Explore more Articles in

Philippines Graphic Reader

Tears for Sparta

Sparta, thank youfor being my faithful friendI am not your masterYou are my teacherFor you taught me to smilewhen inexplicable sorrows came byYou are my St. Michael when a stranger jumped in our backyardnot to pick flowersbut in our house visited.I promise not to...

The Birth of Zaroasther

They connived with the dark shadows, the family who lived in a house full of glass windows and graven saints. Toraja invited me to their family dinner in Baguio City to commemorate their matriarch’s third death anniversary. That morning, five black pigs were...

Rush Hour

How’s life, old buddy Between seventy and eighty, eighty and ninety Perpetually in a hurry Heading for the cemetery Amid emotional poverty Are we racing against time Or the lack of it As tiny seconds tick away Tick and click Click and tick I miss every beat Talk of rush hours Caught and missed Then missed again Everything’s...

Homecoming

The train slowed down. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. A middle-aged lady wearing a double-breasted coat told him his stop was near. He sat up from his bunk and readied his 500L backpack, messenger bag, thermal jacket, bonnet, and gloves. The man...

At the Seine

Were the ripples at the river Seine My memories, your face will be broken  Into a thousand pieces, each fragment of you Cut into countless shimmers Dancing in incandescent light on water. The night we sailed down the Seine, We crossed a river of memories. The bridges, the obelisk, palaces,...

Tabuc Suba

Cicadas talk to each other in loud, prolonged streaks of staccato bursts. For a few minutes before sunset, the insects make sound and give it an almost palpable feel. The upswell of choruses stir the air, and dusk’s fractal lights of brilliant orange...

Random Pickings

Naked

I’ll wear nothingbut my trembling desirethe wild beat of my pulsethe lingering whispers of my past. I’ll wear nothingbut the ache of my lost love the...

The Ship

“He actually did all this?” Kyla whispered to herself as she searched through old papers hidden behind the boxes below her father’s side of...

The Pruning and Other Poems

The Pruning Deadhead the ground where petals lay, not the blossomed branch, rivered & riveted this garden, this square of pear & pine. Unlock the pruning knife, cut the roses back to thorn, back to distel, to angled light. Be...

Still Life with Twelve Sunflowers, after Scrolling

Van Gogh’s sunflowers  — all twelve of them  — so lively, lush, standing, bending; they do not submit to ikebana’s poise and posture — golden — no — bronze — beautiful yet...