Nakedness and manifestations of the white noise mind traffic,
I watch the world turn before the fabricated glory of torches without flames and chariots without horses,
All saturated with the molecular movements of the air made with melodies not played for You,
This is the concrete sea of gasoline’s grace of novelties I once spoke of when I was a prince of sleepless men and my heart was determined to germinate the seeds of wicked kings,
Now with a crown cast down and cracked,
I am a dystopian eclipsing a dying sun to cast shadows on sleeping silent sinking houses,
As I watch them go down to where I've made my bed before,
I recall how they make me turn in my sleep before You,
Keeping keys deep below bowing floorboards whining with the weight of weeping willows grown by ghosts of a life once sewn and patched by my pity of distorted desperation,
My fingers keep my dreams from unraveling,
Locking them up tight tonight by hiding my face from it all,
Closing my eyes with my palms,
My lamps are bathed in blackness,
Darkness covers darkness,
And then I feel your hands lower the veil,
I see holes made by instruments of death forged in time,
Scarring You in a place that Kronos nor Thanatos cannot consider to tread,
I put my fingers through them,
I remember now that you paint such beautiful pictures,
Color me with your dreams now,
Your pigments have been poured out,
A gift was given to the dust,
Now I live to give it back to you,
And the haunted fluorescence of Babylon grow dim before your face,
The orchestral cries of mans machines grow silent,
Deep touches deep,
Sharing the oceans between us,
A love infinite consumes me
Its funny, as I am sitting here in the back of the auditorium, listening to all my friends on stage. The song is The Nutcracker, and suddenly it all comes back. As the bass thrums in my ear and the trupet blares loudly across the audience, I remember those winter day where She would take me to The Nutcracker. Two young girls in tow, She would cart us around, another venue every year. It was grand, the high light of my season. I could watch women with long limber legs and men in their toy soilder costumes, prance gracfully across the stage in time with th music. As I sat in that darkened auditorium it all came back to me. She used to take me to see this, to listen to this music. I had the urge to laugh madly, and cry out in anguish. Its a funny thing how precious things become long after they have ended. When the memory still stands while the erson fades. In that darkened auditorium I felt a pang of sickening nostaligia and longing. For She is dead and I am still here, and now I have no one to take me to the Nutcracker
With head a-spinning and feet unsure
I try to do daily tasks ;
My slow-motion movements hamper work
My face feels more like a mask
I really don’t like to feel this way ,
Don’t like what these pills do and yet
Without them the tears come spilling forth
For the things I need to forget.
Forget? O Lord , won’t you show me how?
Wash these feelings out of me !
Give answers to the questions I’ve asked
Show what the future’s to be.
postscript: about lithium ...
... I have the original hand printed in pencil ( see banner on profile for a piece of the original)
found amongst other personal treasures saved
in an old book of guitar cords ...I remember when and where I was
during this writing at 17... but I am still unable to say it out-loud
The stigmas borne of honesty, at times are a heavy price to be paid ...
this poem below went right on by this past July ,
like much of my writing dealing with darker realities ,
likely because of the stigma of the title and the mood disorder.
I just don't care anymore and keeping our secrets hidden
just causes a habitual ache too deep for words... I am not waiting anymore.
There is an isolation from these imperfections that leaves you feeling like ,
no mater what you ever do we are never enough.
This is why I remain alone as many others like me.
Few will understand this , but if you do it was written for you too !!
You are never alone in spirit and never forget that !!
This writ and I will be here until the social anxiety hits
... another struggle linked and misunderstood
Nobody sees clear of the flutter
of a thousand swallowtail’s wings
Soaring so high above beyond the bounds
from the dark shadows lurking broken wings
Free to sing the delicate colour,
a voyage with fragile paper wings
Tall enough to look down
in a moment’s blind eyes blink
seeing mountains move on high
Zooming afar enough to touch gravity’s dark azure,
the paper moon’s passionate kisses taste;
a swellen appetite, intimately unfolding paper airplane wings of fate
There are two sides to every wishfully tossed coin ,
both sides can be smitten
like a weeping butterfly gone wrong ,
caught out in the summer rain's passing tempest throng
Climbed the highest high enough, to fall so low
spiraling down, way down deep the rabbit hole;
what goes up must come down,
a metamorphosis of another familiar kind
Hark! the herald angels sing and sigh
Tomorrow's tears will once again drip dry
rain cleansed paper winged angels
and a thousand paper winged butterflies
forever free to soar again,
reaching for the vast sapphire sky
Migration mitigates minority movements
only the ole soft shoe remains
sound travels dispelling wealth
health costs postulated economic woes
growing strains of virus mingle with dirty shoelaces
tongue-tied flies can no longer buzz because drugs
cousins relate mindless commercialism in the form of slogan
jingles with ginger generate generation gaps
and the old exchange narcotics playing shuffleboard
“I’ll see you one Oxy for two Viagra”
“Helen, remember Niagara?”
Swelling subsides and new worries flash
health concerns are discerned by D students
beer-bong frat boys holding charts
prescribing death to the elderly
enriching the shareholders and depleting inheritance
as a hobby bordering on obsession
trenches hide bodies of the uninsured and FEMA camps wait for the word
miles of coffins stacked and stacked for train delivery
bloated bodies remind those who can remember
of religious discrimination
played out globally for all to see and participate in
and a template was created
waited with breath, bated for just the right moment
for reinstating the roles
Chinese manufactured, Walmart sold, Swastikas
fashionably fronting the fascist façade called the United States Government
freedom cries as the last eagle dies and all that is left are the sighs
of the Native American ghosts
coasts littered with radioactive starfish
whispers of seagulls on the wind of yesteryear
and my head hangs as the effigy of America washes out with the tide
Visitors had flown back home...
The much-longed for respite
Finally, was at hand.
It felt good...to be on your own...
Leaning on the bed, alone, though
Still nursing a cold from two weeks past.
To catch up with sleep
Was all that mattered.
Quietude was a blessing.
There was no noise at all
At 5:00 in the morning.
What? 5:00 AM?
No rushing footsteps? No showering?
No flushing of the toilet?
On a school day?
This can't be!
Rising from the bed was a struggle,
Everything seemed light...floating,
Panic lurked in all corners of my room,
Loomed, it did, and spread all around,
In the midst of a widening cloak of fear.
The vacuum...in the right ear...
Cleared those fuzzy thoughts.
My right ear could no longer hear.
Whether lying cringed or curled,
Prostrate, or supine,
Predominated in the days that followed.
Diagnoses and prognoses, all were bleak.
The cruel, deadly virus did it all...
The loss superceded, and
Displaced every strand of confidence...
A downward pull was imminent.
No phone calls were accepted.
Unexpectedly, true colors surfaced,
Real friends came forward...
Family, other voices kept whispering:
"Shibashi waits, tai chi helps,
Both can alleviate, heal the heart,
Heal the mind, to be able
To accept the unacceptable."
Fourteen days seemed a year already,
Moments spent in soul-searching...
With prayers and courage, gathered within,
I dared cross that busy street,
Though shaking, quivering from fear
And from the cold winds of February...
Almost got hit by a car,
Cursed by its driver,
But reached the church grounds in one piece.
Practice started at 7:00 AM, sharp.
Movements were calming,
Concentration was perfect!
It was a sunny day...
Wind blew softly,
Carrying small things, floating, flying...
Tiny strips that went with the wind...
What I thought were garbage...
Strips of thrash paper... from a shredder, maybe...
Thrown from a house I passed by...
Blown even further, higher up...
I walked back home,
With strips of paper on my head.
Two weeks were too short, I was still confused,
Unaccepting, mad, sad, felt cheated,
Still in denial, of what had occured...
Standing in front of a vanity mirror,
Wondering what God's message was this time.
Strangely, I thought of those strips of thrash paper...
Confetti from Heaven???
My situation wasn't a festive event!
Could I have overlooked something here?
Was God trying to call my attention?
I wasn't sure...all I knew was,
I was depressed...
I lost equanimity, I lost my serenity...
I was distraught, I was everything but happy.
But, those strips of paper...
Falling on my head...
Made me look up to the sky that morning....
There were no tears before, and even today...
I am a bit afraid, but
There is a calmer me...
There is solace in the fact that,
God gave me two ears...
I could still hear with the other...
I live a quite active life 'til now...
I move briskly...
I sit where the speaker's voice is most clear
To my left ear.
When something is difficult to hear, or understand,
I get so frustrated..
Sometimes, I forget about it,
It has its good effects.
It would soon be seven years after...
I have learned to
adjust to my limitations,
And still wanting to know how to overcome
Or resolve these limitations...
One day, I might just...
One day, I might just
Accept what should be accepted...
There'd be much gratitude for my sole request:
To be understood...
And not pitied...
Early morning ,December 11, 2013
(From journals of 2007-2008)
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
From wretched ancient under-dark it spills
Aerosolized hatred, malice and strife
Indiscriminate in who it kills
The southern wind, enemy of all life.
Malevolent sirocco, seething with wrath,
Melting metal, human flesh, skin and bone
Painful is death for all trapped in its path.
For what great sin will this wind atone?
Eleventh plague, locked away by god,
Grisly screams for mercy choked off by gust
Nothing dares to grow were this wind has trod.
All who smell the wretched scent turn to dust.
Movements silent, striking without warning
Lucky are those who live until morning.
Nervous. Boot heels click clack up steps. Walk around back.
Step in. People in pockets everywhere. Swerve straight to cooler.
Take a beer. Cracks open with crisp click. Drink drink drink. Ellipse of friends block out world.
Finish beer. Talking a little louder now. Confidence enough to walk to cooler
alone and grab more beers. See Steph and stop to chat. Move on. Keep on drinking the whole way back.
Two and a half beers and I’m starting to feel it. The excitement, the loosening of social limits. The loosening of myself. Boy whose name starts with a “C” but I just can’t remember starts talking to us. He’s kind of cute.
My fourth beer drains down my throat and I’m laughing at a joke. I’m friendly, people are friendly. The world is all kindness.
My sixth(and three fourths) beer in my hand, my head starts to droop and my hips are swaying of their own accord. It’s like the sky has puppet strings, twisting me side to side. The beat controls me, the world whispers my movements. Who whispers to the earth is beyond me.
…am I on my seventh or my eighth beer? People walk off to dark corners, hands on hips and breasts and chests. Still I dance somewhere in the vast dim basement. Still I twirl, rhythm gone but gravity still clinging to the movements.
But where am I? What am I doing here on this dance floor, on this city-planet floating or falling or patiently waiting on the ice-slicked footsteps of space? The world is spinning as it pirouettes around the sun, the sun circling a superstar, that star swirling around the center of the galaxy, spinning like the top in the rest of the full dark silk of space, stars clapping and nebula soaring and supernovas shattering, guests all to the raves of light years. I dance on earth’s doormat drunk and spinning, feeling a giant in my world and a broken bottle in the worlds of others. Oh god, in the words of that song that’s beating in the bones of the earth and the air in my lungs, can we get much higher?
who needs a caressing touch
when there's rough hands to guide you
don't slide your body down
scratch your movements in
collapse your chest on top of me
make me work to take this win
you can use your arms to balance
but I'll take your legs out from under you
so you'll bind my arms behind me
and show me something brand new
I'll keep you in control 'till you're falling
a heated mess with nothing left
and since I never have the last say
I'll make you say my name
'till I'm sure I'll always be your best
Because of that moment, you were led here,
If that had not happened, this wouldn't be
Everything happens, making other things clear
Just never woulda guessed that you'd be so important to me
Simple little actions, fingertip movements, linked us into conversation
An open bridge was built that night for our souls to travel across freely
Emotionally jumped into each others' soulful arms, without hesitation
Each message read was like a piece of our heart that we were inadvertently stealing
Every time your face popped up on my screen,
My heart would nearly skip a beat
Right now, many miles lay inbetween
But in roughly two weeks our bodies will finally meet.
Already in you I've let myself be vulnerable, comfortably
The pictures we paint with words depict something I can really see
I feel each slightest touch as if you were here enveloped in me, effortlessly
We've already raised each others' spirits and expanded frequencies
I think about you being here, or me there, frequently.
Thinking of hugging you instills a kind of peace in me,
Call it tranquility...simple pleasantries..call it anything..
~So long as it involves love~
You say I've done so much for you
But words are never enough.
Just symbols, to represent, stuff
Independent to the perspective
I just hope I symbolized meaning that was effective
How much I care.. I really meant it
Because if I didn't mean the content, I wouldn't have sent it
Hearts on the sleeves with arms extended
For any wound in your soul I wanna mend it.
Anything on your mind you can come to me and vent it.
I at least have a little bit of time left, I wanna come to you and spend it.
We're gonna have to take advantage of time spent, so to not regret it
Already deep within me you are embedded,
Talked so much in a short period, just know everything was true when I said it
Just as it is in the current, riding waves of light that'll promise us at least one night.
Frigid, snowy weather,
yet warm together~
It's our endeavor to better ourselves,
And I'll always be there for you when you need help.
I tend to move in stealth, but I make myself known.
My daydreams, embraced by you feels so at home.
If you're ever down, feeling alone
I'm here, pick up the phone, no matter the time zone
I'll send my electrified vibes flying through the air faster than a drone
some say it's tossed around too much,
But I say too little
They put rules and complications on it,
trying to find an answer to the riddle
I told you I could say it to strangers
But it's hard, romantically speaking,
as if there's impending danger.
But if the feeling's true we shouldn't waiver
For there's no guaranteeing there'll be a later
Even though right now I'm feeling blue,
I have nothing but love for you,
You make me think of brighter colors
Meshing energies like long lost lovers
We had come to see him, the aging Tenor sing.
He was as good as he had always been.
But half way through, a woman appeared,
Moving gracefully in bare feet upon the stage.
Entering the ring of bright spot light near him.
Long blond hair, falling loose around her neck,
Held back both sides by Turtle Shell combs,
Reflecting the light.
Adorned in but a simple, low cut black dress,
Her with a face beautiful as a new spring day.
Held in her left hand an ebony hued violin,
Touched fondly, like a well accustomed old friend.
Her right hand holding a bow, ready and waiting.
The Tenor’s and her eyes met and conveyed a message
Only they understood. Then starting slow and low,
The full Orchestra commenced. The woman in black
Brought instrument up to her chin, lovingly resting
her face upon it, as if comforted by it's touch to skin.
The fetching violinist, like a graceful reed,
In summer breeze, began to gently sway,
Laid Bow to strings and a transcended beauty,
The voice of both her Instrument and from within she,
Emerged through her fingers, completely filling the hall.
With eyes closed, the slight movements of expression
On her face registering the feelings the musical notes made,
As if those gestures too, guided the bow's musical cords.
Slender precise fingers lovingly caressing the strings.
For nearly a minute, she and her violin played alone.
Her actions of body, hands and head in concert,
To her music, unavoidably hypnotic it could be said.
The Tenor started to sing, and yet my eyes stayed
Locked on her, as if no one else in the room was there.
The blond woman in the black dress owned the stage.
I have no idea how long that piece of music lasted,
I could not attest to what contribution the Tenor made.
Fully my attention and eventually my heart belonged
To that lovely, evocative young woman in the backless,
Little black dress.
It’s true that I may never see or hear her play again,
I know not, even her name.
And yet, I’m sure that I will never forget those
Few minutes mesmerized by her magical spell.
Hopelessly caught in her enchanting web.
With me sitting, third row, isle seat left,
Worshiping as I did, at her so pretty,
Slightly dirty naked feet, the striking
Blond woman in the black dress.
from a distance, on a train, the street, in a store, or a concert.
Captivated by someone we will most likely never see again.
Enchanted for but a moment? And yet unable to forget.
For me it was this past week at a concert.