One last time, my forgotten friend,
poise your calloused hands
and dig your battered heels into the dirt.
Left behind by the new world.
The others, glam dolls and pulpit idols,
have all long gone.
I watch as you reach the top,
as a slow, hazy blues chord from a...
In the main gate opens at 0500H. My smart sports watch reads 0438H. Emerging from the shadows of the mango trees fronting the women's barracks, I walk briskly toward the lamppost. Silhouettes jog counterclockwise around the well-lit oval, their rhythmic strides breaking the...
I was seven
a war marred my hometown
Tíyo and the fishermen
soldiers
the deep sea
battlefield
a compound
of the sea’s little bones
of sable sands
in a wicked bottle
their arsenal made
the Earth mumbled
in tremulous waves
the heavens bled
scales
of shattered souls
to the flesh of my innocence.
2024
What do you want to say
to a year yet to explain itself?
The days are heaving,
the hours a diary made meaningful
with our ghosts: gray, tenuous,
prone to our forgetting.
Just tell me something new.
Or describe to me freedom
as an animal. Show me skin
moistened by worship,
waterfalls like...
So this is how most women die, she learned, lying in pain on the floor of the main hallway at the governor’s palace. Forgotten.
Her dress—once a beautiful, cream-white, sequined Filipiniana in the style of the former first lady—had been torn almost into shreds,...
May this poem be heard as a testament of Amorsolo’s “History of Philippine Music” and his artistry.
Winds already touched the glistening sails
of a boat that bears the shadows of
blossoming antiquity
Playful noises coming from the grasp of the lips,
Lines withdrawn in the psalms of...
Anatalia Ayala had promised Bellisima Cua that the story and photos about her winning the Volzhacker Prize would appear in the newspaper’s online lifestyle...
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...