poetry

The projector hums. In the theater’s dusk, a flicker unspools a world. The scent of rice wine and stale popcorn grounds him, a shadow of a...

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...

There is no warning— the sky, a sudden insurgent, opens with                     guerrilla downpour. Torrential rain, an unrelenting witness, assaults the fragile spines of trees and the quiet bones of houses. Water...

"There must be something strangely sacred about salt.It is in our tears and in the sea."from SAND AND FOAM (1926) by Khalil Gibran Matthew 5:13—...

On Sundays and belonging,And when I used to mess around with Lolo’s typewriter:Clicking and clacking the worn-out buttons, it is legacySounding against my stubby...

this is the timewhen the greens are greener than beforeas above so belowthe midges regret worshippingthe false god of all false beingsthe dewdrops and...

Christian George Acevedo, 32, is a librarian, teacher, writer, and cultural advocate in his hometown of Roxas City in Capiz. He has released a...

so I asked the queen ant: “beforeI mate with your young queen, may Iat least have the indulgence ofmating with all of the femaleants...

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...

Her hands quiver from sustained pressing of the beads. When her voice starts to rise, the light of the kerosene lamp amplifies from an entirely lambent glow, illuminating the...