Another Morning

Compiled by: Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos

Another Morning
Compiled by: Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos
Published by Lulu.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used in any manner
whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of
brief quotations in articles and reviews.

First printing, December 2006

































Presented To: ______________________________________

Presented By: _____________________________________

Date: ___________________________________________




























































To all the brave fighters and survivors of the great battle, may you
all be an inspiration and symbol of hope and most especially to all
who courageously fought but lost, may we all someday meet and be
together again in Gods wonderful place.























































Introduction

Finding out that my Grandpa has lung cancer stage III was the most unforgettable thing
in my life. All the wonderful things weve shared suddenly flashed back inside my head.
Then an idea came to me which until now I still dont how I was able to make it. I wrote
a book about him. It was all about his childhood days, his happy-go-lucky teenage
moments to settling down and having wonderful six children up to the stormy day we
found out he has cancer. Little by little, I wrote it as his days with us swiftly passed by.
Then I asked myself one night while doing the book the question I think every writer ask
themselves. How will I end it? Will it be a happy ending? The answer finally came to me
when he asks about it one afternoon. So I ended it up in a way that only those wonderful
memories will be in stored.

Grandpa was still able to read it a week before he passed away. It was late when he called
me and he was crying. He said that it was the most beautiful gift he ever had in his life.
He also said that he was surprised to find out that he has been my night light all my life.
The day of his burial, Grandma asked me to put up the last poem in the book inside the
casket lid. Everyone who came to pay respect read it and couldnt help but cry. It was the
only thing Grandma allowed to put inside Grandpas casket, no flowers, no pictures, only
my poem. The burial was the loneliest moment of our lives for Grandpa was the gentlest
and kindest person we all known. He was always there whenever we need him. He was
truly our night light.

But before his last days, I was planning of writing this anthology. When God finally gave
him his wings, I started to put this idea behind my head, thinking it might only bring back
sad and painful things not just for me but also for those who will contribute to the
anthology. So, I put down my pen and said that not now. But the next morning when I
opened my emails, I saw the first submitted poems for the anthology. I read it and
realized that Grandpa must have sent that poem because after Im done with it, I decided
that I must continue writing the book. I owe it to him and most of all to all who still
bravely fighting the battle and to all who lost it. And in my heart Im sure Grandpa
wanted me to finish it too.

So, here you are, the book written with love and comes from the heart. It may bring back
sad memories of pain and struggles but at the end youll find the peace in every ones
heart and soul as we all continue to take our journey with faith and hope, hand in hand.





























































Trials teach us what we are; they dig up the Trials teach us what we are; they dig up the Trials teach us what we are; they dig up the Trials teach us what we are; they dig up the
soil, and let us see what we are made of. soil, and let us see what we are made of. soil, and let us see what we are made of. soil, and let us see what we are made of.

Charles Haddon Spurgeon























































































My Pain and Battle


























































ICU ICU ICU ICU

she fights hard
never giving up
her pain is my own
the pleading look in her eyes
pinning me easily

this war of attrition will end
but never soon enough
acres of life having been sold off
to the lowest bidder

'God never gives us anything
we cannot bear'

these are words my mother
told me when I was old enough
to appreciate the truth

'the lessons learned are what counts'

I wonder if these angry bees
buzz around her mind
like they do mine

there is no honey
only catacombs of pain
and the occasional sting --
emphatic proof that as bad
as things are
they will get worse













will I be as brave
as strong as enduring
as she?

cancer has stolen her youth
leaving a stranger behind
but when I look into her eyes
the one I see
sets us both free

by Trish Shields































Geert Verbeke

















modern day warrior modern day warrior modern day warrior modern day warrior

she's a strong woman
quiet yet determined
strict yet fair

she has a little more padding
than she'd like and
gets more tired
than she'd like to admit

her ready smile and laughter
greets friends and family
candy stripers and doctors alike

after carefully attending to her hair
making sure the fit is tight
and secured
she begins her day

after taking in a granddaughter
treating her like the fifth child she never had
her days are filled with the usual battles
- twenty-something can be difficult

at a point where retirement should
have been enjoyed
travel to distant hot climes investigated
the pitter patter of young grandchildren endured
she faces









C125 tests that shows her cancer
thriving in spite of the endless bouts
of chemo

she soldiers on
trying not to dwell on things too long
trying hard to be strong
consoling her children
that stand by with stricken looks

they try not to add to her grief
showing a game face to each other


plastering a smile on before each visit
when all they want to do is rail
at the heavens - wishing to be carefree
young children once more

she sleeps in a chair now
her back paining her these days
but she'll be awake early to care for her family
making sure they take their vitamins
and plan for the future

by Trish Shields















Left Unsaid Left Unsaid Left Unsaid Left Unsaid

as I entered his room
he focused upon me
silently begging me not to ask
of his absent roommate
empty bed freshly made
bedside table neat
surrounding area cleared
of anything personal
in that part of the nursing home
where people go missing

by Carl Palmer






































Geert Verbeke









Dream in her eyes Dream in her eyes Dream in her eyes Dream in her eyes
(For Aundrea Temple)


she keeps her eyes closed
touching her way to the bathroom
not turning on the light

she flushes washes her hands
touches her way back to bed
keeping safe the dream in her eyes

by Carl Palmer


































Geert Verbeke


















3 haiku dedicated to Barbara Kluft 3 haiku dedicated to Barbara Kluft 3 haiku dedicated to Barbara Kluft 3 haiku dedicated to Barbara Kluft


the constant care
and your lancinating pain
a Buddha smile

she unpack her bags -
on the hospital bed
Agatha Christie

Barbara has
a fit of the giggles
into a fidget

by Geert Verbeke




























Geert Verbeke












Sisu Sisu Sisu Sisu
A Finnish word, sisu is hard to fully translate
into English, but means a kind of stubborn
courage even in the face of extreme hardship.


I
She stands, fully
naked, full front
in front of the full length mirror.
We see five tattoos of cats
scattered on her body.
The gel in her bleached tipped,
hand-combed hair is still damp.
Raising her hands to the edge of her jawbone
she traces its line from each side
then to the middle
where meeting hands suggest prayer.

II
Her hands lower,
caress her collar bone, her breasts.
Gently she cups and lifts both breasts
as the nipples harden and rise.
With wistful smile she murmurs
My perky little girls.
Salty diamonds trace down her cheeks
as she releases her pride and traces
down her belly to her soft triangle.
Now she sobs,
God, O God, will I ever have children?









III
After a pause
she wipes her tears
on the backs of her hands,
squares her shoulders and dresses to go
for more chemo.
The cancer, back again
for a fourth time,
has moved the battle from breast
to bones and now to liver.
Armed with faith and courage
she delivers herself to tubes and flow.

IV
Like museum quality ivory,
her skin is mellow yellow,
stretched taut over delicate bones,
already the carved mask of death.
Her eyes are closed and her body still
except for the terrible gulps
that bring air to her ravaged lungs.
Her body is still like desert hills
that have an inner
secret that allows them
to spring to life in April rains.
















V
We turn her hands palm up
for the anointing oil freely mixed with our tears
Fr. Steve gentles her forehead with his hand,
like calming a fevered child into sleep.
We pray and sing and tell
her of our love and commend her to God.
For five more hours she lingers
and then midnight comes.
Soft transformation, such a smile she has
her release.
Our dear Lori rests in peace.

by Maggie Kelly
























No Need No Need No Need No Need for for for for Words Words Words Words
(For my Grandpa Jorge P. Causing who has lung cancer stage III)


Today we visit him
with my kids,
walking on his way home
after church service,
smile touched his pale face.
I thought youd never come.
He beamed.

Into his bony arms
he took my son.
Laughter escapes his lips
Hello, my great grandson.
He chuckled.
Tears brimmed my eyes,
I turned away.

Time to go,
he held my kids, then
kissed their small heads.
You will visit me again, okay?
Then he looked at me,
no words
just his eyes speaking,
Im grateful you came.

by Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos



























Theresa's Song Theresa's Song Theresa's Song Theresa's Song
(Dedicated to the special kind of love Theresa and Dave have)


Lord, how I do love the man,
this David of mine,
whose hand is just the right size
to comfort when I grieve
any small loss in the day
or to stroke and seek out
my most secret desires.
We are so different and yet
create completion in our
steadfast, mutual commitment.

Lord, how I do love the man
who now is my shadow life
lived among tubes and shunts and pics
in corridors rustling with purpose,
afraid to lose him yet
afraid he will overstay
beyond the point of pain
that neither of us can bear to share
lest we become
howling wolves in winter forest.

by Maggie Kelly






































I SEE SUNLIGHT THROUGH GREEN LEAVES I SEE SUNLIGHT THROUGH GREEN LEAVES I SEE SUNLIGHT THROUGH GREEN LEAVES I SEE SUNLIGHT THROUGH GREEN LEAVES
(For Rich Frishholz and he had throat cancer he is halfway into the three-
year period they gave him after which there is a 90% chance of remaining
cancer free)


I See Sunlight through Green Leaves and...
It reminds me of my
Friend who just told me
He has three more days of
Radiation left and
Hopes the cancer in his aching
Throat doesn't return

This termination of treatments was
Just in time because he is unable to
Taste anything, his dry tongue sticks
To his teeth and his neck is
Brown as if it had been
Turned on a barbeque spit from the daily
Bombardment of a life/death ray

Now getting on with life
LIFE! A house to build
Sky full of stars to stare at
His children to kiss
A lover to meet
Death can wait
Sun can pour through green leaves
Radiate through red flower pedals

by Jim Teeters
(This poem will also appear in the Spring/Summer 2007 issue of Nisqually
Delta Review)




























life support life support life support life support
(I would like to dedicate these writings to my mother Freda, survivor of
breast cancer...and to Ginger, in the midst of breast cancer, her brother bob
(both the subject of the poem) and their sister mike and our dear friend
Marge who lost the fight in Dec 2005...)

I

he stands in the background,
hears the doctors words
not quite believing...
not quite understanding
...what good is the strength of a man
against words that sound so final

he stands in the background
hands in his pockets, watches, listens
out of place in this room of women
...what good is the strength of a man
in this sea of pain?

he stands in the background
swallowing hard
eyes blink away tears
being as strong as he can...
a smile masks his fear.










life support

II

front and center
...center of attention
attention she doesnt want.
words from the doctors mouth
numbing, shocking, yet expected
dj vu

already given up
half her badge of womanhood
now the beast demands the other.

mind reeling
sitting amongst family
the words echo
off the looks on their faces
she searches, heart quickening
until her eyes settle on those of her brothers
standing in the back, smiling for her...

she breathes again.

by Rose Matlock










Disaster Averted Disaster Averted Disaster Averted Disaster Averted

It could be
Tarot card or
Pathology
report.

You total the car:
walk away
with a headache
and a story.

Mind blank,
bluebook fills
the little desk:
somehow you pass
the final.

Surgery reveals
a contained
tumor:
you promise
to be kind,
eat vegetables,
meditate.
by Carol Dorf




















The Sand Researcher The Sand Researcher The Sand Researcher The Sand Researcher
(For my daughter)

I would protect you from the book of knowledge
But your questions drive me on

Heres the sampling of the varieties of infinity:
Grains of sand upon any beach
Krill floating at the edge of the continental shelf
The rational numbers between 0 and 1, say,
or between 45 and 46

Our friend is dying, geometric multiplications of cells
filling the interstices between lung and chest wall

I map coastlines where infinite perimeter
encompasses finite area
The multitude of ways death presents itself
when we believe we are just waiting for the time
between spring break and summer vacation

Integers step at their measured
Intervals into the future

I try to promise I wont die
How much a sin, false reassurance
Small child, you already know the futures
that open up after each decisions
and you beg me to decide












I draw a power series for you
snowflake against a dark background,
perimeter expanding with each iteration
The infinite ways each death shocks us,
area bound by the limit.

At the beach you collect
sea glass, brush aside grains of sand
You want objects that can be counted
(This was written, in part, for a friend Jerry Shorer who died of lung
cancer(and obviously I was also thinking of my own/my husbands
mortality).
*First published in Cloud View Poets anthology,

by Carol Dorf












MY FATHERS SISTER 1942 MY FATHERS SISTER 1942 MY FATHERS SISTER 1942 MY FATHERS SISTER 1942
(My Aunt Lottie died in Hewitt, Minnesota in 1942 from breast cancer. At
that time nobody spoke about cancer or womens breast. I still grieve for
her)

In Aunt Lotties house nothing hid,
not even Cousin Viola who smiled down
from a picture on the wall.
Viola- eighteen when the brain tumor
drove her crazy and she climbed to the rooftop,
hammer in hand, threatening to kill everyone.

Nothing hid in Aunt Lotties house.
No spider hurried to spin in a corner.
Dust dared not settle on stiff doilies.
Sometimes sunlight ventured
through a window onto a braided rug
where Aunt Lottie had me stand
exactly center and sing Red Wing.
The notes hung like icicles.

Once she allowed me
to see her loosen her hairpins
as she sat in a straight-backed chair.
Her brown hair tumbled down and down
until it touched the floor.
It flowed and rippled like waves
in a lake fingering for the shore.
Her dark dress hung to her ankles,
hugged her wrists and throat,
covered the lump that grew on her breast
until the smell from the oozing sore drove
Uncle Jim to damn modesty and call a doctor.

Aunt Lotties hair brushed the floor.

by Amelia Haller
















EARTH EARTH EARTH EARTH

The vivid earth is vital green
With grass and trees that touch the azure sky,
And gulls in zeal from sea to shore careen
With ringing, revibrating, stirring cries.
Reforming western winds recalls the waves
A rolling cadenza of unity
As now I hold the hand that fast engraves
The living earth with all its amity.
From out of agony I cling to life,
Each scene cut deep by fates exacting knife.
A leaf, a love, no more to be a part
Of common things that consummate my heart.
I knew somewhere, sometime Id have to leave.
I didnt know so much for earth Id grieve.

(I wrote this sonnet one day before my surgery. The sun was shining on
beautiful Wapato Hill. I felt as if I would never see my family or that hill
again)

by Amelia Haller





























Family History Deja vu Family History Deja vu Family History Deja vu Family History Deja vu

If Mommy only knew all that occurred,
She would turn over in her grave.
Shed question and explore the said misdeed
to figure why anyone would behave

that way to their sibling, their own blood,
their family. It would cause Mom great pain,
release memories, an entire flood
of them reminding her of the campaign

her family led against her when they
declared her dead, and sat Shiva for her
forsaking her, long before the day
when she lay in the funeral parlor

dead, having been ravaged by the cancer
which destroyed and took her away.
Then - her family came to see her.
They should have been ashamed to come that day.

Her family disowned her when she married Dad
who, although he was Jewish too, had been married
before with a son, then divorced. Her family had
no tolerance of this, being orthodox, and such
... thus they, considered her Dead!
















My mother suffered so much from her illness
and trying to raise us four children.
She did the best she could under her duress.
Shed wonder what could make this occur again.

that now, I, the youngest am forsaken
by two of my sisters, one who just passed on
ravaged too, by the cancer that has overtaken
and polluted my familys gene pool,
... oh sorrows, please be gone

I am the lone survivor, who, as of yet
have not fallen prey to the horrific scourge
I live under the fear and the threat
of cancerous death and pray to emerge

safely through the onslaught and expulsion
from family that my mother lived through
and wonder why all this must be redone
and why, even dialogue on this, is taboo.

Joy Leftow

(In my family, at this point I am the only one who has not had cancer, except for my
father -- who was a frustrated artist and musician -- but was forced to work.
My mother, and 2 sisters had cancer. My mother survived long enough to see me, the
youngest, reach 17. She had breast cancer since my birth. One sister had breast cancer
and survived, thank god, and the other succumbed to colon cancer. She couldn't bear the
treatment)











On His Sickbed On His Sickbed On His Sickbed On His Sickbed
(For my Grandpa Jorge P. Causing who has lung cancer stage III)

Dark circles
under his eyes-
sleepless nights,
pain was his only
companion.
Dont try to move me,
please, dont try.
He cried.
Dizziness, nausea
visit him at day.

When will this end?
God, are you there?

by Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos














































Cancer Cancer Cancer Cancer

A slow death
creeps up my veins
invades my bones
steals into the sanctum
of my body.
There is a name
which men have given
this malady
but the namelessness
of its pain
is infinite and full,
unknowable and certain,
and as the black dust
takes root
and branches
into an infernal tree
clouds of sorrow
gather above me
as thick
as a nest of maggots.

by Ella Wagemakers






































Haik Haik Haik Haiku uu u

dandelions seeds
great grandmother's hands
full of hair

by Dustin Neal




















































Pahimakas Pahimakas Pahimakas Pahimakas sa talang nagniningas sa talang nagniningas sa talang nagniningas sa talang nagniningas
(Filipino Version Only)

- Si Tinay ang aming pangalawang Ina.

Marahil namanhid na ako sa dagok (o biyaya?) ng tadhana kay Tinay
Di na ako nabalisa, gaya nang una niyang isuko ang katawan.
Sa talim ng pantistis, sa bagsik ng likidong sandaling humele
Sa bagabag niyang isipan. Mapayapa ko nang natanggap
Ang hatol ng pagsuko: Multiple bone metastases. Multiple myoma,
Fourth stage breast cancer. Ito na marahil ang balato niya
Sa Panginoong buong buhay niyang pinagsilbihan,
Para kami ay iadya sa lahat ng masasama.

Natinag ba minsan ang kanyang pananampalataya?
Sa mga gabing nanunuot ang kirot sa kanyang dibdib,
Gaya ng mga gabing mag-isa niyang nilalakbay,
Ang makitid at madilim na pagitan ng dapithapon
At bukang-liwayway? Narinig kaya ng kanyang Maylikha,
Ang daing at pagsusumamo, habang gumuguhit ng pinong-pino,
Sa bawat himaymay at laman ang walang patawad na hapdi?

Siguro ito na ang balato niya sa Maylikha,
Wala mang dumaloy na gatas sa kanyang dibdib, binusog
Naman niya kami ng walang mapagsidlan na aruga.
Walang man sumupling na buhay sa kanyang sinapupunan,
Dinugtungan naman niya ang aming mga hininga.

Marahil nga, ito na ang huling pagbuhos niya ng pagkalinga,
Karugtong ng mga di masukat na petisyon at debosyon,
Mga dalanging namutawi sa mga labi ng naninilaw nang pahina ng nobena,
At mga pintig ng butil ng Santo Rosario; sa mga dalit at awit
Na inialay sa Santa Misa; sa mga ipinasa Diyos na bigat at pasanin,






Kapalit ng mga 'di mabilang na hakbang sa mga prusisyon,
Sa tiniklop na tuhod ng pagsamo sa harap ng Sakristiya,
Sa mga bendito at debosyon sa Ina ng Awa.

Minsan, isang gabi, sa kanyang himlayang isang dipa na lang ang layo
Sa Paraisong pangako, inabutan ko si Tinay umaawit ng pagsamo.
Matingkad pa rin ang timbre ng kanyang boses, matayog, malamyos,
May hatid na halina: Luwalhati sa Ama, Anak at Espiritu Santo!

Si Tinay, isa nang ganap naming anghel dela guwardiya.

by Gerry S. Rubio

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Si Tinay - Eugenia Talla Sorra, ay kapatid ng aming ina. Sa gulang sa 63, iginugupo ang
kanyang mortal na katawan ng sakit na kanser. Kumalat na ang carcinoma sa kanyang
kaliwang dibdid. Lukob na rin ang kanyang buto pati ovary ng nakamamatay na cancer
cells. Hindi namin malaman kung ito ay himala - di man lang nalagas ang buhok niya sa
pinagdaanang chemotheraphy sessions. Bakas pa rin sa mukha niya ang dating sigla.
Parang walang nagbago, maliban sa katawang nakaratay. Matapos ang mastectomy, di na
nagdesisyon ang kanyang mga doktor na operahan ang kanyang spine at ovary. Mas lalo
daw makakasama sa kanya.
Di nag asawa si Tinay. Subalit mahigit kaming 16 na direktang pamangkin niya ang
itinuturing niyang anak, kasama pa ang sobra sa 20ng apo. Siya ay dating Food Service
Attendant ng isang government hospital dito sa amin. At isa sa mga masigasig na
tagapagtaguyod ng Anawim Covenant Community. Siyangan pala, isinilang siya sa
panahon ng Kapaskuhan, December 25, sa taon ng ikalawang digmaang pandaigdig.

Tatlong buwan matapos ko itong gawin, tuluyan nang namaalam si Tinay.


















Life Is To Be With You Life Is To Be With You Life Is To Be With You Life Is To Be With You


Sometimes life is like a road whose Exit signs we sometimes miss.
We are compelled to drive ahead for the nearest exit.

Sometimes we think that that Exit is the one, only to head back to the
highway.
Now we are lost, the diner along the way is the next best stop.

Sometimes life is like a diner's place where we can slow down our pace,
look at our watch and observe the lengthening shadow on the ground.

Sometimes life is like an unconsulted map, always driving in a hurry,
wasting gas and time, only to pull over by the service road, to finally read
the map.

Sometimes life is just about moving on past the roads,
Past the exits we went through, the diner or service road where we once
stopped.

Often times life is just about being here, now, where ever it is.
Forget about the spent gas or the missed exits.

To me, life, is to be with you, anywhere you choose to be.
Its OK to miss the exits, waste the gas, and stopping by service roads.

by Joel Josol



























Tender Tender Tender Tender

tears

when they roll down
your lovely face
sends

alarm bells in me
my blood rushing
like warm liquid in my veins

bowed head

your lovely head
your silky black hair
beautiful like cascading waterfall

are lost in your gloom
my heart sighs
silently

sobs

when you groan
like a fatally wounded soldier,
you fight fiercely back















i am here
find comfort in my arms
find strength in my tenderness

trembling hands

your soft pale hands
though weak and in pain
doesnt diminish their pleasure when held

i will be here
tap the strength in my hands,
to wipe away the tears .

by Joel Josol

























An Actor An Actor An Actor An Actor

Raindrops on the
Window sill
Like tears I tried to
Hide.
Chemo today then
Radiation tomorrow-
Another pain, another pain.

Quick! Moms coming.
Shed those tears
Need to be brave, dont want her to
See me cry.

Kisses on my burning forehead,
I smiled.
dont worry, Mama,
Im fine.

Liar!

Cant wait to get home

by Martin Velasquez





























Needs Needs Needs Needs to to to to Hurry Up Hurry Up Hurry Up Hurry Up
(For my Grandpa Jorge P. Causing who has lung cancer stage III)

Today
Im going to finish my breakfast
Take medications
Do some paperwork from church
Watch a noon time show
Eat a hearty lunch
Rest
Take a long bath
Have a conversation with my wife
Take morphine

Tomorrow
I will go to church early in the morning
Have breakfast with my wife
Call my daughter and ask if she and her family will visit me
Request a festive lunch
Take medications
Take a nap
Take a bath
Talk to God
Wait for my great grandson

Hurry up, hurry up, before the grinding pain starts again.

by Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos





























Para Kay Mama Para Kay Mama Para Kay Mama Para Kay Mama

Lumuha si mama
Ng nalaman-
Leukemia.
Umiyak din ako
Ayokong Makita si mama na malungkot
May pag-asa pa ba?
tanong ni mama.
Chemo ngayon,
Radiation sa isang linggo.
Masakit daw yon,
Bahala na
Titiisin ko na lang
Para kay mama.

by Jeremy Tolentino


For Mama For Mama For Mama For Mama
(Translated by Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos)

Mama cried
When she found out-
Leakumia.
I cried too
For I hate to see her sad.
Is there hope?
Mama sobbed.
Chemo today
Radiation next week.
They say its painful,
Well see
Ill endure everything,
Anything,
For Mama.



























Visiting hour. Visiting hour. Visiting hour. Visiting hour.
(For my brother Dr. Amitava Chakrabarti who has lung cancer)

The gulmohur peeps inquisitively in at the window.
One minimises my ailment; another derives pleasure
From recounting horrendous illnesses and repulsive deaths.
Some arrive soon as visiting hours start, and
After a most sociable evening chatting with other visitors,
Are shooed out by the night nurse on her rounds.
A few come merely from a sense of duty:
After a desultory exchange of words, they consult their watches,
Calculating how soon they may decently leave.
I am glad to see them all,
For they reach to me the air of the outside world.

After a couple of weeks, my visitors stop coming.
Life continues for others, as I lie abed

by Sunipa Basu










































JUST JUST JUST JUST WHAT THE DOCTOR ORDERED: WHAT THE DOCTOR ORDERED: WHAT THE DOCTOR ORDERED: WHAT THE DOCTOR ORDERED:
(For my brother Dr. Amitava Chakrabarti who has lung cancer)


The doctor is brassily optimistic.
Nothing to worry, just a new little shadow on the right
Weve been expecting it, you know,
Why else would we check every so often?
Just a couple more chemo, a session or two with the radiologist
You know what to expect, youre a veteran now!
So come along tomorrow morning.
Of course, you are free to choose
To take treatment,
Or not.
But what I say is,
Why leave just a little defect lurking about inside?
See you tomorrow, then.
Patient departs, doctor meets his juniors eyes,
And writes on patients card, Stage IV! Prognosis

by Sunipa Basu






















ENDURING ENDURING ENDURING ENDURING
(For my brother Dr. Amitava Chakrabarti who has lung cancer)


In my pantheon of heroes he resides,
The man
Who keeps the battle going by enduring.
It tears me up to see him so endure.
But I only hope,
He endures and endures and endures.

by Sunipa Basu































On Our Way Home On Our Way Home On Our Way Home On Our Way Home
(For my loving Grandpa Jorge P. Causing)

My love and thoughts
now Ive put down to words-
things I didnt say nor
show
that only God knows how much
I care.
If only I could give my life
to see him strong,
laughing again,
Id be more than happy
to do it
but we have our own journey-
a narrow path towards
our way home.

And if God, yes, if
He will send His angel
someday
and give him his wings,
I will accept it
though
my heart will weep,
my soul will grieve
for my night light will
be gone
but I will hold on to
Gods promise














that someday
my night light and I
will meet again,
laugh together again,
share stories again
and there will be
no more pain,
no more tears,
no more goodbyes-
someday in
heavens abound.

by Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos

This poem also appeared in my book with the same title, On Our way
Home. This was also the poem my Grandpa asked me to put inside Grandpas
casket.
Grandpa, I cant wait to see you again.



















































































































Another Morning










































Hope is like a bird that senses the dawn and carefully starts to sing Hope is like a bird that senses the dawn and carefully starts to sing Hope is like a bird that senses the dawn and carefully starts to sing Hope is like a bird that senses the dawn and carefully starts to sing
while it is still dark. while it is still dark. while it is still dark. while it is still dark.
- Anonymous














































































j




















Emi Emi Emi Emiko ko ko ko
(For my Emiko Kruckner, my aunt, had died of lung cancer)

There's no denying it now;
She knows she's dying.
Her body, once vibrant,
Has gone old and frail.

She curses the disease
That inhabits her body,
Slowly choking the very
Life out of her.

Her thoughts go to her son,
Her only child who's now a grown man.
She sighs heavily, knowing
She'll never see his first born,
Or the marriage he'll one day enter.

A tear trickles down her cheek
As her body slips into an eternal sleep.

by Robin M. Buehler




































ANOTHER MORNING (2 haiku dedicated to Yannoulah): ANOTHER MORNING (2 haiku dedicated to Yannoulah): ANOTHER MORNING (2 haiku dedicated to Yannoulah): ANOTHER MORNING (2 haiku dedicated to Yannoulah):

flowering orchard
with access for wheelchairs
day of thanksgiving

giving each other
a meaningful glance
without comment

by Geert Verbeke

















































To a Grieving Husband To a Grieving Husband To a Grieving Husband To a Grieving Husband

She will return
Having lived the joys and agonies,
ecstasies and sorrows of this life -
to do better the next time around.

Will her passing make you a better person,
as her presence did, by your side?
Her school is in recess for now,
for she has passed, though our examination is still to come.

She will return.

The memory will never fade, but the pain will ease.

by Dr. Bob Rich












































Dream weaver Dream weaver Dream weaver Dream weaver

I will weave you a dream in your sleep
A dream no one can take:
Like the greens, touched by the morning mist,
Like the flowers, kissed by the humming bird,
Like the waves, caressed by the fleeting sand.
Like you and me in the footsteps of twilight.

I can never weave you a dream, while
Grief, like thief, shadows
Despair, like shackles, binds
Gloom, like prison, enslaves.
For dreams, unbroken, are like womb:
A refuge of the soul, forsaken

Gently, your dream, I will weave,
Braided with unending solace
Stitched with tranquil consolation
Spindled with, sweet gentle whisper.
For while you are asleep, only while you are asleep,
Find bliss, I can. Then I weep.

by Rodrigo G. Langit Jr.



















Acceptance Acceptance Acceptance Acceptance

Purest
Sweetest
Calmness
Madness
Wear I, the purest, and sweetest of smile
Veiling my calmness; madness, my denial

by Rodrigo G. Langit Jr.





























ILAW NG TAHANAN ILAW NG TAHANAN ILAW NG TAHANAN ILAW NG TAHANAN
(In Filipino Version Only)


Sa tuwing bubuksan koy lumiliwanag
Kahit ang aking isipan
At kasuluksulukan ng aming payak na tahanan.

Malaya at matapang kong nagagawa lahat ng naisin.
Liwanag nitoy parang pag-asang dumadaloy sa aking dugo,
na bumubusog sa aking sikmurat pangarap.

Ngayon, walang ilaw sa bahay,
Ang liwanag ay nagpaalam na.
Hirap akong gumalaw sa dilim.
Ang paligid, waring puno ng dumit panganib
Na nakaabat sa amin.

Sa gabi, naiisip ko ang aming ilaw,
At naaalala kong di pa man lumulubog ang araw,
Sa akin na ipinapasa ang kanyang tanglaw...

by Maria Soledad B. Corong






































Haiku Haiku Haiku Haiku
(Dedicated to Ileta Wynell Wilson)


autumn moon . . .
a tumor sleeping
in my wife's chest

By Robert Wilson

















































Celestial Warning Celestial Warning Celestial Warning Celestial Warning

Written for Matt's funeral service
in celebration of his sense of humor, both enduring and endearing

(Dedicated to the memory of Matthew Dean Stickler who lived a year longer
than they thought, who fought the good fight with humor and grace.
Although the cells traveled from his neck to his brain to his liver, no test
could determine what kind of cancer he had.)


Beware, ye angels of heaven.
There comes one to be among you
who will not be content
to hover in helpful pose

nor want wings and a white robe
which would get in his way
as he examines the mechanics
of weather systems and cloud formations.

Be selective in what you offer him,
for hes tasted a 62 Chateau Lafitte Rothschild,
and would desire yet a fuller nose
should there be a nectar of the gods.

Not a novice at flying
he will probably race the cosmic plane
full tilt around the orbits
learning all the new, no-gravity rules.












He will paint your heavenly pavilions,
mow your meadows sweet grasses
and teach the children among you,
in classes, to ski the celestial slopes.

You may occasionally hear
the mighty rattle of his snore
or the giant echo of a guffaw
exploding from some new delight.

But . . .
be careful in befriending him
for he keeps all attachments
long and dear.

by Maggie Kelly


























David David David David
(Dedicated to my cousin David Bruce Musikant, who died in September of
2004 at the age of 37 with Brain Cancer.)

a kind, keen citizen,
future mayor, and
mentor
to anyone in his site,

with a perseverance
unmatchable
never wanting pity because
of his disability.

Garlic, sushi, ice cream, pizza

music discussions
over The Who, Marley, AC/DC,
Bruce, Floyd, Zeppelin, RHCP
or how much you disliked the Allmans.

Dave, bring
me more encouraging,
inspiring words
this way, the world and I become better people.

Dave, remember
we have a trip to San Diego
and I don't expect to go alone.
Remain in my heart as the Atlas of all my cousins.

by Lori Michael


























When When When When the the the the Rain Starts To Fall Rain Starts To Fall Rain Starts To Fall Rain Starts To Fall
(For my Grandpa Jorge P. Causing who has lung cancer stage III. I wrote
this beside him on his hospital bed on September 3, 2006 at exactly 10:30
AM)

Dark skies above
smell of rain in the air,
I looked deep into your eyes
but you seem so far away.
I leaned down and kissed your
hollowed cheek
but you turned away-
I wonder if you still
recognize me.
Tears started to fall
For I feel now is the time,
breath shallow and yet still
wants to fight.
I wanted to take you into my arms
for I dont want you to go
but you suffered enough,
you cried enough.

I dont want to leave your side
nor take my eyes away from you
for in my heart I know
youll be saying goodbye now.

by Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos




































FRUSTRATION FRUSTRATION FRUSTRATION FRUSTRATION

I count the stars, its late so soon
And followed a shooting star.
I reached the sky,
I reached the moon,
I reached the rainbow far.

I count the chicks before the eggs,
I wear a crown inside my head,
I used my eye
Instead of legs,
Slept on roses of bed.

I shut my eyes before I read,
I smell some scent til my heart pleads,
I plant the trunk
Instead of seed,
Until my mind sore and bleeds.

I lost the race before start,
I had it all but then had none,
I reached my rank
With open heart,
But all my dreams are gone
Gone

by Ma. Soledad B. Corong






























THE BOAT THE BOAT THE BOAT THE BOAT
(I dedicate this poem to nieces, Shirley Lundgren and Sylvia Stenzel. Both
of these courageous women have survived breast cancer.)


the miniature boat fills my hands
as I place it in the rolling sea
invisible you come out of nowhere
press your guiding hands on mine

the boat expands to reality
slapping water rocks its sides
brilliant blue waves leap
and hurry to meet us

through white crested angry swells
that seem to reach forever
the boat sails to a steady shore
safely within loving hands


by Amelia Haller






































DAPITHAPON DAPITHAPON DAPITHAPON DAPITHAPON
(Filipino Version Only)

Ang kulay moy nag-aagaw na
Pula , dilaw, at asul,
Unti-unting lumilisan ang liwanag,
Mga dahon ay kumakaway at
Sinasambit ng hangin ang
Iyong pagbalik.

Di magtatagal at didilim,
Ang dating liwanag ay lalamlam,
Ngunit may kislap ng lunggati
Na tatanod sa lahat.

Sa oras na ito, ang mga ala-ala
Ay mananahan,
Luha at tuwa ay patuloy na sisiklot
Sa aking damdamin,
Kasabay na maglalamay ang
mga kulisap,
Habang ang mga dahon ay
Tiklop na mahihimbing.

Sa umaga, masaya silang gigising
Upang salubungin ng mga yakap
Ang darating na liwanag,
Buong lapad ang kanilang pagtanggap
Habang ang hangin ay umaawit ng lambing.

Pagkat ikaw, ang dapithapon na namaalam
Ay papalitan ng bukang-liwayway.

by Ma. Soledad B. Corong





















It's On Me It's On Me It's On Me It's On Me
(Dedicated very lovingly to my Grandpa Buss.)

Sunny morning and I crawl out of bed,
so many silly thoughts that bounce in my head
will I be late.?
after work, have a date
is she Ms. Right? Ill just have to wait
And then dear sir you pop in to say hello.

I give you a hug and a firm handshake
the same solid shake
that when I was young would make my hand ache

Im not so sure what to say
How have you been?
Hows the weather down there?
Awkward silly questions just to fill the air

And you smile and say, Im doin fine, and the weathers the same.
How are you JP and how are the dames?
Oh they come and they go, Grandpa, they come and they go
Some are too fast and some are too slow,
no keepers like Grandma but Im sure shell eventually show!

And then all of a sudden we were no longer there
Im on a pullout with Chris and youre standing there
not positioned on the floor but directly on the bed
youre looking fierce and were full of dread
SLOWLY I TURN you say with a stare
your hair in two horns, well what was left up there!
And we are giddy afraid, not actually scared,
like when a kitten pounces from a spot when you knew he was there.





Now I flash forward to a wooden stand
just one little shop in a very big land
Little guys like ice cream and Grandpas do too
So it only made sense that you took us with you

I cant remember what Chris ordered and I wish that I did
But I sure remember what I ordered and I bet you do too
Chocolate chip mint, or was it Mint chocolate chip?
Only that cranky lady apparently knew
You should know to this day how much that still means

just two boys
their Grandpa
and some melty ice cream.

Now flash forward just a couple days more
to those two boys their Grandpa
and some big box store

You were told not to spoil us
but what did you care
Grandpas have powers that mommies dont dare

You shouldnt have done that!
she said with a smile
Oh they were with Grandpa and were mine for a while.
you said so gracefully as you returned her the smile

Now fast forward through nights and through days
time as we grow becomes a trap ridden maze

So I thought and I thought
and then a few words rang through
they were so simple and beautiful
Here they are and youll agree
Here they are and youll see



Grandpa I love you with all my heart
and all the light in my soul
which for you, stretches out to the farthest shining sea
and Grandpa the next time we meet
I promise.
The Ice Cream's on me
by John Donelly








































Turkey Day Turkey Day Turkey Day Turkey Day
(Dedicated to my mother, Beverly Michael, who died in August of 2003 at
the age of 58 with Ovarian and Brain Cancer.)


Thanksgiving was odd this year
with you over the river.
I spoiled the boys with French toast
and Canadian bacon
as the parade strutted through
Herald Square.

Remember when we used to go?
I cried like a baby when
Santa left.

Turkey time
a long with the extras,
only using the recipes
you taught me. Your spirit
was in the food, while
you reside at Columbia Presbyterian.

by Lori Michael






























Heaven Weep

Heave
Heaven Weep Heaven Weep Heaven Weep Heaven Weep
(For my Grandpa Jorge P. Causing who died of lung cancer on September 3,
2006 at exactly 12:15 pm)

Cold and numb
was how Ive felt
when I saw you laying under
those white sheet.
I softly kissed your forehead
but you didnt move.
I waited for your smile
but only the emptiness in your eyes
I saw.
I started to shake,
tears trickled down my cheeks
I called out your name
but no answers came.
I took you into my arms,
buried my nose on your shirt-
smell of pain still lingered
even it already won.
Then someone came in
said they have to take you away now.
Away.
That dreadful word.
I called your name again
and thats when the
heaven starts to weep.

by Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos




























He Came to say Goodbye He Came to say Goodbye He Came to say Goodbye He Came to say Goodbye

Rain still pouring outside
just as my heart and soul
were weeping.
How I wanted to see you once more,
I even asked God
why He took you so soon.
tears swelled my eyes,
I noticed something,
something that made my son giggled.
I wiped my eyes and saw it.
Gliding, sliding
above us,
smell of familiar lemon-scent pomade
lingers.
A sudden feeling of peace
enveloped my heart
as me and my son watched
it,
the blue butterfly
flew away.

by Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This what really happened the next day after Grandpa passed away. I was with my 7
month old son in our living room when I saw this blue butterfly flying above us. I
couldnt help myself but cry because I started to smell his pomade. I immediately call my
mom to let her know the incident and when I finished telling her about it, she too burst
into tears. Mom said that Grandpa was wearing his white suit and one of his favorite blue
tie as his burial clothes.


































Missing You (Haiku) Missing You (Haiku) Missing You (Haiku) Missing You (Haiku)
(For Grandpa Jorge P. Causing, I miss him so much)

missing you-
snowflake brushed my
shoulder

carols
without you-
silent night

winters here
youre gone-
bitter cold

snowball
I threw it to
no one

snow angel
outside my bedroom window-
that you Grandpa?

by Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
These haiku will also appear at Canadian Zen Haiku Winter 2006 print issue





































We May Weep We May Weep We May Weep We May Weep
(For my son, Jeff Virtue, who was also a writer and now in the good hands
of our wonderful Maker)

We may weep
But not as one
Without hope

We may weep
When the heaviness
Bears down
And there appears to be
No one
To hold us up
To lay hold of our hand
Or offer us an arm
No comfort in sight

We may weep
When all the world
Is thrashing about
Trying desperately
To crush us
To humiliate us
To plummet us down

We may weep
When all strength
Is evaporated
When we are threadbare
Of soul
And nothing stands nearby
To support us
To hold us







We may weep
But only for a moment
Only for a fleeting moment
Because we know
Joy comes in the morning
Tears and sorrow
Pass away
Joy bounds in the soul
Along with mercy and grace
To support and hold us
To lift us up
And strengthen us
To be our comfort
And the strong arm
When all else fails
Because hope had not left us alone
Hope stood in the shadows
For a little while
Lighting the candle
While we stumbled
Into the room
Of afflictions
There she stood
As an anchor for our soul.

Crystal Blanchard











No More No More No More No More

no more silly jokes in the old house
no more old songs in the morning
no more lemon-scented pomade in the hall
no more sound of snoring in the couch
no more coffee stain on the table
no more late night movies
no more peanut shells on the floor
no more questions like how are you, hows your day, and do you still pray
no more long talks over the phone
no more check-ups
no more high fever
no more tears from the unbearable pain
no more sufferings
no more, no more.

only peace and hope that
someday
Grandpa and I will meet again.

by Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I cant wait for that day, Grandpa.































Rush of Life Rush of Life Rush of Life Rush of Life

Take time to listen
To the chirping of little birds
In the morning,
Watch patiently the dew
Gliding on the blades of leaves,
Hold on a little to the warmth
of a child's embrace ...

For life
Isn't realy about rushing
From one calendar item to another.
It isnt money that can be saved
And later spend.

The birds little feet may stand
On a dilapidated window,
Or the blades of grass grow
Beside a garbage dump,
Or a beautiful child
Falls ill-

Choose to see the beautiful, the good.














So-
Give out your smiles generously
Even to strangers,
Hug your friends
And hug them warmly, tight.
Say your I love yous
Often, and while you can-

For in the rush of life
Things do change abruptly.

by Joel Josol




























In Heaven In Heaven In Heaven In Heaven

since youve been gone
my days were not the same,
lonely nights were my friend
as I tried to call your name.
I missed the sound of your laughter,
the way you combed your hair-
things I loved the most
but truth I couldnt bear.

each time I looked at your picture
I couldnt hold back my tears
for I remember our memories
those wonderful, beautiful years.
oh, how I wished youre still here
to teach me your wondrous ways
how I longed to see you again,
and to touch your lovely face.

but the great battle was over
and God gave you your wings.
you are now up there in heaven,
together with the Almighty King.
eased away by a powerful hand
all your pain and strife
wearing now a white robe
and granted an enternal life.












so forgive me please
if from time to time youill see me cry.
I will fight this sadness
yes, in my soul I will try.
oh, Grandpa, I love you so
and in my heart it will always be
someday we will meet again
in heaven you will wait for me.

by Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In remenbrace of my Grandpa Jorge P. Causing who bravely fought but lost the battle to
lung cancer. He finally meet our dear Lord on September 3, 2006 at exactly 12:15 pm.

Grandpa, you will always be my night light.




















































































About the C About the C About the C About the Contributors ontributors ontributors ontributors


Trish Shields resides with her partner and three children on Vancouver
Island. She has studied creative writing under Matt Hughes, Canadian
author of 'Fools Errant' and 'Fool Me Twice'. She also studied creative
writing at the Algonquin College in Ottawa, Ontario.
'Soul Speak', a book of poetry published by Troubadour Books was
nominated for a Lambda Literary Award in 2001. Trishs first fictional
novel, Inferno is published by Baycrest Books. She has poetry and short
stories published internationally. Other publications include Regina Weese's
'Elan' anthology, 'The Taj Mahal Review' and 'Washing the Color of Water
Golden' by Sun Rising Poetry Press.

Geert Verbeke was born in Kortrijk, Flanders (Europe) on 31 May 1948.
Author of poetry, novels, meditations & fairy tales. Writes haiku since 1968.
Wrote 5 books about Singing Bowls. Free thinker & liberal democrate.
Recorded 11 cd's with Singing Bowls. Was volunteer in terminal care.
Expert in Creative
ProblemSolving.http://users.skynet.be/geert.verbeke.bowls

Carl Palmer is a volunteer with The Franciscan Hospice in University
Place,
WA. He is the author of "Telling Stories", poetry and flash fiction
from his
appearances at open mic events. Carl is presently compiling stories of
dementia and Alzheimers for an upcoming collection, "dis-remembering"
to be
distributed in rest home facilities and organizations around the Puget
Sound
region of the Pacific Northwest.








Maggie Kelly lives in Washington State where she is active in the world of
poetry. She belongs to three writing groups, one reading group, and
currently edits the newsletter for the Washington Poets Association. A
former classroom English teacher, she currently writes for a small, monthly
newspaper. She has six friends, including her sister, who are breast cancer
survivors, all having passed the five-year mark. She is grateful to still have
their company but regrets her losses, especially of her husband who is fondly
remembered in one of her poems here.

Jim Teeters is a retired social worker and member of the Striped Water Poets
of
Auburn, Washington. He is a reader in local open mikes and facilitates
poetry writing in a workshop titled "My Goldfish Stole the Moon" for
children and parents. He has published poems in Hiram Poetry Review,
Northwest Renaissance Poets, Nisqually Delta Review, and some Quaker
publications.
Rose Matlock Long lives in Tacoma, Washington and work in a day
surgerydepartment. She have two grown children and two grandchildren
who are very cool.
Carol Dorf is a endometrial cancer survivor and lives in California. Her
poetry has been published in a number of journals including Feminist
Studies, Runes, NewVerseNews, Home Planet News, and the NeoVictorian.

Amelia Haller was diagnosed with cervical cancer in 1964. She had eight
children whose ages ran from 6 months to eighteen years. She was
devastated and worried day and night. Who will raise her kids and why am
shes dying at the young age of thirty seven? Her doctor gave her a little
encouragement. She had her uterus removed, and watched for the return of
cancer for the rest of her life. She will be 79 in October. She thanks God it
has never returned.






Joy Leftow focuses a new light on the wacky, humorous and sometimes
painful adventure of life in the big apple. When she is not busy doing cat and
people rescues, or following up on these labors of love, she works her 9 to 5,
cleans house and still finds time to be a wife, mother and friend. When her
inner muse appears on its own time to share wits of design, Joy writes and
gets her work published.
Joys poetry has been published in over 22 anthologies, both online and
paper. In the past year, she performed on Rockland internet radio show,
Cool on the Groove, several times, and was a guest on Jazz Poetry Cafe
twice. She was interviewed on The TV show, the New Yorkers, and will be
on the radio show for teachers and writers; Everything Goes on WNYE- FM
at 91.5. Her new book from Big Foot Press, A Spot Of Bleach and Other
Poems & Prose, is available at Amazon.com. and is available today.

Ella Wagemakers was born in the Philippines in 1961. Emigrated to The
Netherlands in December 1988. Married Dutch husband in 1989. Became a
Dutch citizen in 1993. Obtained Master's Degree in Education from Tilburg
in 2003. Full-time English teacher at the Dutch Police Academy in
Apeldoorn and Rotterdam. Coming out with first poetry collection in the
spring of 2007.

Dustin Neal is the editor of Clouds Peak, and online haiku and senryu
journal. Dustin's work can be found in Haiku Harvest, White Lotus, The
Heron's Nest, Triptych Haiku, Lynx, Nisqually Delta Review, Presence,
Tinywords, Frogpond, Wisteria, Clouds Peak, Moonset, Simply Haiku,
Roadrunner, Paper Wasp, Fire Pearls Tanka Anthology, Autumn Leaves,
Acorn, Modern English Tanka, and Contemporary Haibun Online.

Martin Velasquez is a college student who lives in Baguio City, Philippines
with his mom. Hes been fighting cancer for a year now.

Jeremy Tolentino, 10 years old, lives in Manila, Philippines with his parents.
Though leukemia starts to enslaves his body, he doesnt let it takes over his
childhood dreams.







Gerry S. Rubio
- From the Island province of Catanduanes
- Currently completing his Master of Development Communication degree
at the UP Open University
- Current job - Public Relations Officer III of a state-owned higher education
institution.
- Organized scholastic journalism seminars and competitions in the regional
(Bicol Region) level - President of the Bicol Association of Tertiary School
Publication
Advisers and Director of the Association of Luzonwide Tertiary Publication
Advisers
- Interests - poetry writing, photojournalism, informal essays.
- website - www.tabulas.com/~sketches

Sunipa Basu is a writer, journalist and a theatre person who lives in India.
She gave up a job as divisional manager in an insurance company to
concentrate on creative writing and theatre. Published articles and reviews in
major national papers, a book of short stories, wrote monographs, and
research papers. Current projects include a novel a book on theatrical make-
up..

Robin M. Buehler is a journalist in the USA. She's had poetry, prose and
photography published in both print and online publications

Dr Bob Rich is a psychologist, award-winning writer and professional
Editor who lives in Australia. He is the editor and main author of 'Cancer: A
personal
challenge', the book for you if you want to reduce your chances of
developing cancer; are caring for someone who is battling cancer, and above
all, if your body is the battleground. http://bobswriting.com











The poet, Rodrigo G. Langit, Jr. 37 years old, hails from Manila, is a teacher
by profession. He currently teaches at a private and exclusive school for
boys, PAREF-Southridge School in Muntinlupa. He has been in the teaching
profession for 15 years and like a butterfly, is trying to find his cocoon.


Crystal Blanchard is wife to Greg and mom to 11 children. Two of her sons
passed away: One while she was in her 20s and the other three years ago.
Both times were experiences for growing in the midst of lifes pains because
out of them she realized each moment matters as you cherish the ones you
love and hold them dear. She currently writes from her homestead in east
Texas, home schools the two remaining children at home (Alex, 15 years old
and Faith, 17 years old), communicates with her grown children scattered
about the globe, and prays without ceasing for her 11 grandchildren.
Additionally, she manages a wellness clinic helping individuals in her rural
community as needs arise.

Amelia Haller lives in Tacoma, Washington. She was born on a farm in
Todd county, Minnesota. When Amelia was almost fifteen, her family
moved to Washington. Her work often reflects life on a farm. She is the
author of eight books. Amelia earned a BA in creative arts and an ALA in
liberal arts. She taught poetry and creative writing in numerous places
including The Evergreen State College, Tacoma Community College, and
the Tacoma Metropolitan Park Department. Her poem, A Child Believes, is
sandblasted in the sidewalk at Point Defiant Park. Another poem,
Dedication, was requested to be part of an art area. Written in calligraphy,
the poem is burnt into three glass panels and creates a huge widescreen at
the Union Station Streetcar stop in downtown Tacoma. This 51 line poem
honors the diverse people who made and still make Tacoma a fascinating
city. She was told that the widescreen is vandal proof and will last at least
100 years. Amelia was requested to read her poem, Dedication, at the
groundbreaking for the new Chinese Reconciliation Park by Commencement
Bay, Tacoma.






Ma. Soledad B. Corong is stage actress, cultural worker, advocacy speaker,
stage manager, production manager, and independent filmmaker
Graduate of AB Journalism at UST Batch 1996

Robert Wilson is the owner/Managing editor of Simply Haiku
(www.simplyhaiku.com), a magazine columnist, educator, and author
of Tanka Fields and Vietnam Ruminations. He is married to a Filipina. They
live with their children in the Philippines and in the U.S.

John Donnelly a proud native of northern New Jersey has been writing short
stories and poems since he was about 7. He believes that nothing is more
powerful than the written word and believes that words were not created for
the purpose of excluding rather for the purpose of including all. His poem
"It's On Me" is dedicated very lovingly to his Grandpa Buss.

Lori Michael has a Bachelor's of Art degree in English Writing from
William Paterson University of New Jersey. I currently live in New Jersey
after living for a year in Yeong-ju Si, Republic of South Korea. My poems
are my reflections of my love and memories of my late mother, Beverly
Michael and first cousin David Bruce Musikant. Both my cousin and mother
inspired one another with their illnesses. They never felt sorry for
themselves, or felt like a burden to anyone. Instead, they will always remain
as the most positive people in my life. My mom fought her Cancer for 4
years and continued to be as warm and energetic as possible; while, my
cousin fought his Cancer for 8 years. Upon his diagnosis, he became a
Motivational Speaker. He even ran for Mayor of Bogot, NJ as a write-in
Independent candidate.

Joel Josol was born and raised in Manila when the Beatles became a hit, in a
dysfunctional family distorted by the American dream, at a time before
Kennedy was assassinated. Grew up during angry times of martial law and a
full adult by the time Ninoy Aquino fell on the tarmac. Found peace in God
and love and poetry. Trained as a computer professional, self-educated in the
visual arts and poetry, a husband to a lovely wife, and two beautiful
daughters.







About the Author About the Author About the Author About the Author



Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos is a Filipino reviewer, poet and author of A
Place I Called My Own (Compilation of Philippines Haiga) and On Our
Way Home. Born in the Philippines on December 21, 1979, she started
writing school plays and poems at second grade and was able to publish her
first article and short story on junior high. When she started college she set
her pen aside for awhile but when she finally settled down, her heart and
soul once again opened up in writing. Since then she joined in different
email group list of writers and poets like the Writing Road where she got her
first novel review, the Canadian Zen Haiku where she had her first haiku
published, and Brownsong. Most of her poems and short stories had been
published in different literary journals and anthology both in print and online
and even won as honorable mention on one of the haiku contest in England.

Lanie is now residing in the Philippines together with her loving family and
friends. She is now planning her fourth book.