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He was not a wanderlust at heart,
Yet he felt his hometown's cozy air
Was slowly turning his soul into mush.

He was not (as rumored) a siren lover,
His queen's body was warmer and suppler
Than a scale-studded frame by any standard.

He was not a diehard dog-hater,
But his loyal mongrel was becoming
Quite demanding and sentimental.

He was not a home-wrecking drunkard,
But his domesticated only son
Was aping his every vice and virtue.

He was not a swashbuckler, sir.
O how he despised one-eyed dreams
And tried to allay the sea-god's wrath.

Yet each time his ship was windblown shoreward
And he red-eyed, spent from his latest escapade
Abroad, homesick—longing for his wife and dog,

The mere sight of Ithaca's familiar port
Filled his heart with uncontrollable yearnings
For the shapes and sounds of newfangled things.

© Felix Fojas

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PROSE 
CINQUAINS 
SEPTEMBER 11
SOLOS 
SETS 

  ELBINA BATALA
  Heart
  There Is No Silence

  CARLENE SOBRINO
  BONNIVIER
  Surface Tension
  Fog
  Breakfast
  Haiku

  LUIS CABALQUINTO
  Red Layt
  Kay Emmanuel
  Mahiwagang Umaga

  SOTERA CATAYAS
  Only Pride
  Mixed Feelings

  GLORIA DEL
  CARMEN
  This Death
  Mad World

  FELIX FOJAS
  Orange Grove Road
  Far Country
  Ithaca

  ELMER OMAR
  BASCOS PIZO
  17 Ways of Looking
    at a Brown Man
    and Woman

  Fish Sauce
  Black Dog

  AL SANTOS
  Pasensiya na Po
  Unang Umaga
    sa Europa

  Dalawang Pulis,
    Dalawang Pinoy

  Dinuguan sa Tren
  Bulaklak at Tren
    sa Tagsibol

  Pag-uwi

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