Giving in to their pretences
Follow every word they say
Blame the heart
Knows the only way

The heart
Believes and trusts, so rust it must
Lies they give and shelf the truth
That’s their truth, and rust it must

Hazy muddy puddles
Glorious smiles brown and clear
Children frolic’n roll

The ***** and the Lady
walked into town
She from the north
He from the south
She passed the boutiques
He passed the bars
She seemed like Venus
He was more like Mars

By chance they met in the park
On a warm winter day
She was feeling lonely
He with so much to say
They sat side by side
Beneath a worn out tree
She spoke of a broken heart
He talked of his life at sea

He learned of her way of life
How she’d been told to smile a fake smile
To marry a man for money
to keep her family within their style
She learned he wasn’t a ***, that he’d fought wars and saved many lives
How he couldn’t face the day light
So usually appeared at night

She asked how it was that today
He decided to strole in the park
He said he’d dreamt of a woman
Alone with a broken heart
The dream had told him to go
to the place that he felt most at ease
He knew just where the dream meant,
walking within the trees

They talked and found that their loneliness
Was different but also the same
She was surrounded by people
He was surrounded by pain
They decided that day to change this
And make up for all the lost years
They’d been given a second chance of love
To smile true and dry up their tears.

The ***** and the lady got married
And rented a flat by the park
No longer did they suffer from loneliness
They had each other
And warm happy hearts

Under a shady Banyan tree,
i am a unicorn, my lone horn is shining,
front hooves raised, set to gallop, to help
dreams and desires to materialize...
:::::
on another day, i'm a silver-haired erudite,
amidst scrolls and volumes of  tomes,
pondering on THAT, which ruffles my waters,
and defies what i've known, what i believe in;
i'm challenged, i pursue the topic.....i write,
and when pleasance rules.....verses swell...
:::::
however, when my mind is drought-driven,
and my days fail me, i become a banshee,
wailing my ineptitude...my inadequacy,
warning myself...of worst days coming...
there's nary a line, or a verse to celebrate
when exists, this poverty, in poetry......
:::::
i see a poet sailing on either one of two rivers
one always moves on...wind tiptoes on its
surface, its ripples are soldiers marching on...
the other river is snagged...flows off and on;
but, water always finds, creates new paths,
eventually, it flows....at times, it overflows...
::::::
the urge to write is water to the poet,
touching his/her toes...always reminding,
there's plenty to write, out there...in here...
you suddenly hear rain hitting roof like nails
or, the neighbor's car revving up, the smoke
and noise ruin your morning air...it irks you,
giving way to an angry 10-word....or haiku...

in poetry...bad and good days occur, whether
near, far, or under a shady Banyan tree....


Sally

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 4, 2019