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A still point (For Cirilo F. Bautista, Paalam, Toti) by Albert B. Casuga
Sense and notion meld
where sound is sight,
and stillness is moving.
It completes an oxymoron
for the day: What crack
of thunder and flash
of lightning would slice
this mid-morning sky
when the delicate petal,
small and white, finally
reaches the black, soggy,
and grass-mottled ground?
Closer to some still point,
on mid-day, I gulp...
When a writer dies by Ramil Digal Gulle
when a writer dies
maybe the silence grows
just that bit longer
or darkness fattens
one globule more
as it turns in its
sleep, eyes closed
yet tearing
up in happiness
moist smile lifting
just enough to show
just a crack,
of sharky teeth
i dream of that some
of the time: think
each corpse, mentor
or friend, is...
Going Nova by Alma Anonas-Carpio
They say you slipped away
In the glorious morning sun.
Yet even the quietest leave-taking
Is beyond you who are now purest light.
All that you held
Barely contained
Burst forth in fire
Consuming all tears.
Each word crafted
Shines forth brighter than stars.
Each image holds itself aloft
With no effort at all:
Masterfully...
Losing Cirilo by Joel Pablo Salud
*My humble tribute to Poet and National Artist for Literature Cirilo F. Bautista
nothing comes easy
nothing by way of gain
or loss, neither in this life
nor the next, or that belligerent
other; all comes with a price
silence, to some, weeping
to others; what a scary thought
to be...
Poems by Cirilo F. Bautista
Exile
By: Cirilo F. Bautista
I want to write about life and deathlessness and the sea,
the rampage and calm and full flow of blood and bread
on cutting board, each in its own time to be tallied
against the conscious duties of government full of its
own importance,...
CIRILO F. BAUTISTA: A Glimpse (An homage to a National Artist for Literature, 2014) by Radney Ranario
What to make of him, I do not know really. Maybe, he is all that I do not think and none that I do. Maybe not. Or who knows?
He is broad of forehead and with small, round eyes that are at once bold...
