Poetry by Hannah Louise Enanoria | February 21st, 2010
Minsan noong pababa tayo
sa padyak galing eskuwelahan
dito sa lumang daungan
na dati’y ginamit ng Espanya
sa pagkalakal ng alak,
sinabi mo ang pinaghalong
halimuyak ng ilang-ilang
sa gitna ng liwasan at
simoy ng dagat ay walang
katulad.
Habang kumukuha tayo
ng litrato ng mga mangingisdang
nasa balsa sumasagwan,
namimingwit, naglalambat,
nag-uunahan sa kuha,
hindi ko alintana
ang oras kahit
dapithapon na.
Poetry by Maureen Ronquillo | February 14th, 2010
The dirt under his nails—gray
mud scraped to shape
my body. My body
is a lump of clay
on the potter’s wheel,
slick palms tracing the curves,
dripping clay
covers the potter’s hand going down
inside the jar. What smooth rings
his fingers create, moans
of solemn earth, shaped
to become my body. My body
enters the kiln, gasps from the heat
of the fire within, burning
the skin of his fingers off my body
until I’m done—
a hollow
vessel
of burnt clay.
—-
Maureen Ronquillo is a senior creative writing student at UP Mindanao.
Poetry by Krizia Banosan Garcia | February 14th, 2010
Written, scribbled is her name
on your filthy white-washed walls.
i beg no explanation.
your walls that surround me, bathed in her name,
engulfs me in pain and hatred.
i wish to unravel your mind,
for her name is not enough to make me bleed.
i’m thankful your room is your hell.
we can start afresh with my white-washed walls
that never witnessed any of your melancholy.
we can turn it into your heaven and paint
diamonds and Lucy’s kaleidoscopic eyes on the ceiling.
write, scribble your name on my walls.
and when you leave me,
i will taste the hell you have tasted
by sleeping with names
written by someone now a memory.
—-
Krizia Banosan Garcia graduated from DRANHS’ acceleration program called ALS, finishing elementary two years ago and high school last year.
Poetry by JR Pascual | February 14th, 2010
Panaad kanako
nga gaksun ko nimo sa hugot
sa mga buktong luwas ako
diin makabatyag kalinaw
ug makalimtan ang tanan.
Panaad kanako
nga sagupon ko nimo
ug padayunon sa gambalay
sa imong hunahuna
dayon sa kasingkasing
lahos sa imong kalag.
Panaad kanako
nga subayan ko nimo
sa dalan sa way sukod
ug samang kalipay
diin mawagtang ang
handumanan sa kagahapon
sa paghulat ug pagmahay.
Ayaw tuod ko pakyasa
diin kaniadto napakyas ko
kay ako nakahukom na
nga dugmukon ang talikala
sa akong kalibog
nga nagpitul sa akong
kagawasan.
Karon ako manaad usab
nga panggaon
ug amumahon ka sa labaw –
butang nga wa nako
nabuhat kaniya.
Dili ko mabasol
ang mga rosas nga
gibalibad ni Alyssa
nga maoy nagtukmod
kanako sa kahimtang
kung ang pinitik mao
nang imong gugma.
Alang kanila
dili man kini angay
apan maangay ra kini.
Salig lang kanako
ug diha usab kanimo
ug sa atong mga panaad
Manukad na ta
ug ipadayon
ang atong mga
panaad.
—-
JR Pascual studies in a business school in Mindanao.
Poetry by Jhunorjim Caumbo Zandueta | February 14th, 2010
Gano kalayo ang milya,
Na kailangan kong tahakin,
Upang ikaw ay makita,
Upang muling kausapin,
Upang muling masilayan,
Mata na umakit sa akin
Upang muli kong masabi,
Alab ng aking damdamin.
Gano kahaba ang araw,
Na kailangang padaanin,
Na kailangang palipasin,
Upang ika’y makapiling?
Laman ng aking dalangin,
Palagi mong iisipin,
Di mo man ako piliin,
Ikaw lang ang iibigin.
—-
Jhunorjim Caumbo Zandueta is a Computer Engineering Student at ADDU.
Poetry by Henriette Gelacio | February 14th, 2010
A kiss
Is sacred, so divine
A symbol of love
Pure and sublime.
Yet a kiss
Can be of friendship,
Peers do that
To say hello and goodbye.
And a kiss
Filled with lust
Is fierce, savagely
desired, filled with delight.
Though the kiss
I yearn for
Is a little bit
Of everything—
A kiss full of love
A kiss full of amity
And yes, a kiss full of
Unstoppable desire.
Ah a kiss—just this kiss.
—-
Henriette Gelacio is a nurse by profession currently reviewing for the IELTS.
Poetry by Allen Samsuya | February 14th, 2010
She doesn’t know, but I know
how she still has the hots for me—
How she keeps her hair kempt
and smelling of warm gin
and citrus so she’s sure
she intoxicates me
despite the distance she claims
to have between us. And how
she wants me to take her hard
against something, a wall perhaps,
or a closet, or a king-sized bed.
This, I can tell by the way she walks
away— the weight of a love
nurtured in secrecy constantly
shifting on the curve of her waist
but she walks away, anyway.
—-
Allen Samsuya is a writing student at UPMin.
Poetry by Riza Racho | February 14th, 2010
Ang nahigugma
Sa kamingaw mangita man
Mga paagi aron makit-an ka
Apan ikaw nanghugas na
Gipapha sa makapila
Ang kagahapon ta
Gi-pas-an ko ang imong anino
Nagsalig ko na sa anino man lang
Dili ug dili gayud ikaw hikalimtan
Apan ikaw
Daling nakalimot
nilakaw ka
nipalayo
Maayo pa ang mananap
mahibalo pang mulingi
Mutilap
Mubakho
Apan ikaw
Hingpit ang pagkalimot
Poetry by Rory Ian Bualan | February 7th, 2010
He took his time and made up his mind,
now he talks in front with spectacles on:
“This is not a way of life—it’s the way I am.”
So the line goes; and being sarcastic
makes him feel good, like a pat on his
square-model shoulders.
He glanced at the sun, noticed it’s early;
so he lingered and walked like forever.
“It is not fashion, babe, it’s passion!”
So he proclaims! And comments, rants,
insults with pure joy and pride—like
a panelist in one of those ramp realities.
Poetry by Erika Navaja | February 7th, 2010
Just got my clothes all washed up,
ready to dry. Perfect day
for clothes-hanging, although
moments ago the sun hid
among cloud blankets.
Wind chilled my wet hands
as I hung a week’s worth
of memories selected, arrayed properly:
the tee I wore going to a hotel function,
the bloodied socks caused
by three-month old abrasions,
the hankie I used for crying out loud
(and for honking sea-green mucus into),
some running stitches
hastily keeping my pants shorter,
frays on skinny jeans
out of clumsy hands playing
with scissors, the get-well-soon shirt
with distinguished signatures, my secret
stains on a panty hem, the yellowed
armpits, the gloomy pinks, the bright blues
fading blacks—still no sun? The chill
passes what seemed to be buntings,
welcoming next week’s festivities to come.