Tribute
he coaxed Italian
from my lips
my face’s shape pressed
to form the words
now, at his funeral,
I deliver the eulogy
with perfect diction
previously published in ken*again
12 roller coaster
months of wild changes ---
my only wish,
for this new year
the gift of boredom
previously published in Ribbons
my suitcase
never quite unpacked
since this new job
my life a perpetual
Monday morning
previously published in Tanka Cafe
© Aurora Antonovic
Aurora Antonovic is a Canadian editor, writer, and visual artist whose work has appeared over four thousand times in publications spanning twelve countries and five continents. She is a recent Pushcart Prize nominee, and haiga editor of Simply Haiku. She is also editor of A Little Archive of Poetry, a publication that seeks to promote the love of verse in all forms. Aurora recently illustrated Marie Lecrivain's chapbook, The Painter, available through Lummox Press -- http://www.lummoxpress.com/newlp.htm
SINKING
I sink
and settle.
Eye at the bottom
of the pool.
Retina detached
and blood
turning blue
to red.
I dream
of dawn.
THE PROPHET
False profiteer
Running amuck
In the world:
He pretends
He speaks the Word
His fist on the pulpit
Knocks on wood
The splinters reach his heart
SILENT SEA
Silence splits
The flesh from
Your eardrums,
As a rock
Splits your head
Wide open.
Silence spills
From your soul
To the sea.
The salt deep
In your wounds
Sponges up
Your blood as
Your tongue licks
The salt up
Like a knocked-
Up tailless
Iguana.
A bright light
Sweeps you off
Your tender
Toes. The sea
Takes you like
Dry driftwood.
The water
Is immense
As your drift
Away where
The bright light
Shines on you.
Silence takes
You below
Like a stone.
You fall to
The bottom
Of the sea.
An oil soaked
Fish stains your
Body black.
Your soul can't
Reach the light
In the deep.
Love or hate
Can't be found
In this place.
Silence is
All there is,
And black fish,
Who swim as
If drunk or
Psychotic.
The silence
Is almost
Deafening.
© Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
FORGETTING
I will forget you ? like alibis for sunsets
and forged biographies
I will try?so that you will cease to exist
in my eternally wonderful notebook. Or
Maybe I will forget to try.
but among our great sorrows, my love
a blessing
masked
with makeshift shadows and the tomorrows
of my vulnerable heart.
Rest now?it is cold as never-ending
Know you I have come so far.
WHEN YOU
when
you continue to live, I continue
to die (there a number of reasons
seem to fall on your moonlit head
In writing
there are things you must consider
take for example ?Love poem ? heaven to earth
and back ? you will not remember
I dreamt of you with kisses in June
TO ONCE MORE
To once more write your words
with fire in my hands, sin and eagerness
I will not stickle to surrender
To once more hold disillusionment
like blue stones, and blue rocks,
blue pearls, and blue tongues
as your faint euphemisms
drown in my transcendent sighs, taken in wings
To once more sway with you, note you, cite you,
at the side of your skins
on half-moon, half-sun images, the last of ethereal sunsets
To once more pore over you
as you open your eyes
Round, they are the shape of the moon,
dancing with the moon
and the stars, touch those lavish drops
they are you
falling from the stars.
SITTING LEGS-CROSSED
Only the sand
Will understand
How
The only things
That overflow a
Container of memories
In water
Never touching you
Twice.
I WATCH CLOSELY A BURNING TREE
vividly the ashes flood my eyes
it burns with the frail
branches that evaporate slices
of age.
the sort of yellow-dimming
air tastes if shards of glass, thinly
cutting the edges of
life. So it can sleep and wither
in an evanescent shade of smoke.
so foaming the velocity of a lie
it too goes to heaven
and I see vividly rte ashes flood my eyes
soon my eyes
are thin as slices.
POST
a post manuscript of the sky surround
the stern pale authority of rosy-fingered days
an only exit to perdition, seeking
to rebuild a dress of white feathers
along an aisle?s carpet of feathers
to remember you (forgot my dulcet
song of time the symphony of a melancholic
guitar of matches.
The corridor of broken stares where
you cannot return. why
does it seem I am
left below
The roads a view of
five arrows
in all directions.
(devour your hands in spaceless
Thus to resurrect
early
death)
a eulogy, an ephemeral tile
a deathbed of flowers
© Kristina V. Cajipe
Kristina V. Cajipe graduated with a Bachelor's from De la Salle University - College of Saint Benilde. Currently, she is pursuing her Master's Degree in Eurpoean Studies. She had always possessed an immense passion for the arts as she is active in organizations and has received recognition in the field of arts and sciences in such. Kristina V. Cajipe has been published in several print and online journals.
Space and Time
If we were to feed into its fire
we would be completely lost
amidst the burning ashes
there is no point of return
Silently a slumbering melody
erupts from the gulf of consciousness
a labyrinthine flute whispers
that nothing is permanent
Maybe that desire was real
but it is locked in space and time
the filing cabinets of the universe
are only built to fit once.
Journey
Rain tiles cascading from your song
we are dueting of epochs before long
sing to me, flute of youth
let the waters flow to soothe
This wandering heart who misses you
land of memories etched in blue
sadness is when I think of you
yet sadness is life, and death is rue.
© Rachel Chan Suet Kay
Final year Sociology major who likes singing, ballroom dancing, travelling, and reading and writing poetry.
The stench in Sityo Kalyong
The stench stalked
and downed folks.
Pollen is the curse.
No land to till, their
days are numbered,
similar to a calendar.
Dusk in Dasmariñas
Just as cicadas convinced the hearse
to run off, I crouched down behind the
ipil-ipil tree. It got absolutely dark and
still. It got hungry bullfrogs jaundiced.
Gone are those cosseted with grass;
gone are bees whose hive wrecked.
What was I doing that for? Peeking up
just enough to see all but not be seen
in enigmatic soliloquy; so baffled over
a transient ebullition where I've been.
Moon came out and for some reason,
nobody cared but the purple sunrise.
Ethnic scourge
Ancient law says we must offer
sacrifices before cutting a tree;
move on to a new area after
harvest. Let the land recover
from a slash-and-burn memory.
'Til Green Circle came to our forest,
tearing down hundreds everyday;
ruining saplings while all the rest
of flora and fauna, their nests,
including us, were driven away.
I grieve this foul erosion of hopes,
the drying of watersheds, dead rivers.
All starve as profits leave the shores.
In Sierra Madre's lowland, upper slopes
are loggers' chainsaw massacres.
Mekedyapat has seen our suffering
with our forebears hurt the most.
The once divided clans are rising
in collective unity – the missing
link to regain our paradise lost!
© Dennis Espada
Dennis was brought up and educated in Laguna, Philippines where he consume at least one ballpen per month. For him, literary writing is a chance to speak openly and uninhibitedly. He is a freelance writer and journalist.
Linghod nga Gugma
Tana sa kabukiran,
Ilalom sa mga bitoon,
Na-ay palad nga malipayon,
Gakson tika ug hagkan,
Gapuson sa mga bukton,
Ining bulahan nga himaya
Linghod tang paghigugma.
Young Love
To the hills ket us go
Into the lovers' bough,
Now breathes our happiness,
Great will be our kisses,
Great too our embraces,
In ethereal joy we kiss,
Love so young is bliss.
Atong Tinago
Ig-agi sa dugayng panahon,
Timan-an nato ang kagahapon,
Usa ka gabi-i gihatag nako,
Ngadto sa imong mga tudlo,
Ang akong kagamhanan,
Nga imong gidawat ug gigunitan.
Kini gyud ang atong tinago,
Kita ug way lain ang nahibalo,
Isulod sa kasingkasing aron hinumdumon
Ang gibuhat nato sa kangitngitan,
Usa ka gabi-i sa kagahapon.
Our Secret
As time goes by,
Let us remember our yesterday,
The night I put
Into your hands my power,
And you took it and held it.
This is our secret,
Only meant for you and I.
Let us put this in our hearts
For us To remember by,
The things we did in the dark,
One night in the yesterday of our life.
Ating Lihim
Pagdaan ng mahabang panahon,
Alalahanin natin ang kahapon,
Isang gabi binigay ko
Sa kamay mo,
Ang aking kapangyarihan,
Na iyong tinanggap at hinawakan,
Ito ang ating lihim,
Ang ginawa natin,
Sa isang gabing madilim,
Ating ilagay sa loob ng puso,
At alalahanin.
Bendisyon
Sana ikaw ay laging maligaya,
Sana ikaw ay laging masaya,
Sana ang loob mo ay laging magaan,
Sana sa buhay mo ay walang alinlangan,
Sana walang magpaiyak sa iyo,
At sana darating sa iyo
Ang magandang kapalaran
Bendisyon
Hinaut unta kanunay kang malipayon,
Hinaut unta kanunay kang masadyaon,
Hinaut unta ang buot mo kanunay magaan,
Hinaut unta sa kinabuhi dili ka paduhaduhaon,
Hinaut unta dili ka pahilakon,
Ug hinaut unta muabot kanimo
Ang maayong palad nga gipangandoy mo
Benediction
May you always be happy,
May you always be merry,
May your cares always be light,
May there be no doubts in sight,
May none make you cry and suffer,
And may you in your life acquire,
The good fortune of your heart's desire.
© Manuel Lino G. Faelnar
my forehead
touches the cold clay
tenderly
I am reminded
of “dust to dust”
at midnight
Warlock’s Pavane plays
for the tenth time
city lights illumine
my sleepless room
washing winter’s dirt
softly the rain drizzles on
the sidewalk
puddles soak my shoes
today I don’t notice
daydreaming
I fail to notice
the stoplight’s green
high above I hear
all the honking geese
ants scurry
for a hundred feet
on the sidewalk
all the pairs of shoes
I ponder all the shoes
© CW Hawes
C W Hawes is a human services worker who divides his time between Minneapolis, Minnesota and rural northeast Iowa. His muses are Whitman, Millay, Basho, Issa, the Imagists, Takuboku, and Rumi. He holds a bachelor’s degree in history and political science and a Masters of Divinity degree. His work has appeared in Carnelian, Lynx, Simply Haiku, Lilliput Review, Amaze, Makata, and The Ghazal Page, among others.
A KIND OF RELATIONSHIP
In an alternate universe--god knows if that exists
outside the domain of Science Fiction--we
might be lovers.
But in this one, we are only friends. Yes
this is boring. And not only are 'lovers'
and 'friends' spelt differently, they have
dissimilar meanings:
the former guarantees various versions
of physical intimacy, the latter doesn't.
Perhaps there are ways we can alter this universe
ad infinitum, reassign roles for each person,
cut things short and be really bold.
But stop fooling ourselves:
our pasts condition and molest our future.
You, a few time zones away from me,
weren't in my past; and me, born decades
after you, wasn't in yours. And thus our
different roads are inevitably walked
stylistically unalike,
though sometimes there is a thin overlapping
but obscure path covered by leaves from books,
classic and contemporary, music notes,
and one or two words we both totally
misunderstand.
MY PSEUDO-BOYFRIEND
from Warsaw was attending
a Jewish Festival and taking
pictures of Judenhuts
for his future exhibition
on diversified cultures.
At a poetry reading
he sent me a text message.
Only two words:
"Miss you";
I called and scolded
him for wasting our love fund.
"We agreed, didn't we?
To send as many words as
allowed each time:
106 letters or spaces.
To maximize communication--
and don't worry
about syntactic patterns,
eloquence or censorship,
for there's none."
He said with a minimum
of effort he tricked me to call.
Incoherently he giggled;
I did the same.
FROM AN E-MAIL TO A HOMEBOUND FRIEND
You're amongst the earliest to see
the sun, even though you don't
live on Chatham Island.
What are you doing this Saturday,
when it's only Friday here in Hong Kong?
This morning, were you warming your
feet? How? Who else was involved?
For how long?
Do you play with the snow? Snow-man
with a pointy nose in a fairytale
in a glass ball. Absence of years.
I mean ears.
Why aren't you writing? Because
I say silly things, and I say things
I mean.
Do you light candles
on your dinner table? Do you hold
someone when watching Red Violin
the movie? Do you still wear a white
T-shirt whenever you feel sinister?
Is that a protest against terrorism, war,
and sending animals to the Space?
Do you look out of the window and pray
that someone would delightfully
appear, a flash of an image,
and plant you a kiss on the lips?
Which is more in this world? Love,
or raindrops?
Which is longer? Our distance,
or this particular evening?
A VENUSIAN WHO DOESN'T KNOW IT ALL WRITES A POSTCARD HOME
(After Craig Raine)
The people utter words that are unintelligible or
insist on removing their colourful skins
and overlapping their limbs
after pouring the content of a bottle
into their throats.
In the morning, many of them insert a transparent
layer of water inside each eye. Others hang
something on the nose and obscure
the shape of the cheeks. Even the small ones
do this.
Some of them have hairs of different colours.
On the head is one, under the armpits is another.
Women only like to have hair on the head,
men do not mind having hairs on
odd places, like the chest.
Their habitual pass-time is to stare at a square
or oblong box. The women can also trim their
fingernails or cover their face with a white
moist nice-smelling cloth. The men do not
do much.
ADDICTION
Getting addicted to contemplating
the value of a distant voice
from across the ocean.
The British accent will comfort
me and make me purr.
It escapes the scrutiny of
the sugar and salt indoors.
Let me hear your voice.
© Tammy Ho Lai-ming
I'm the editor of HKU WRITING: AN ANTHOLOGY. My own works have been anthologised in Hong Kong and Britain. Other poems, book reviews, short stories and dialogues appear or are forthcoming in Hong Kong, Taiwan, Macao, New Zealand, Thailand, India, Canada, USA, Wales and Britain.
website: http://www.sighming.com/
BUHAY KALSADA
Pare ang buhay ay parang kalsadang walang hangganan
lakad, takbo sige ka lang sa paglakbay
minsan may makipot na eskinitang madaanan
dapat hinay-hinay lang at baka makabanga ka
siguro akala mo 'yon na ang tamang babaan
pero sa dulo, dun nag-aantay ang mas mabato
lubak-lubak at maalikabok na kapahamakan
at sasabihin mo ngayon susuko ka na,
malayo pa ang PARKING AREA
pare hindi lahat ng RIGHT TURN ay tama
at ang LEFT TURN ay puro mali
dahil may panahon din na ika'y didiretso
upang makisabay sa hamon ng buhay
di ito parang U-TURN na uulit ka at babalik
para ayusin ang kamalian ng nadaanan
pero sige lang, bilisan mo pa
habang puno pa ang tangke
habang di pa kinakain ng kalawang ang parte ng makina mo
at di pa pudpod ang mga gulong mo
humabol ka hangga't naka-BERDE ang trapik layt
huminto ka rin minsan pag naka-PULA
para mag-isip at ulit humanda sa DILAW na ilaw
wag kang lang mag-init, wag kang sisingit
dahil walang siorkat ang dulo ng tagumpay.
© Jake F. Ilac
http://tuggot.blogspot.com
SAPAGKAT NASA GAYONG PAGHIHINTAY ANG PAG-ASA NILA'T KINABUKASAN
Mapalad ang mga nangangailangan
sapagkat ang kanilang pag-asa't kinabukasan
ay nasa paghihintay lamang ng suwerte sa tuwi-tuwina.
Kailangan lamang nilang mag-antay na irehistro ng mga bola
ang numero ng kanilang tiket,
o maambunan sila ng mga proyektong pangkawanggawa
ng gobyernong walang pakialam
kung mabutasan nang kasinlalaki ng kamao
ang mga bituka ng mga mamamayan.
Ito lamang ang kanilang dapat na gawin.
Di na kailangang putlin pa nila
ang mga ugat ng kanilang pangangailangan.
Kailangan lamang nilang maghintay ng suwerte
sa tuwi-tuwina
sapagkat nasa gayong paghihintay
ang kanilang pag-asa't kinabukasan.
Mapalad ang mga nangangailangan.
© Alexander Martin Remollino
BINABANGUNGOT NI PHEME SI MORPHEO SA LAMBAK NG MGA ANINO
sa bingit ng pagtulog
lampas himig ang pagaspas ng mga pakpak
ng lamok sa ating pagtititigan
awitan ang higing ng kanilang gutom
sa puno n gating mga taingang
makahilig sa kakatwang kundiman
ng katahimikan
walang saysay ni kasaysayan,
walang uhaw, kati, o di-pagkapakali:
wala lamang, tayo lamang, bibitin-
bitin sa pangil ng gabi
ANG MAIAALAY KAY ZEUS KAPALIT NG PAGLAYA NI PERSEPHONE
paano susuyuin ang nawawala, unang pagtatangka
Nag-alsabalutan na ang musa
Matapos
Ipagpalit ng ingrato
Ang mata ng pagkabatid
Sa bisig ng pag-ibig
Ang kaluluwa ng alaala
Sa titi ng sandali
Ang pakpak ng pangarap
Sa sakong ng tanong
Para bang sa simula?t sapul
Imposibleng
Makalirip sa silip
Madurog sa pag-irog
Makuyumos ng lunos
Madonselya ng laya
Mamungad sa lakad
Masagot sa takot
Kaya ngayo?y gusgusiong gagala-
Gala
Inaalok kahit kanino ang kalansing
Ng kahulugan, ang ngiti
ng tugma, opo
iyan na nga lamang
PAANONG HINDI MANANANGIS SI ECHO KUNG PATI ANG BATIS AY NAPAIBIG NI NARCISO?
oyayi para sa salamin
kung lahat ng makata
ay mangingibig
at umiibig din ng makata
wala nang tutula
may ritmo na ang puso
may tugma ang paghinga
ang buhay, talinghaga
wala nang sali-salita, dahil
itong irog na musa kapwa
© Camilo M Villanueva Jr.
Kasalukuyan po akong bilang editor sa Innovative Educational Materials, Inc. Nakapagtrabaho na rin po ako sa DLSU Press at sa DLSU-Manila, kunsaan po ako nagtapos ng AB Communication at nakakuha ng mga yunit sa MFA Creative Writing.