Poetry by Arian Rey Tejano | August 17, 2008
You may
not
see
the raft,
buoying
in the ocean,
but you
can feel
the waters,
rippling
on the edges
of your feet.
If your hands
suffer from
the coldness
of the breeze,
just cup
these waters
and it will
carry you
to a white distance,
where I am
lost,
sailing
against the wind
of my departure.
Poetry by Ariel Lalisan | August 17, 2008
She used to live in a shanty
with nipa roof
and bamboo walls,
and soil for a floor.
She used to look so shabby
in hand-sewn clothes
and an old pair of shoes,
which, all, her mother once wore.
She used to be poorer than the rats
she would run after
and smash with a broom.
But everything has changed
since she met Mr. Jones.
Now life for her (and the neighborhood)
suddenly became easy
as Mr. Jones—it seems—
is a man so generous and wealthy.
No trace of a poor lady can be seen
as she walks around the town
with a tall, white man.
The smile on her face beams with pride
as her head she holds high.
But never had she heard of the stories
passed on from mouth to mouth,
of what she might have done
to bring home a gold mine.
Fiction by Khareen Culajara | August 10, 2008
It was already dusk when he arrived at the gate.
His eyes were immediately riveted to some children playing under the huge Christmas tree. A mango tree that was decorated with Christmas lights stood close to it.
He took out an old cellular phone inside his pocket. No messages. He squared his shoulders and heaved a great sigh. He looked at his own hands, which were already weary from pushing his own wheelchair. He tightened his grip on the wheels even more and turned them slowly forward. No one noticed his arrival when he painstakingly tried to squeeze himself through the main door.
Poetry by Joie Mar Prias | August 10, 2008
Ang kabugnaw sa hangin
Mao mutunaw sa kamatyanong kainit
Ang ga-asong kape, ang akong habol
Ug ang paghandum kanimo
Mao ray nagpainit
niining gabhiona,
Ug sama sa mga patak sa ulan
Na daaw dagom nga nitusok-lalom
Sa kaugatan, imong gitusok
ang dughan ko sa imong
hait ug init na gugma.
Poetry by Vanessa Almeria | August 10, 2008
I sit at the center,
the red metal stool
bearing my weight.
the girl in blue stares
at me with tiger eyes.
I face the other way, dragging
the stool as
it screeches—
my thoughts exactly.
The man in eyeglasses
shouts, “what’s the central image?”
the girl in blue nods,
not once
but twice
as the man hammers
my poems
on the table.
I face them,
carrying
my own weight as
he hurls the sheets
up in the air.
Our eyes witness
my syllables
fall
like the loosened
leaves
of a tree.
Poetry by Maria Virginia Yap Morales | August 10, 2008
Peering through a picture window
I saw pastel-hued balloons dance in the air,
anchored to chairs built so low
uprooted children are ill-fitted there.
I gaze at you and me standing –
opposite ends of a rainbow:
I am writing history.
You are certain
in this country
there is a treasure of stories to know.
You finally understood why you had to go.
Seeping sambong in a screened porch
embraced by life-filling green
Alone I stare upon your raiment of dark pink torch
more lovely than I can ever imagine.
Nonfiction by Divina Amor Germina | August 10, 2008
Eating durian is an experience like no other. In Mintal, durian trees abound; so, in durian season, which starts around July, Mintal welcomes you with the distinctive scent: pungent as the jackfruit; addictive as rugby; and, strong as coffee. My favorite variety, Arancillo, is like a balled porcupine, with shades ranging from olive green to khaki depending on the ripeness, and is usually no bigger than a basketball. Continue reading The Yin-Yang of Durian
Poetry by Karla Stefan Singson | August 3, 2008
Sitting beside handsome
Is an intricate art:
A bouquet of anxiety
Grows on your skin
So abruptly,
Yet so daintily,
As if it has happened before.
A familiar feeling, yes,
Like opening your first gift from Santa
Or taking the first strides
Of your pre-school graduation march.