Martes, Mayo 27, 2014

Thank-You Note by Lang Leav

Look what I got from just leav! A nice way to say ...


"Life is not defined by the sentence that you write. It is in the punctuation that you put in that sentence."

Miyerkules, Mayo 21, 2014

5-Minute Love

Dance with me dear, with the one you love.

Let’s go somewhere dear, somewhere we like.


It was well but it had to end. 

hi-density by Lourd de Veyra

baby tonight I'm trying to watch television and outside the moon seems to have stopped breathing—a pool of flat radiance and the only image in my mind is that of the black and white Siamese kitty cat tattooed on the small of y our back because I hardly understood the true nature of cats until you silently tiptoed into my life and I entered you with the smoothness of hot knife through butter and smoldering like the tip of a syringe and because the memory of your skin still haunts me burning more savagely than this moon so boring the television appears to hum with more life and baby I am sorry I had met with apathy the concern for your real true Siamese  kitty cat because I am in a state of consciousness that receives neither the eleven o'clock news nor the lunar manifestations of truth and love and whatever strange music it is hanging outside these unreal windows and baby I hope you are not thinking it as the cat you keep between your legs I think about all the time with an Egyptian's impious devotion to bash and baby I hope you are still alive and you too are watching television on this very moment with only the real virtue of moonlight more beautiful than death and imagining what might have happened had you come over to let the feline tattoo curl up cozily on my bed tonight baby now I begin to understand the true nature of absence and hunger in the sudden keening of a cat.

(I found this poem in the book, One Hundred Love Poems by Gemino Abad and Alfred Yuson)

Haze by Fran Ng

We collide on purpose
not our own
into orange.

Then I am red
and you are yellow
a solitary fever

We make
rings of fire
in dim spaces
stroking time

Where I am red
and you are yellow
and when we meet

We set ourselves on fire.
(Source: One Hundred Love Poems by Gemino Abad and Alfred Yuson)

27 by Nerisa del Carmen Guevara

And by the time I reach 80
I would have fallen in love with
An entire city.          
All the people on the streets
Would follow me down with
A knowing.
All hate gone. All sorrow.
The word absence would not
make sense.

The dinosaurs are still underground;
All the species the eco-warriors were not able to save
Have walked without regret to wastelands they haven't found yet;
Most of the people we love, walking or dead,
Are sometimes in the dust we sweep out on Sundays.
The trees we leave an instant mix,
Just add water
And we are still
Remembering even what we try to forget.

The once loved, the once loving,
The kept, the abandoned,

Finally making sense of it all. 

(Source:  One Hundred Love Poems by Gemino Abad and Alfred Yuson)

The First To Love by Simeon Dumdum Jr.

Always she is a step ahead.
When I think of giving her flowers,
She waylays me with wine-red roses.
And if I get up in the morning,
Pulled out of bed by the idea
Of a long walk across the fields,
She would be there, lacing her shoes,
The coffee, which was on my mind,
Filling up the room with its presence.
But one day, when there was a downpour,
I made sure I would be the first
To suggest that we have a race
In the rain, but she turned me down,
And I saw in her smile that we
Were too old for such recklessness,
But that afternoon, the sun blazed,
And she asked what just then had crossed
My mind, that we both go outside.
The road was a patchwork of water.
I wanted to help her across
A rain puddle, forgetting that
Her legs were longer than mine. 

(Source: One Hundred Love Poems by Gemino Abad and Alfred Yuson)

Seven years later, Driving Home by Justine Camacho

It is impossible to fall in love again
for the first time.
The first blush, the heart quickening,
racing madly with a secret:
these things happen only once.
Yester, in the car,
only half-listening to a song,
I remembered.
And in my mind, I turned around.
If I had known that i would never see you again.
If I had known that afternoon in August,
I would have stayed rooted there.
Watching you.
Nineteen yet and dreamy,
I felt the years deaden me, one by one.
And all the headlamps around me
It was so sweet,
even to feel

that wound again.

(Source: One Hundred Love Poems by Gemino Abad and Alfred Yuson) 

Negros Museum, June 13 by Carlomar Arcangel Daoana

We could have been in different place
                at that moment when we were listening
to Frank Sinatra sing I'm Walking Behind you
                from a gramophone, the museum guy spinning
the turntable with the exact speed of 45 rpm—
                something he practiced, he'd say to his guests,
one the song ends. We could have looked
                at each other tenderly as Sinatra crooned
into our ears, remembering the time when
                we were still strangers to each other
during that night on the ship. Memory
                would have rolled effortlessly—cloth,
or ocean as we recognized the luck
                sweeping us together to an appointment
of what seemed to me the greatest story of our lives. But instead, we were silent,
the heat of the day was uncomfortable,
                and the needle stuttered on the record
which we let go for the needlessness of it
                Looking back, I realize everything of it
was perfect—your eyes shy at the briefest
                touching with mine, the way we avoided
this love which was meant to be bigger
                than us, following us towards the daylight
blessing the corridors of a beautiful world—
                in a way not one of us could ever predict.

(Source: One Hundred Love Poems by Gemino Abad and Alfred Yuson)

Lunes, Mayo 19, 2014

A Dead Wish and Her Death Wish

She knew it was the last time, her only chance. She knew she had to do it. She had done enough foolishness. She did not want to do worse. It had to end.

She composed herself, framed the right words. She heaved a deep breathe. She sat still and stared at that man across the room.

That man. Many asked her why him. He was not the type that settles down. He may not be even capable of any emotional attachment. Unfortunately, it was him. God knows the extent of things he can do for this man.

“Hey!” She waved at him and smiled. Tears brewed in her eyes. She could hardly breathe. She faked a laugh and cleared her throat. She did not know where to start. She was aware that he knows how she feels for him. Her heart throbbed heavily. Her head started spinning. She felt dizzy. What to ask?

She only needed to know one thing. “What did you feel about everything?” As if losing all her energy, she sank into the couch. She bit her lower lip and sighed silently as she waited for him to talk.


“Nothing. I’m used to such attention,” he said with his deep monotonous voice.

She wanted to run away, shout, curse, and weep. She felt her confidence and self-value shrank below ground zero. She closed her eyes. She anticipated for that response, but it still struck and cut her heart deep. 

She was not sad. She was just disappointed. “He could have at least framed the words properly,” she said to herself silently. Then, she covered her face with a trilby and silently wished to die.