Or he might be thinking the same way as I am. Wondering if she may be the one?

As my nail polish dries and my toes glimmer from the paint, I wish someday I could look back and think that I got one thing right from all those things I just said now.

I don’t know what, but I wish I would be up to it all when it all hits very close to home.

—
Golda Ceniza is a graduate of San Pedro College and is Registered Nurse. She comes from Digos, the City of Mangoes. This is her first work featured in Dagmay.

Settings

Poetry by | April 29, 2012

The chess tables start to crowd in with old men in pillbox hats
on that hour when the sky turns the color of dishwater.
They repeat heroisms of ancient wars here on tiles, the focus
in their eyes pronounce as wattle under their chins. No sooner
than when a thousand lanterns are plugged on, hanging
like diamonds from knobby branches, vertical eyes prepared to drop
before the tears, the drifters come through the green gaps of bush.
They weld into the concrete around the trees; lean on the spray
of a three-tiered fountain, lay their heads against the thighs
of a whore who will later give massages in street corners. Now,
the old are fixed in permanent stoops like black birds
eyeing toppled carcasses of wooden kings. In the bygone sun,
the trees wear patches of dark like second skin, thick wedges
of quiet, unmoving but for the vagrant wind looking for dead
leaves on low branches. They crackle like eggshells under shoes
or the slow fire of cigarettes. Stray starlight sieve irregular
through a tree ceiling, liver spots on the skin of earth,
signs of lost manners, leavings of light, dirty grays below the brows,
signs of sun gone without telling.

—
Zola Macarambon heads the CDO Writers Bloc and has just given birth to a baby boy.

Ang Musika Sa Merkado

Poetry by | April 29, 2012

“Isda, isda” dungog nako sa pagaw nga tingog sa tindera,
“Baligya selopin” ingon pud sa gamay nga tingog sa bata.
Tuyok ligid pud sa kariton kang manong,
Nga ang sulod puros kangkong.

Sa agi-anan, aduna pud tagaktak sa sinsilyo,
Halin sa batang gapamaligyag sigarilyo.
Sa tindahan, sonata sa pirated nga DVD,
Gi-kawatan diay sa tao nga ga-ngisi.

Sa dalan, dyip niserbato atubangan sa motor,
“Hi-way, hi-way” siyaget pud sa konduktor.
Sa kilid-kilid, daghan gapamaligyaay,
Lumba sibat dayun dala siyaget, “naay mangdakopay!”

“Ngayo ko hinabang” ingon sa tigulang sa tungod,
“Prutas mga miga… suki” sa unahan pud ga-tukod.
Aduna pud gapanit-sit sa chiks sa atubangan,
Sa merkado, maski unsa imong madunggan.

Saba paminawon kung bu-ot huna huna-on,
Labi nag ikaw gahilom og sila imong paminawon.
Pero sa kadugay na nako diri nga lugara,
Mao nah ang imong matawag nga ilang musika.

—
Karen Mae O. del Puerto is reviewing for the NLE Board exam and is a part-time violin teacher in prep and elementary school in Cagayan de Oro City. This is her first work featured in Dagmay.

Kape

Poetry by | April 22, 2012

Ang umuusok mong init
Ang siyang umakit sa akin
Na ika’y aking tikman

‘di baleng bibig ko’y mapaso
Mula sa iyong naglalagablab na init,
Malasap ko lang ang taglay mo’ng sarap

Pero dumaan ang ilang minuto
Napagtanto ko na mas malalasap ko
ang iyong sarap kung init mo’y tama lang,
Kaya mas mainam na hihintayin ko na lang
Ang sandaling pwede ka na

Sa sandaling ako’y naghintay
Hindi ko namalayan –
Dahan-dahan ka ng lumalamig

Pero dahil ayokong masayang ka,
pinagtiyagaan na lang kita,
baka sakaling pwede pa?
Ngunit sa aking paglasap,
Sarap mo’y nawala
Mula na’ng init mo’y naglaho

—
Armando Fenequito, Jr. is a third Year Bachelor of Arts in Literature student of University of Southeastern Philippines.