Poetry Night 2
Events by Dominique Gerald Cimafranca | January 25, 2009
Reflections
Nonfiction by Sarah Bagis | January 25, 2009
When I see myself in mirrors, I don’t notice my mother’s nose, my father’s eyes, or my aunt’s lips. I do see my reflection but I don’t recognize myself. What I see is my father, what I recognize is a molded reflection of my father’s.
My father may not always have been there for me, but I believe he made sure to be there at the exact moment I had a weak grasp of what was going around me—he made sure to be there to help strengthen my grasp of what was worth gripping, of what was worth holding on to. Here is how I knew.
Oda sa Sa-Ya
Poetry by Yul AV Olaya | January 25, 2009
Ano ka sa akin?
Kundi bituin
Na nagniningning
Sa umaga
Na di nakikita
Ngunit di nawawala.
Isa kang tubig na naiipon
Sa gitna ng mga bato
Na sinisipsip ng tag-init
At ibinabalik ng mga hamog.
Isa kang dahong bagong silang
Kapalit ng mga dahong nalanta.
Musika kang banayad at masaya
Na sa loob ng mga bakanteng
bahay ng kabibe nakatira.
Isa kang masayang alaala.
Niadtong Tuiga
Poetry by James Roy Pascual | January 25, 2009
(Paghinumdum sa 2008)
Maniradug tarung sa balay
Sukna sa iyang mama kanunay
Samtang wa pa sila naabot
Lisod na kuno ang panahon karon
Ang kinaiya sa tawo dili kakumpyansahan
Bisan unsa na lang ang buhaton
Aron lang gayud makalingkawas
Sa nagmantinir nga kahimtang
Beginning with Inkblots
Nonfiction by Kelly Conlon | January 18, 2009
To write is to be in service to the moment, a moment that seeks to captivate and allure as well as to express the complex nature of emotion. I have written for as long as I can remember because I have found the necessity—no, rather, the conscious desire and comfort to see my thoughts and feelings materialize on paper and hence become my reality through which all can awaken and develop a sense of meaning and value.
I write because I feel the urge to enter into the practice of rediscovering the simplicities and complexities around me through the aid of both imagery and words, each story and each poem pulsating with life, striving to describe, to impart insight, to prove, to share—for life, I believe, is in itself the lifeblood of all things written and to be written.
Flashback 1956: Letter of James Martin Welborn
Nonfiction by Macario Tiu | January 18, 2009
(Excerpt from a letter of James Martin Welborn, an American soldier in the Philippine-American War who turned planter in Davao in the first decade of the 1900s.)
October 14, 1956
Dear Son,
…
I notice in the F. P. (Philippine Free Press) that there is a lot of graft around Manila; does the same condition apply around Davao?
It seems that all the world has gone crooked. We have it in this country almost as bad as there with you. The older Philipino was trained in it by the Spaniards and many have improved on their methods.
When I was there the aim of most of the young men was to get an education so they could live without work, not for the betterment of their country or countrymen.
Continue reading Flashback 1956: Letter of James Martin Welborn
59 Beads
Poetry by Krizia Banosan Garcia | January 18, 2009
when our eyes meet
you stab me.
i see you indulge in whatever,
but you never notice the agony
that flows from my eyes.
time wishes to banish our insanity,
and our existence from each other.
you tend to forget about me,
while i pretend you never saw my heart.
i convinced myself i have forgotten your scent,
the taste of your lips,
the feel of your hands
even though i know i never will.
i was reconstructed by you
bitterly insane is what you made of me.
i was reconstructed by you
to never be held down by anyone—
but you.
to move as if i’m free
even though there’s a chain around my neck
with the other end attached to your ankles.
i was reconstructed by you
to forever dwell within this abyss of sorrow.
Whilst I'm Breathing
Poetry by Krizia Banosan Garcia | January 18, 2009
rip me open,
nail me on your bedroom wall;
speak all that’s left unspoken,
or leave me here with nothing at all.
peel off my skin,
take a glimpse at what lies within;
hear my pain, make it sing;
do all these whilst i’m breathing.
rip me open,
or break my every bone;
forsake me, to all that’s forsaken,
or leave me here all alone.
tear open my chest,
trick my heart to keep on beating;
teach me to lie to myself,
do all these, whilst i’m breathing.
hear me cry,
see me die;
don’t you dare close your eyes,
watch me beg for my life,
as you pierce my throat with a rusty knife;
i love you, i swear i won’t ask why-
why it seems like you love to see me die.
Continue reading Whilst I'm Breathing