Fiction by Josie Carballo Tejada | February 13, 2011
Adapted from Greek Mythology. Illustrations by Juan Carlos Tejada and Kevin Hiram Tejada+
When Edi reached the city’s gate
all was quiet and sedate.
So Edi called with his voice out loud
“HEY MONSTER, WHEREVER YOU ARE, COME OUT!”
Suddenly there was loud flapping of wings
And a large, dark shadow loomed over him.
The winged creature was large and furry
With the body of lion
And the head of a lady.
The world is a crazy place;
There’s always room for the right and wrong people.
But, despite the fact that there are always two kinds of entities
this pit has always had a niche for people to squeeze themselves in.
And no matter how tight that little space,
One will always find solace in a corner
To appreciate the world go by in a day.
Our planet is a fuzzy little shell.
Its enigma keeps us looped and drawn in;
No matter how much we break free
The rope that binds is never too strong or too slight to cut through.
And as you already know, everyone is an element of the world,
Part and parcel, part of the whole,
Co-existing in chaos and harmony.
All this knowledge make you think you already know what it takes to live
For you appreciate the world as we all know it,
For we appreciate humanity as we live it,
For we love as we feel it
For we curiously navigate as we sail through life’s ebbs
For we rise as we fall
And we live through it all!
Poetry by Myan May Declaro | February 13, 2011
I wish I was your cello
in frenzy at the touch of your bow, stirring
as your erratic fingers pluck
my still but waiting strings, gasping
while you control your breathing
and dance madly
to the notes you were playing,
to the music that only a cello and the cellist can hear;
reverberating, convulsing, until the orchestra stops,
until the lights went off
that marks the end of our piece.
I’m listening.
—
Myan Declaro took up AB English Creative Writing in UP Mindanao and is currently working at Caraga State University.
Editor's Note by Vanessa Arellano Doctor | February 13, 2011
The Davao Writers Guild, along with the National Commission for Culture and the Arts, would like to thank everyone who attended the 3-day Taboan International Writers Festival at the Royal Mandaya Hotel. Special thanks goes out to the LCB Performing Arts Center Foundation for the entertaining performances and support for this entire event.
Of course, the festival would not have been a success without the writers from all over the country, and the world, who shared new insights and encouraged a greater sense of heart toward the arts and the written word. Until the next year!
Poetry by Jayson Parba | February 6, 2011
Kining relo nga kalit niundag tuyok
Dili usa ka makinang daot.
Kini ang akong pagbating gitipigan,
Gisuksok sa pamasing ang tanan makalimtan.
Ug diha sa suok siya nagpaabot.
Sa hilom, naghandom nga pansinon,
Nag-ampo nga sa maka-usa pa,
Sul-obon.
Apan ang akong kasingkasing
Gipul-an na. Gikapoyan nag ilis.
Naluya sa mga kuso-kuso,
Nawad-an og kusog sa pagpanlubag.
Kining relo nga niundang og pitik
Dili usa ka makina. Kini usa ka pagbating
Nahinanok ug wa kamata.
Di na ko mopalit og bag-ong baterya.
—
About Jayson Parba: Si Jayson usa ka magtutudlo sa Capitol University sa Cagayan de Oro City.
Poetry by Rory Ian Bualan | February 6, 2011
They defined love right before we knew it;
boxed it, typecast it even before we saw it,
and actually felt it:
bright red silk and sheets
of sun-dried passion;
yet they never told us it could be this painful. About Rory Bualan: “I teach, read and write. 😉 …and eat and diet.”
Fiction by Vida Mia Valverde | February 6, 2011
As the song goes, “If I can make it there. I’ll make it anywhere. New York! New York!”
But Tricia was barely making it.
Carrying what seemed like ten watermelons inside her belly, she willed her brain to suck all the tears back in. She knew that even a sigh would place her in danger of losing her very fragile control. It was a good thing her neighbors, John and Mayen, offered to drive. If it weren’t for the waves of alternating intense fire and knives that radiated from her abdomen, she would have felt deep humiliation.
Nonfiction by Guia Limbaga | January 30, 2011
If you really wanted to hear about it, you will probably want to know where I was born, what the entirety of my not-so-lousy childhood was, and all that crap. But you do not, and that’s good. Besides, I am not going to write my autobiography or whatever, like I am going to die soon. Duh. I am going to tell you about the whole madman process of how I learned English. And hey, looking back, it seems you can compare English to a guy, or heck, maybe a boyfriend. The kind you want to hug and choke at the same time.
Where I want to start telling you all this stuff is when we first met. I was still very young (I was in preschool that time). At that time, it really did not matter to me who he was or what he was; I did not need to know him yet, at least at that point. So, for all intents and purposes at that time, we were just acquaintances. Our teachers wanted me to get to know English better, and use it more often, but it wasn’t a requirement just yet.
And if it is not a requirement, would any kid do it if she did not like it anyway?