13- You can't stay mad at him/her for more then a minute or two, and you have to actually try and stay mad.

12- You'll read his/her IMS or other msgs, over and over and over again.

11- You'll walk really, really slow while your with him/her.

10- You'll feel shy whenever your with him/her

9- While thinking about him/her your heart will beat faster and faster.

8- By listening to his/her voice you'll smile for no reason what so ever.

7- While looking at that person you won't be able to see anybody else that's around...only that person.

6- He/she becomes all you think about.

5- You'll get high just by their smell...

4- you'll start listening to really slow songs

3- You'll realize your always smiling to yourself when you think of him/her

2- You'll do anything for him/her

1- While reading this there was ONE person on your mind the WHOLE time.
                                                           ^-^

Shores...

She is known for her beauty
many are lured to come...see for themselves
her breathtaking features, her famed hospitality,
after all, she IS...Paradise herself,

On her clear blue shores, there started
a blending of races, cultures, and, newfound wisdom...
on those same shores, battles were fought,
but...freedom always prevailed

She showers her people with courage and strength,
when trumpets play sad, and her banner is flown half mast,
i stand proud, feeling her solid walls
i was born, and have lived....within her shores
where my body and soul breathe peaceful airs...
together, we survived wars, giant waves, and tremors...

Her struggles live in my mind,
pumped through my veins,
like tides of the sea, they ebb and flow,
.........they never die...
each time i hear her song, i stand up straight
in respect for her past sufferings, her determination, her valor
and her much deserved triumphs...

Today, new faces speak of new promises,
new solutions...done in haste
they seem like hot air...rising from live embers,
fanning further...the fire of my fears....
i snap the thought, and think of each
glorious sunrise that crowns each day,
and leaves me speechless, always in awe,
wishing i could pull the hours fast
so i can right away see her magnificent sunset
and starry twilight nights

Life takes me to foreign strands,
but, when it's time....my heart, my feet
will lead me back to her pearl-colored sands,
where, i shall walk leisurely, with my bare feet,
fine grains would hide my toes, and cling to my soles
we'll play 'til my ankles are buried deep...in its comforting cold...

"Pearl of the Orient,"
is my home...my native land
my eyes swell with tears, when i see
her banner, proudly waving...in freedom...

Sally

Copyright August 1, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan



#pearloftheorient #sunrisesunset #battlesfought #shores
#pearlcoloredsands

....
From womb  to born
Every morn
Each breath
Even on the road of death
I’m alone
Walking with broken bone

While the Summer wind blows
In this narrow lane
Love flows in my wide vein
As the Streams of heavy rain
Alone else
Only the past tense

In the dark, I hark
A distant bark
In the dream there was
A beautiful park
With a few sign of paws
Yet I couldn’t find any cause

The Streams going down
While flowing in this old town
The Stone grew worn and torn
Rolling else alone
Like my broken bone
.......
@Musfiq us shaleheen

I lay on the ground below
the curved hips of the hills at sunset
The aperture of my eyes, my ***, my eyes
and the narrow escape
of mind from body

I am ten again
and they’re calling me falsey
“*******, No bra!”
Shoving them into the lockers
of Holy Name’s pool
My eyes? Brown. My hair? Brown
My body? Invisible, lean and “Leave me alone!
or I’ll punch your lights out!”

Meanwhile, Mom is mortified
but not cause I’m banned from the stupid pool

All I want— is to run bare to the waist
Ride my bike, maniacal  
Be a bird
Swipe ice from the milk truck
Marvel over maggots in garbage
Catch toads, caterpillars, pollywogs in jars

Later, sell lemonade— get rich!
…and pretend…pretend…
till the litany of our names, hollered from the porch
till the street lights come on….



“This is for something you haven’t got yet”
says the matron of the fitting room
Bones in a bathing suit?
What I haven’t got?
or they haven’t got?
will never get—
in their worlds of curtained cubicles
Cause of death:
Strangulation by measuring tape!



In my plaid two-piece
sunburned shoulders, wind-wild hair
By sweat and the afternoon’s imaginings
I built a fortress of sand and stones
to endure forever….

But she— shook the blanket
at the tide’s full reach
Peppered the air with an epoch
Clouds darkening
the wind-torqued sea

Finding my flip-flops, we—
    trudged off…
    into the changing… changing

I adore the way the
Presence of a toddler; little

Diaper steps from something to
Something else

Softens the eyes of grandmothers
Smiling between themselves

Remembering their grown
Children

As not.
Paper-skin hands

Veins of deepest ancient blue
Holding love so old

For small things.
New things.

Fresh, little human being
Royalty in our eyes.

Commanding
Without knowing.

Heart itself on two
Tiny legs.

I have no idea, really.
I am a Northman; my blood is
Used to leaders

Of a different kind.
My heart and efforts placed
Before strong wills and

Absent egos.
All for the best of the tribe.
A fan of no human,

No single lie forgiven.
No hidden agenda  
Either.

When the longest spear of
Ridicule is thrown, make sure
No one raises

A shield strong enough to
Give Donald time to
Duck.

I ask myself, observing the
Battles of the infants, are there any
Grown-ups here

At all?
We're dealing with the fate of our
Children.

So much more our flesh and
Blood than anything
Animated.

My mind travels towards that
Vein on her neck my
Mouth once found

The way your tongue inevetably
Returns to the sharp edges of a
Chipped tooth

Despite your efforts
To keep it from cutting itself on
Something sharp, yours and

Broken.

I

Thirsty now; mouth dry like
A desert wanderer's,
Single man in solitude
Swiping right and

Not even caring
Too much.
Just looking for trouble;
Microwave-romance, softness;

A face that fits my hand.
Guitars gathering dust, begging
St. Gibson for inspiration
To shake their owner into

Lust fuelled
Songwriting; string breaking, pick
Melting, voice straining.
For now, the last of five litres of

Italian red is floating bellywards;
Bloodwards; headwards;
Heartwards, and the drinker writes
Text message poetry with drops of

Wine hiding in barley beard too
Full for an old mother's appreciation.
I owe her a grandchild.
She says poems don't count.

II

Thirsty now; heart dry like one
Not recalling love, not remembering
A woman's hungry hands on
The back of one's

Warm, wet head, pulling, nails
Digging,
Teeth biting beard.
Skin kissing skin.

Soul seeing soul and
Celebrating.
Sweet illusion of love.
I create a bed-sharer on canvas.

I compose a breakfast-eater at my table.
A listener to my songs,
Sunset-watcher, Netflix-snuggler,
Rainstorm-listener.

I owe for her to be flesh and blood, not merely
My neurons dancing. Ears to hear
My compliments. Hair to brush
Away from between

Our lips mid-kiss.
I finish my wine.
Could have made nearly painful
Love to her

For ages and
Aeons, but I
Create her temporarily;
Fleeting image of a speaking doll.

Hold me like tears on something
Golden. Hold me like an acid
Trip fading into reality.
She says poems don't count.

She says
Poems
Don't really
Count.

Mid-winter
Snow like white sand

Walking, listening to William
Fitzsimmons

An elk the size of a
Huge... elk

Approaches the paddock
Where horses stand unsuspecting

Suppose he just wanted to say
Hello to this antlerless creature

So much like
Him

Startled horse
Startles elk

And I watch tons of animal
Flee from

Itself
Disappointed

Having hoped to see interaction
So unlike that of us

Humans, but
No.