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I am the wolf who howls every night,
For I am crying,
For the love I can't have
all poets are human, therefore, all humans are  
poems*

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"In logic, a tautology (from the Greek word ταυτολογία) is a formula that is true in every possible interpretation."

<•>
hardly a tightly taut tautology,
yet true this, in every possible instance

all humans, poems,

as if their portrait painted

from words dipped in a vocabulary palette

which is why,

you my million muses,

are so oft the themes of *who
I write

and when foolish think there is no
inspiration in the air,
your names
each and every,
a title awaiting
finishing
a gift for Jamadhi Verse

Friday, August 25, 2017 6:10 PM,
S. I.
I was here
When you wrote a fully encrypted poem
Words wrapped in heavy firewalls
Decryption code hidden in time
Looping through ages of wisdom

Greek written in plain English
that's what ordinary us see
Codes that can't be deciphered
alluded as metaphors.
and nooo
don't get me started on syllables
Or they call them enigma these days

Those woven words
Those written graphical contents leave us in awe
Only the 5th generation circuits gets it
the softwares involved are not for the average minds
Only a high speed drive would comprehend the contents

No petty malware would Penetrate through those walls
Only a malware with enviable skills
Ones that would suffocate and annihilate
Re program the chess board to its advantage
Inciting the readers that they understand the depth  of that poem
If Love is a disease
then I'm very sick
but incredibly happy....
Two hours earlier
i whispered to Whitely
"go, if you must..."

My dog Moe
is sad
his father, Whitely
just died.

how do i tell Ashleigh?  Beatrice?
they're still in  school...


Sally :(
T
(remembering)

Was still in the shower
draped with a thick towel
shook head...whisked drops of water
combed dripping short hair with fingers,
then reached for Q-tips,
dried right ear,
another tip...for the left.......suddenly,
the world went silent...utterly...totally!
.......i saw  my eyes froze
...the mirror, was too close...


i had forgotten...i sometimes do,
it's now ten.....and six months,
from that early mornin'

when distant sounds...cruel truths,
pursued me without respite...but, God is always good,
after my storm, came that proverbial calm,
indescribable!...that suddenness....the quietness
of those fireworks bursting...in front of my eyes
they unfolded...and enfolded...
easing out...the gravity of consequences,
slowly......i accepted truths.....and changes...
never skipped thanksgiving......i now know
when, and when not to keep fingers crossed...
those were days of clasped  hands, in prayer,
believing.....some good always comes out
....of a dark, or soundless moment...

i guess, Q-tips will always scare me...the
struggle is alive....seems dead other days
...but, a kind of warm glow eases my fears...
when in total silence, i believe, somehow,
someone will come, and hold my elbow...


Sally

Copyright August 19, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
In the kitchen,
......fragrance is eclectic......in spices
fresh, some stewing with other ingredients...garlic
ginger, and bits of pork, and shrimp paste, blending
flavors in boiling coconut juice...sliced eggplants, cut string
beans, squared squash, and squash blossoms will be dropped
soon................in a separate pan, fish is deep fried...

joining this redolence, is
the smell of plucked sweetsop tree leaves, and dry grass,
touched by rain.....raindrops shyly tip-tap on the hot roof,
flowing down on the eaves, dripping sparingly, softly hits
the steaming creviced grounds....a hushed sound follows...
red, blue, brown, beige roofs adorn the graying horizon...
too early for thunder and lightning...gray clouds hang low
...more tears from Heaven threaten to flow

the front garden beckons...awaits to be rearranged
.....peach, purple, mauve and verdant colors surround
........there's music! the air is rich with a mix of sounds:
the neighbor's washing machine is running...cats are meowing,
purring, the rooster keeps crowing...seems, dog is vocalizing,
a pleasant crescendo...as water in the basin overflows...
...i could see invisible arrows, leading me...seeming didactic
...where to go, what to do, this morning so eclectic
...but.....
i savor what remains of a late breakfast of red sausages,
......and the smell of almost gone coffee...so pleasant, as
drying bubbles cling to the rim of the mug......electric fans
are turned towards the table.....to dispel hot, humid air,
........plates are ready......there is always cooked rice,
...........lunch is served.


Sally

Copyright August 27, 2017
rrab
I sit here
wonder why
I slowly die inside
giving my all
I sit here
The first bird (bard?) of the morn
I peeped into the salon.

Are you ready mate? I queried.

His eyes were ashes of night
and I doubted his mood.

I should be, he said
your hair is my livelihood.

Make it short I said
top bottom and the sides
and his scissors was Beethoven
soothingly rising and falling
making the sweetest sound
celebrating martyrdom of my hairs
resignedly falling on the ground.

But too soon it was over
and he held the mirror.

Wouldn't a little shorter be fine?

Nope, he smiled
considering your hairline
further recession would be a disaster.

I paid him buying his logic
and like a symphony
skimmed the air merrily.
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