I've got colds for a couple of days now and I'm rather unproductive these days. Anyway, here's an old poem of mine though I really don't have any idea if I posted it before. Currently revising some of my poems.

river hari revisited

the warm west wind's whispering brought me here
where i first embraced the waxing moon
one night when she came down to wash her face

this is where i made love to my muse
when i was a youth of sixteen summers

this is where i penned my first wanton poems
on the breasts and thighs of a fallen angel

perhaps the warm west wind's whispering
brought me here that i may haply remember
the half-forgotten days of my youth
now that i am through with blue houses
plucking withered roses on six-pence beds


BREAKING SIGNS: The Noises of Culture by Cirilo Bautista
Jose Garcia Villa once remarked that “Filipino poets are earless because Filipino poetry is tuneless.” It is not, we imagine, a congenital disease that dislocates their meter and rhyme, but an acquired disability resulting from environmental realities. They are, in a way, victimized by the world they write about, for its noises weaken their sensibility and stupefy their imagination.

LIFESTYLE FEATURE - Arts and Culture: Heavenly books by ‘men of letters’ by Alfred A. Yuson

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