Poetry by Lyda May Sual | April 26, 2009
(For B.)
I’ve always watched in awe
the perfect flourish of your hands
and the outline of your stance
as you gracefully pushed your stick
with your firm grip
and slid the number-9 ball
into the waiting hole.
I always imagined
I was the most attractive pocket,
Yet it doesn’t seem so.
For every time you strike
the balls with your stick
you always fail
to sink it
into me.
Poetry by Krisini Nanini | April 26, 2009
you left nothing
but bitterness
on
my
lips—
perfect bliss.
Poetry by Krisini Nanini | April 26, 2009
I will chase you
with my eyes
even if you run
into the darkest
night.
That’s the only way
I can
see
some
light.
Fiction by Angeli Mari Altizo | April 19, 2009
Malakas ang simoy ng hangin kasama ng amoy ng usok galing sa mga kotse sa ilalim ng overpass. Sobrang ingay dahil sa dami ng kotseng bumubusina at sa mas maraming taong nakapaligid. May narinig akong sumisigaw. Nararamdaman ko silang lahat na nakatingin sa akin. Parang ngayon lang sila nakakita ng lalaking naglalakad sa kable sa itaas ng magulong kalye.
“Kalma lang kayo diyan… di naman titigil ang mundo ninyo kung mamamatay ako.”
Labimpitong taon na akong nabubuhay, tila iisang tao lang ang may pakialam sa akin. Hindi si Itay na binubugbog kami dahil lagi siyang lasing. Hindi si Inay na laging pinatatawad si Itay kahit laging lasing. Wala namang nag-aalala sa akin kundi si Kuya.
Nonfiction by Migs Bassig | April 19, 2009
Move.
There I was, one pleasant morning, on a long sweaty walk that started at the Davao City Hall and led to the unimposing Gaisano South Ilustre mall downtown: moving, maybe lost, but moving. Even though according to the locals I actually came close to the Chinatown of the largest city in the world, it was a stretch that struck me as more Western than Oriental: diners and billboards, no teahouses, and no lanterns.
No matter. Why exchange sixty minutes of sun and solitude for anything else? The weather was agreeable, and I was enjoying being a traveler, as opposed to being “just a domestic tourist.” Only briefly did I stop: upon a minor assault of hunger I had breakfast at a McDonald’s at one corner of an intersection. I forgot for one reason or another to take mental note of the streets’ names, a habit I had acquired in Manila. It was something else which I let guide me: the kites being flown above –looking like seven sperm cells in the clear blue sky– or something simpler perhaps, and vaguer, such as an impulsive fearlessness of the unknown. Whatever it is, if the guide disappointed, I still would’ve moved, just moved, in what R.L. Stevenson had once called “the great affair.”
Poetry by Yul AV Olaya | April 19, 2009
Dalawang panahon ang magkasabay na nagaganap:
ang panahon ngayon
at panahon sa likod nito.
May gabi
sa likod ng gabing ito,
may oras sa likod
ng oras ngayon,
may mga nagaganap
sa likod ng mga pangyayari ngayon.
Poetry by Marius Monsanto | April 19, 2009
He parked the Kia
at the bangketa—
children screamed “kuya,”
children screamed “kuya…”
Strings of white flowers
in the hands of small Maria,
her fingers tapped, “kuya,”
on the window of his Kia…
He opened the door
and let her sit inside
that air-conditioned Kia,
that dark-tinted Kia…
Poetry by Anna Rhieza Rallos, Mary Lou Caharian | April 12, 2009
Lazy Saturday afternoons
To catch up on rest.
Hectic Monday mornings
To catch up on work.
Heavy, sweaty scrubbings
To catch up on cleaning.
Lengthy, newsy letters
To catch up with friends.
Planned week-end outings
To catch up with family.
Long, passionate embraces
To catch up on love.
Why am I always catching up?