Poetry by Tyron Keith Maru Varias Sabal | November 21, 2010
Je prends un thé au lait.
Je prends un thé nature.
Un café noir, s’il vous plait.
Voila!
Merci,
Monsieur.
Saba raw diha!
Aw, unsa ba diay?
Wa man ta sa France.
Naa lang sa kegeyen.
Nonfiction by Fritz Gerald M. Melodi | November 21, 2010
A week after November first, my family visited my grandfather’s, uncle’s, and my mother’s graves. We decided not to go with the heavy flow of human traffic during the holiday, so we went a week after.
At the grave, my aunt and a few family members gathered around the graves to wipe clean a few smudges on the tombstone and took away some clutter along the sides. After which, they lighted candles, and as my other oriental tradition would suggest (Japanese). As all this was happening, I stood from afar, watching.
Poetry by Elmer Sayre | November 14, 2010
I have every material wealth conceivable-
A mansion in the hill, fatuous women;
A fleet of cars, fat contracts;
Cupboard brimming, fat belly;
Mile-long bankbooks, fat arthritis;
I crave for more and more and more,
Except that I don’t crave for god anymore-
My god is a small god, if anything at all.
—-
Elmer Sayre writes from Initao, Misamis Oriental.
Poetry by Miguel Antonio Lizada | November 14, 2010
And sometimes, you just feel it
because quickness, the twin of youth
can turn dark. It may come
like that. A sentence, then the period,
then space and suddenly, for a moment, your life
finds full form, in paragraphs on another paper:
you were good. Yes, you were good.
Goodness at this point is a genre,
the template of remembering.
Oh but see the body still. The body,
the body is a living book of the dead:
your cells, the syllables of generations.
So I tell you now what grief is:
a sentence forcing the spine to snap
a book shut, before it’s passed on, held
by handshakes, read out loud
by a kiss.
—-
Migoy Lizada is finishing his graduate studies at the National University of Singapore.
Fiction by Jayson Parba | November 7, 2010
This story won 1st Prize in the 2010 DWG Fiction Writing in Bisaya. It will run in Dagmay through the rest of November.
Hubog na pod siya karon. Ug sama kaniadtong mga niaging adlaw, pirmi siyang gayawyaw sa iyang pagkatulog. Samtang kaming tanan ginaduyan na diha sa among mga damgo sa kabugnaw sa kadlawon, makamata mi sa iyang siyagit og “Intoy!” Usahay, mokalit lang siyag dangoyngooy diha sa iyang pagkatulog. Ingon ana gyod nang mga hubog, murag walay buot kon matulog. Makahuna-huna ko usahay nga gadamgo siya kang Manoy Intoy o di kaha ga-uromon siya. Apan puydi pod tingali nga diha sa iyang pagkahinanok, iyang gakakit-an ang mga panghitabo kon kanus-a wala siyay nabuhat kay adtong higayona nakiglambigit man siya sa demonyo nga namugna sa bino nga naghari sa iyang pangisip.
Dili to nako malimtan nga takna kay didto nagsugod kining gawi nga akong ginabuhat kada mahubog si Papa . Sabado. Tulo katuig na ang niagi. Kilomkilom tong adlawa, apan si Papa desidido nga moadto mi sa siyudad aron among ibaligya ang kopras nga bag-o lang namo gigang-gang aron kini mauga pagdali. Pipila pod kagabii nga nagbilar si Manoy Intoy ug Papa aron magpadayon ang siga sa kalayo nga gapa-uga sa kopras. Kon adlawan, ako ang gabantay didto sa ganggangan aron ang kalayo dili mahutdan ug sugnod. Gikinahanglan kaayo nga amo dayong humanon ang maong bulohaton. Gasakit si Mama og dili maayo nga iyang ipatutoy si Inday Nika nga pipila pa lang kabuwan. Basin unyag matakdan siya ni Mama. Kinahanglan namo mopalit og tambal didto sa siyudad.
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.
Play by Darylle Rubino | October 24, 2010
Characters:
Elmer, 26 years old, dressed in semi business attire, a drug runner
B, 23 years old, the younger brother of Elmer, in shorts and t-shirts, unemployed
Ely, 27 years old, a mob member, the right hand of the boss of a mob, he has a gun at the waist
Setting:
An apartment. On centerstage is a sofa and in front of it is a small coffee table. There is a TV on the right side of the stage, opposite to it is a dining table for two. There is a lighter on the coffee table, a foil under it and a burnt spoon. The room is a mess, the floor is not swept, shirts and pants are scattered. The main door to the apartment is at the right side and a window behind the TV.