Noypi Writers

Noypi Writers

No.1 in Fostering the Writing Spirit among Amateur Filipino Writers



Tuesday, October 24, 2006


Hi Guys,
We have decided to close down Noypi Writers. due to the fact that we have developed a new website which is the Pinoy Penster Community. The new website is jam packed with lots of features!
Here are the advantages of the Pinoy Penster Community, the new website I just made.

-log in system
-automatic publishing of your works (no more waiting time)
-great new forum with lots of features
-works can be rated by users
-great new website, hehehehehe....


Oh but don't forget to register first....

Monday, October 23, 2006

WHEN WILL YOU EVER BE MINE (Poem) by fanfic bookworm

I'm always with You
I'm the one you talk to
but I'm not the one you care for
When will you eveer be mine?

If you were for me
When will you court me?
When will you notice this?
The feeling I can't resist

Are you just deaf or blind?
To not see neither hear
The expressions and words
that I really want to throw

I can never be contented
For only being on your shoulder
i want to be inside your heart
The only you just can't grant

But no matter what happen
I'll wait and have patience
And hope that conscience
will open your senses

But the questions will remain
And still bring the pain
If I could just ask one time
When will you ever be mine?

Thursday, October 19, 2006

PARA SA IYO, MAYA (Poem) by aura

Nang ibinigay ka sa
akin ng pagkakataon,
at ang pangalan mo'y
ibinulong sa aking pandinig.
Ang mundo ko'y nag iba
na tila isang panaginip,
at ang katauhan ko'y
nagbago ng palihim.

Ninais kong mapasama
sa masiyahin mong mundo,
naghangad na maging bahagi
nang mga pangarap mo,
at pawiin ang kalungkutan
na iyong nadarama
dahil ang tanging nais lamang
ay makita kang laging masaya.
Distansya man nati'y milya-milya
ang pag-ibig ang maglalapit sa isa't-isa.

Ang mahalin at saktan ka
ay kapwa ko kayang gawin.
Subalit kung ako ang papipiliin,
ang mahalin ka lamang
ang nais kong panatilihin,
at kung iaadya ng pagkakataon
na masaktan ka ng dahil sa akin,
ang kalimutan ako
ang pinakamabuti mong gawin.

Kung makakatagpo ka
ng taong nakahihigit sa akin,
ang palayain ka'y
di ko ipagkakait.
Hindi dahil sa hindi na
kita iniibig,
kung di dahil ang tangi ko
lamang kayang gawin
ay ang mahalin ka nang labis.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

THE DAMNED (Short Story) By Michael S.C. Evangelista

only a dream…nothing is real

Robert opened his eyes and found the darkness stare right back at him. No difference. Either his eyelids were still shut tight or he’s gone blind after the explosion. Moments ago before the night closed on him, he saw a blinding light explode out of the darkness, the white heat searing the wholeness of his being, peeling away his flesh, burning them to scattering ashes into the abyss.

A minute ago, no, light years before.

Now. What matters is now.

Am I dreaming?

He peered his way into the inky blackness, hoping for his vision to adjust in time. Groping, his hands could feel the roughness of the wooden floor, uncomfortably his shirt sticking, drenched wet with perspiration (or was it blood?).


Robert could hear sounds just near where he lay. He reached for the lighter he always kept in his pocket. Finding it, he slowly depressed the ignition button… click… click.

He almost vomited at the sight before him. The room was smaller than a broom closet, the walls dripping foul blood; hanging high above the ceiling were bodies of men and women suspended by meat hooks (My God they’re still alive), painfully writhing in agony, uselessly. Am I going crazy? This is only a dream… only a dream.

He thought he saw a door, ran, and found it unlocked.

A blast of cold chilled his very bones. Stretching before him was a narrow windowless hallway, lighted by a wan, grayish light. Robert could feel his heartbeat through his shirt, all the time convincing himself to wake up. Wake up dammit, wake up from this nightmare.

…Lie in Peace…

Who’s there? Hello! Anybody!

Robert followed a long streak of blood, towards where he heard the voices. He let out a breath. Someone, or something, froze his body into a grim realization--- the full knowledge that the soul gripped by fear, more acutely nightmarish, is a prey more so than a weak flesh. Standing before him were two young girls draped in immaculate white clothes stained with virginal blood. Their pale skin abraded by fraying ropes (it must hurt, God, it must) tied repeatedly so as to choke; and their eyes blindfolded with thorny weeds, droplets of innocent blood from wounded youngish faces. He wanted to scream, more in terror than pity, but his lips let out a low-pitched moan, more animal-like than human. One of the girls smiled, showing maggot-eaten sores and bleeding rotten gums; together they sang a most damning lullaby:

Lie, lie in peace Robert Jare,

For my Master told me so.

Lie, rest the soul Robert Jare,

For he’ll come soon, I know.

He’ll soothe your flesh with claws,

And heal your spirit with nails.

Feed it to the worms…

Feed it to the worms…

The last thing Robert remembered was that great suffering of infinite agony, dread in the presence of subhuman pain. He became aware of a great gathering mass of faceless crowd, tying ropes to his extremeties, pinning him against the cold, damp earthen floor. One by one they pierced through him with rusty nails washed with his own dark blood, impaling through skin, bones, and finally, his soul.

A headless priest stepped out of the shadows, blessed Robert with holy water, melting away all that is him--- everything, as he slipped to an eternal slumber, praying: Lie, lie in peace…Rest… to the worms.

As it was in the beginning, everything went quiet as the dead night.

Father Arguillez finished reading the last rites to a death row convict who just received the maximum penalty of “the Chair”. The warden, for want of conversation, approached the priest and said, “Father, them black souls goin’ around raping small kids ought to be damned in hell for all eternity.”

“Warden,” the holy man replied, “ truth is, everybody deserves Heaven.”

THE ABSCISSA (Poem) by Michael S.C. Evangelista

My Love is divine Geometry.
Isolated points, intersecting
Lines, parallel segments form
Dimensions, adjacent angles
In spaces, enclosed to form
A hypotenuse. Equations complex
To plot an Abscissa,
Only to prove a measure of thee...
...a Dead Star.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006


You can now Access Noypi Writers via

To People who have visited the new Noypi Writers website:
Recently our webhost closed our account due to excessive resources being used by Noypi Writers. We have made the decision to go back to our former site. We apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you. Right now, we are working on a new website (quite similar to Noypi Writers) but with a slightly different format. We will keep you posted on developments.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

IS LOVE TRUE?!? (Poem) By Karen Montegrand

I don't know if Love is true

But i guess it is to you
What could i possibly do if that true love is not you,
Maybe it's just not real too

But if not you have someone new,
i'll just stand here and stare at you
'Cause seeing your smile again could be my long awaited cue,
Maybe i could dare to say "hi" to you or Perhaps i'll say "goodbye" to you,

I don't really know if it's you,
But i felt peculiar when i saw you,
Is it an infatuation? i don't care about it if my prerogative hurts me,
because the moment i saw you it seems that you could see what i see, it really felt like sudden destiny

But it's not really true
Because now i know you found someone new
But still my heart belongs to you,
But if you'll come to me and say "hello"
I'll just hold your hands and let it go,

Now i know That Love is True..
But you better be careful,
LOVE could hurt YOU..

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

INSANE (Short Story) By Bernard F. Logan

Frank was surfing channels. It was a boring Saturday afternoon, a few hours away from 8 PM and his hot date with this delicious Puerto Rican he met thru a dating service. Just thinking of Tanya's sexy curves made him sweat. But that was a few hours away. What to do, what to do?

He chanced upon one of those shows where some semi-professional actors irritate someone. When the victim is about to explode, the actors reveal the trickery, show the hidden cameras, and suddenly the victim is all smiles, perhaps exclaiming an expletive or two (bleeped, of course).

In this particular show that Frank is watching, a poor tourist just handed over her passport to two "cops". She looked like she's about to have a heart attack. Fucking bastards, give her passport back. The pranksters then doused her from a "defective" fire hydrant. After a few more minutes of agony (is she hyperventilating?), the pranksters reveal their trick. The poor woman, as if on cue, smiled and laughed, as she had probably seen others do on TV.

Those TV pranksters should have their assholes sued off them. Frank marveled at this. What is happening to our world? To have your dignity spit upon and trampled on in front of millions of viewers, all for higher ratings and maybe a few hundred bucks, that is the lowest of the low.

Luckily, Frank stumbled on a futbol game. His team lost.


Frank was all set. His hair elegant, his clothes immaculate, his perfume intoxicating, he was all ready to wine and dine Tanya.

He picked hr up at her place. By golly, she's beautiful. She was wearing just a touch of make-up, cleverly making her already lovely eyes even more entrancing. His knees felt weak when she smiled at him. And her body, oh shit!

They rode a cab, making small talk. Frank discovered to his pleasant surprise that Tanya is an intelligent woman. They continued their conversation at the restaurant, exchanging ideas and thoughts that were at once fascinating and romantic. Frank found it difficult to concentrate in the conversation when a creature of such epic beauty as Tanya is in your presence. But he was charming. He made her laugh, lit her cigarettes, filled her wineglass, and intimately touched her arm and hand at the right moments.

This would have been a perfect evening if not for the irritating waiter who was obviously smitten with his date. The waiter paid excessive attention to Tanya. Frank tried to ignore the waiter as he talked to Tanya for too long. He even caressed her long black hair! He asked for her number (which Tanya politely refused to give), asked where she lived, asked if she was seeing someone.

When the waiter tried to look down Tanya's dress, Frank had enough. He picked up the steak knife and stabbed the waiter. Suddenly there was chaos. Tanya and the patrons of nearby tables panicked. Some of them tried to restrain Frank, but he was unstoppable. He stabbed the waiter so many times that the waiter could not have possibly lived. He thought he heard a woman shout that it's all just a show. He stopped stabbing the waiter long enough to look around. He saw about five video cameras on him.


The trial lasted for almost a year. Frank's lawyers were convinced that he was temporarily insane when he stabbed the waiter (now he's really insane). The waiter's family sued everyone: Frank, Tanya, the producers of the show, the government. It was a long and painful ordeal that everyone feasted upon for years.

The End

INSIDE THE ELEVATOR (Short Story) By Bernard F. Logan

Shaking off the rain from his umbrella, Miguel hurried to the elevator. The bland "PING" of the contraption announced that he was locked out. Miguel emitted an angry sound as he waited for the next available elevator. What a day, he thought. No breakfast, pelted by rain, overcharged by a rude and smelly cab driver, stepped on dirty mud (versus the good, clean mud from his childhood), these seemed to be one of those days. Even the elevators were conspiring against him.

Just then, his lovely "buildingmate", his crush, his fantasy, a breathtaking vision working as a telemarketer from the 8th floor, an enchanting woman whose beauty no words can describe, stood beside him.

"Hey". Her voice was smoother than silk, sweeter than honey-dipped chocolate.

"Hi." Miguel was usually smooth with the ladies, but this was different. For once he felt like a high school loser.

"Are you gonna use the elevator?"

But she is stupid, Miguel thought. What else would I be doing here? But he noticed that none of the "Up" buttons were pressed.

"Oh yeah, forgot to push this", he said lamely as he frantically pressed one of the "Up" buttons. I'm such a lame-o, he thought. She smiled at him. For those precious smiles, I should do more embarassing things, Miguel thought.

Another "PING" sounded, telling those who care that an elvator is ready. Both Miguel and the lovely telemarketer entered. He shifted from foot to foot nervously. Her perfume was intoxicating. The door closed. Mirrors were everywhere. He resisted the temptation to look at her body, lest she think him a pervert. These mirrors should be removed, they are too much of a temptation, he mused.

"What floor are you?" At last, he managed to sound like a gentleman.

"Eight. You're Miguel, right?" He pushed 8, and promptly forgot to push his floor.

"Why yes. And you are?" Wow she knows my name!

"I'm Tricia. Nice to meet you." She extended her hand. A jolt of electricity that one only reads about in those cheap romance novels coursed thru his body as he and she shook hands. Yet she seems unaffected. With the effect she was having on him, she shouldn't be a telemarketer, Miguel thought. She should sell personally. A stampede is guaranteed.

"The pleasure's mine. How do you know my name?"

"My friend Anne told me about you."

Was that a mischievous smile, Miguel asked himself as he searched his memory for an Anne or Ann or Anna. There's one he met at a job interview, then there's that wild Anne he met at the university fair. Then there's the one he met a bus when he was going home to the province... He can't remember an Anne/Ann/Anna or any name combination (like Mary Anne) that can be associated with Tricia, his vision of beauty. No, that's not a mischievous smile, she's just oozing with sex appeal. Heck, maybe even if she squashed a bug she would look sexy.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember..."

"Oh, her name's Faye, my officemate, but her nickname's Anne... I dunno why they call her Anne though." Again with that smile.

Oh, THAT Anne! He met her at a bar, turned out they worked at the same building. One thing led to another... And he didn't call her. In retrospect, what a big mistake, Miguel thought.

"So what did she tell you about me?" He tried lamely. He knew he was already blown off before he even busted out all his moves. Wonder what terrible things Faye/Anne told her.

"She told me you were good." And just like that, she grabbed his head and kissed her. He kissed her back. Yup, that definitely was a mischievous smile.

Yet another "PING" heralded their arrival at the 8th floor. She fixed her hair as he just stood there, dazed. Wow, I just kissed the most beautiful woman in the world, he thought excitedly.

"See you after 5.", Tricia said softly, smiling that mischievous smile. And just before the elevator door closed, she winked. A promise of more.

Needless to say, Miguel did not get any work done.

TIED TO A CASHEW TREE (Short Story) By Bernard F. Logan

It was a long time ago, on another typical night at Brgy. G_____, a sleepy barangay at the outskirts of sophisticated city life. Cars and busses pass by the highway, their headlights illuminating the usual evening scene at the barangay: groups of young and not-so-young men huddled around their bottles of kwatro kantos and lapad’s, teenagers singing to the strum of the guitar, and the occasional love struck couples who seemed to be lost in each others eyes, oblivious to everything.

And as usual the barangay tanods were making their nightly rounds. Already they had silenced the almost nightly domestic dispute at the dela Fuente’s and have slapped some sense into an overzealous Ginebra fan who had too much to drink of his favorite team’s gin. They passed up a few offers of shot and tagay. Another typical night, or so it would seem.

Their rounds almost finished, the tanods were all set to go home. One remarked that it was already past midnight, and he still had to fix his son’s baon. Some fellow tanods chuckled, but those who knew better kept silent: the man’s wife was just recently confined to a wheelchair.

A spark from a lighter at a nearby waiting shed caught the tanods’ eyes. The tanods stopped talking and approached the waiting shed. Though it wasn’t entirely unusual, it was their job to check up on things that even barely qualifies as suspicious. Tambays that had nothing to drink and were as silent as the night before Christmas had to be checked, especially since none of the tanods recognized the two men who were casually lighting their cigarettes. “Sure, they could just be drifters passing through, but we have to check up on them just the same,” one tanod said to another under his breath. The other grunted in reply.

The tanods separated the two men, and each was asked the usual questions: who are you, where are you going. After a moment or two the tanods congregated while keeping an eye on the two strangers, who still smoked their cigarettes.

“What did your guy say?” the tanod named Joey asked.

“He said he was going to A_____,” the tanod named Willie said. The city of A______ was due south of the barangay.

“That’s odd, my guy said he was going to T_____,” Joey said. The city of T_____ was due north, which was the exact opposite of going to A_____.

“And there were already perhaps two jeepneys to T_____ that passed by. Why didn’t he ride the jeeepneys?”, another tanod remarked

The tanods talked for a while. The two strange men lit more cigarettes. The lighter’s strange glow gave a rather eerie aura. Now only the sporadic bus or car or jeepney passed by. The groups of men that previously offered the tanods shots or tagays have already finished their inuman, and the teenagers were already asleep, even the love struck ones. The tanods were sleepy themselves, but they have decided that the two strangers were just a little too strange to be taken lightly. They resolved to bring the two strange men to the barangay captain. Yes, the captain would know what to do. They formed two groups, each group accosting one of the strangers. A far-away frog croaked.


“Sleep now, baby, please, tita has to work tomorrow.”

The barangay captain’s neighbor futilely implored to her two-year old niece. Her sister, the baby’s mother, was somewhere abroad, earning enough dough to feed two families. But no amount of money could silence the cute baby’s lampin-induced cries.

The tanods passed by this house as silently as they could. At least two tanods were on either side of the two strange men. The trip was silent. Another frog croaked.

Joey knocked loudly on the barangay captain’s door. Almost immediately the captain’s wife answered the door, as if she was expecting them. And maybe she was, for the aroma of a newly made batch of instant coffee broke through the amazingly sweet smell of a nearby chicken coup and piggery. She brought the coffee to the tanods, who gratefully accepted the early morning pick-me-up.

The captain’s wife was already accustomed to these late night disturbances brought by the hard-working tanods. Why just last week the dela Fuentes were here, who needed the barangay captain to patch things up. Yet after tearful apologies and promises of everlasting fidelity the dela Fuentes were again quarrelling.

When she saw that everyone was holding a cup, the captain’s wife hurried to wake her husband. Joey and Willie looked at each other as they heard the captain complain, perhaps a little too loudly, about why his sleep must be disturbed, why he bothered to run as barangay captain in the first place, and that the infernal disturbances would forever discourage him from taking a seat in public office again. It was like that every time. Some of the tanods exchanged looks of amusement while Willie skillfully twirled his bolo around his fingers.

The barangay captain emerged from his house. Though he only stood at five foot four, five foot five with shoes, and was as gentle as everyone’s favorite uncle, one word that could describe the captain was “towering”. He had a massive muscle-filled frame that belied his forty-some years. There were already legends that sprung up around him. Some said that he punished a would-be carabao rustler, and the punishment meted out was whispered, so severe it was thought to be. Some said that in his youth he wrestled angry carabaos with ease.

And indeed, like an angry carabao he could cut an imposing figure when he wanted to. Looking at the two strangers who did not look like they were from his barangay, the captain now looked as intimidating as ever. He walked in between the two groups.

“What’s the problem?” the captain asked in a deep voice.

Willie talked first. “These two guys were at the waiting shed. This one said he was going to A_____.”

“While this one said he was going to T_____. And there were already two jeepneys that passed by,” Joey chimed in.

As the words flew out of the tanods’ mouths the two strangers looked at each other alarmingly. The one near Willie suddenly pulled out a gun and fired at the barangay captain. Without thinking Willie reached for the gun. The bullet just grazed the captain’s gently graying hair.

The stranger without the gun tossed something to his gun-toting partner. Like a praying mantis Joey grabbed the thing in mid-air, and saw that it was a magazine of bullets. Two or more tanods quickly immobilized this stranger.

Even before the stranger with the gun could fire again Willie already had him in a neck lock, the bolo poised around the stranger’s neck.

“I’ll kill this son of a bitch, I will, you’ll see!” Willie screamed. Only the stranger’s eyes matched the size of the vein on Willie’s angry head. The barangay captain exhaled.

“No, no! Not here!” shouted the barangay captain’s wife. There was anger in her voice: You just tried kill my husband. You failed. Now it’s our turn.

The tanods dragged the two strangers away from the house, their eyes hungry, not for blood, but for justice. The blood was just icing, very delicious icing.

By now many of the neighbors were awake. They saw the bolos near the strangers’ necks. After a few questions and a few quick answers everyone already knew what happened: the barangay captain was almost killed by the one tasting Willie’s bolo.

And judging by the neighbors’ reluctance to intercede on the strangers’ behalf it was clear that the neighbors wanted justice as well. Most of them were simple folk, who wanted nothing more than a roof on their heads and food for their family and, if they are lucky, perhaps education for their children. It was people, would be murderers like the strangers, who made life miserable. The world would be a better place without people like them.

In a moment of silence that sometimes befalls even the most agitated of crowds the cry of the two-year old baby with lampin problems was heard. Perhaps it was a sign, for some of the barangay captain’s cool-headed neighbors pleaded with them.

“Let the police handle this,” a bespectacled neighbor said. The barangay captain just seethed. After all, he was the one who almost got killed.

“Please, please, let the police handle this,” another neighbor said.

It took some time, but the barangay captain agreed that the best move would be to call the police. He didn’t want to sink to their level, to be a murderer. Willie, whose bolo already drew some of the stranger’s blood, looked disappointed.

“Tie them to the cashew tree!” ordered the captain.

A neighbor who happened to have a car fetched the police (for there were no phones back then).

When the police arrived the strangers were two bloody lumps.