Joshua Radin's "Today"

No other day matters as much.



Shoelaces untied
You can dry your eyes
Perfect shadows align
behind us
This is the day I make you mine

Bliss of summer

er.
And so my summer wasn't so cruel after all. Well, good things came one after the other: my five day-leave from work got approved, my subtitling gig for a-very-important-Filipino-film-which-should-have-been-in-Cannes paid me extra, my sick cousin in the hospital is hanging on to dear life, and my brother is back at work...

then I had the most awesome summer adventure in Magalawa Island, Palauig, Zambales:



...and while I was busy (lonely-ly) living by the beach, our bitch Tentay gave birth to three uber-healthy pups:



And although I missed another Palanca deadline (because having read the book Six Poetry Formats and the Transforming Image by Edith Tiempo while I was alone by the beach made me realise I hadn't been writing most of my poetry "properly"), and that, practically, I haven't done anything productive and creative in the last couple of weeks, and that now I'm good (or bad?) as broke (after having had to pay for four days in the white-sand-beach far far away)--(and finally, didn't I promise not to talk about heartbreak?)--summer definitely has been so kind to me.

The scorching sunny season is not yet over, and I have high hopes for more good things to come, to me and to everyone. Happy summer, guys!

The (electric) bill to kill all bills

.
Just when we thought five pesos was the ultimate amount (read A bill so electric you'd feel the spark), we were electrified... no, 'twas more like being struck by divine lightning, when my neighbor's bill arrived last week:







Now this one's got to be a killer-bill. And so, let's all chant:

To receive
this kind of bill,
we will...
we will...
we will...

A bill so electric you'd feel 'the spark'

.
This is the kind of monthly bill you'd like to be getting for the rest of your life:





Unfortunately this is not our apartment's Meralco bill, but my neighbor's (my former housemate's). Nevertheless, "small miracles" such as this is cause for huge celebration, eh?
.

How to spell 'Melancholy'

by E. Wong Martin
for Mitsiku

Our lesson for today is about happiness
and how one writes it with a capital letter,
perhaps bold, or do you prefer
           italics? The principal says
that it may be found among the piles
of unread books, or the mouldy sandwiches
from the canteen. Now we will give you
ten seconds
            and ten years to spell it correctly,
and when in doubt, you may consult
our school janitor—just please do not insult
him on how he always stinks of beer
because it is not alcohol you smell
            but the long years of sweeping,
and waiting, and weeping, and cleaning off
semen or dried tears on the floor.
            You are not required to turn
to your science books, as they don’t yet
have a theory on fireworks and sex,
or forgiveness
             and loss. But when you say
‘one,’ it means ‘two-halves’—simple
as that, really. Do not tell anybody,
but math is the secret spouse
of grammar. Probability (or is it
statistics?) has it:
               One day, someday,
you can write it again, perhaps faster,
perhaps with bigger letters, perhaps
in Bisaya or French, or even sign
language.
             Remember, left or right
hand, it doesn’t matter, for as long
as you have an eraser ready.
             Remember, wrong or right,
we do not deduct points for as long
as you do not cheat.
             Do not put any period, too—
now this is very important in all writing.
Most of all, when you do,
             close your eyes, but keep
that thing in your chest open…
now what’s that called again?

.

The Village (I)

by E. Wong



The village slumbers in anticipation,
without malice but full of lust, awaiting
the onslaught of desires—dams
need to unload their waters, jungles

must shed off dead leaves: Dream,
you sleeper, as your sleep begins.

The elders wouldn’t concur, but the shade
of poison trees feels like home, doesn’t it?
And would it be too much for one night
to be weaving tapestry that might as well
serve as blanket over feverish bodies?

Now, you may not need to consider
exchanging your sly wakefulness
for the furtive wisdom of the village
idiot. But you must envy him,
nonetheless, as on nights like this,
he is happier than everyone else.

This is not the time to think about drought,
you curious cat, for the dogs are friendly
tonight, as all the members of the Kingdom.
Matriarch also lost her knife in the kitchen,
and so for now, and just for now, your tongue
may speak of any profanity it wishes to tell

the ears, neck, breasts, and other distant
relatives. You may not have enough time,
but you can always say ‘I’ll be sailing off
in an hour,’ yet stay docked in this town
until all drowns in your gentle hands.

The village resists the rising of the light,
but the sun has its age-old job to do.
Won’t you shine a while longer, O shadow
safely obscure in the night? Yet the day

does not forget the dusk: Sleep,
you dreamer, while your dream lasts.


_________________________________________
Artwork: "The Starry Night" (1889, Vincent van Gogh)