Poetry by Jearvy R. Lañohan | February 12, 2012
Deftly,
I untwisted frayed tendrils
of memories and coaxed
from their strands
remnants of longings
that no longer have names
nor shapes.
As I traced fading trails
to your world, the wind
blew, sending up
in spirals dusty crumbs
of hope.
The heavens choked –
and wept.
—
Jearvy R. Lañohan teaches Literature at the Philippine Science High School Southern Mindanao Campus. She was a fellow at the 2011 Davao Writers’ Workshop.
Fiction by Jake Tadla | February 12, 2012
Editor’s warning: What follows is a horror story; it contains some disturbing imagery.
The sun was setting. It was surrounded by an unusual reddish orange, the kind usually seen in landscape art pieces. It was visible through the clear glass windows that surrounded the office. Countering the view were photographs of the top salespeople in the company.
The clock ticked exactly five and everybody in the office prepared to log out from the company database. All except for Althea.
Every afternoon, when it was almost time to go home, her face would cloud with gloom. She did not really want to go home. Behind her back, her officemates said she was going through an emotional roller coaster, but she was careful enough to hide it.
Althea waited until the line of coworkers at the biometric scanners dwindled before she got up from her desk. Althea slowly half-stumbled half-walked. She continued in this manner until she reached home. At times she would cover her right ear, but hesitantly, as if she wanted to conceal her actions.
Poetry by Orlando Sayman Jr. | February 5, 2012
Its beauty
deep like
Madalum lake
but equally
cold like
its water;
blind
to red;
deaf
to a sudden
succession
of sounds.
So see its silence.
—
Orlando Sayman, Jr. is a Job-Enabling English Proficiency Monitoring Specialist at USAID-GEM, and is a regular contributor in Dagmay.
Poetry by Denver Ejem Torres | February 5, 2012
Today, the media excavated the bodies of the noisy words put to silence and buried in a mute lot in Maguindanao. The ghosts of those words are back… — an excerpt, from a nonextant news article
The bulldozer, the backhoe and the men are burying the secrets of
their Masters in an open field, bigger than, um, a soccer.
The men, indifferent like the rest of the neck-held neighborhood. The
bulldozer’s and the backhoe’s hands, however, are trembling as if
they had committed a sin.
—
Denver Ejem Torres believes that he is both a fabulist and a chronicler, (after reading Pantoja-Hidalgo) through his poetry. His works have appeared in the 18th INWW Proceedings, The Asia Writes Project, Red River Review (USA), Bisaya (Manila Bulletin) and in Under the Storm: An Anthology of Contemporary Philippine Poetry.
Fiction by Rennai Como | February 5, 2012
The last trip was at 10 pm and I was already having a problem with my stomach. It was aching. Must have been from the water I drank earlier. I asked for it at a carenderia near the terminal. I had never drunk tap water before. But the long wait at the terminal made me thirsty and clammy, and I only had enough money for the bus ticket and a few coins to pay for my jeepney ride once I arrived in Davao.
It was always like this at terminals in provinces. The benches were made of varnished lumber, and only two fluorescent would be lit. The sidewalk vendors had all gone home, and the stores nearby started closing. I sat uneasily on the bench, flipped my long hair from side to side, and fanned my neck with my hand.
Poetry by Karlo Antonio David | January 29, 2012
Sandali lang lumangoy
ang mga alitaptap
Sa aking mga luha
Nang sabihin niyang
Hindi sapat ang liwanag ko
Nung gabing yun sa Kidapawan…
Ah! Hindi ko rin
mapagmamantsa
Ang kahel nitong Claveria
Sa puti mong panyo!
—
Born in Kidapawan, Karlo Antonio G. David was a fellow at the 2011 Iyas Creative Writing Workshop in Bacolod. He is a regular contributor in Dagmay.
Poetry by Edgar Bacong | January 29, 2012
(kina Archie at Joey)
Walang makasaysayang edipisyo ng syudad
ang nag-iwan ng matingkad na palatandaan
sa lupalop ng aking gunita.
Kundi tanging mabibilog na mukha
ng matalik kong mga kaibigang
may ilang taon na ring di ko nayakap
ng mahigpit sa kanilang mga kaarawan.
O di kaya’y naiabot man lamang ang kamay
sa mga sandaling diwa’y nag-aapuhap
ng katiyakan sa pangingibang-bayan.
Kaya nitong muling pagtatagpo
lubos kong kinagiliwan ang gabi-gabi
naming paglatag ng mga nakasalansang
karanasan sa lihim na kilusan at tanghalan.
Minsa’y napabuntong-hininga kami
sa mga kakilala’t kasamang pinaslang.
Minsan nama’y biglang napahagikhik
sa mga pag-ibig na di naipahiwatig
sa mga kapwa mandudula sa teatro.
Binagtas na ng aming mga talampakan
ang liku-liko’t mabatong disyerto.
Ngunit bumabalik at bumabalik kaming tatlo
sa pagtunton sa mga kalyehon ng nakaraang
kaytitingkad ng mga palatandaang iminuhon
ng aming mga di malimot-limot na kahapon.
—
Edgar Bacong studied AB Sociology at the Ateneo de Davao University, and now lives in Zurich, Switzerland.
Poetry by Jeff Javier | January 29, 2012
In solitude, she picks the pebbles one by one, big and small, round and edged, and stacks them in the middle of her garden. Not to build a tower and climb its circular stair; to raise a fountain into the sky is not to defy the gods but to honor them with air and water spiking and sprouting from the land. The stones swell up and the mound takes the shape of the layering years when the mosses have not yet reached the necks of her sculptures. She looks at them now and then squinting from the sun’s glare wondering how long it will take the merchants to be lost on her side of the island once more.