Where the river abandons herself to the creek
and the mudbank is cratered with crabclaws
waits the old man.

He doesn't know his years
but his ears are a sonic gift
catching the tonal variations of tides
seemingly for eons
evolving with the mangrove map
into a flawless tracker
of how far the moon would recline
for ***** to be holed out
and what shoreline the water would touch
before the shrimps starlight driven
make a beeline for the net.

I encountered him once
in the absurdity of a time
when I was high
and he lowly crouching
was making art by the creek.

Who was the poet
I could never tell.

The sea of people churns like violent winds. They have no direction but run everywhere. Seeking anything that will give peace to their souls, they are without a set course. All who seek rest from the peace of God sail a crooked course. If we reject his peace, though we think we are at rest, we are never satisfied with the things of the world.

May your heart be filled with Love and Forgiveness.
May you give more and more each and everyday.
May your Heart always be filled with extra Love here.
May your Life reveal Christ, especially to the Lost.
For only by seeing Christ within you shall he be reveled.
For everyone needs him, for only can they be saved by him.
May your Smile radiant, and your eyes reveal his Goodness.
For your eyes reveal either his Goodness or not my Friends.
For the eye is the Lamp to your soul, may you Feel Blessed.
May I always see his Truths and Wisdom within you.

If you were given your weight in gold, would you forego ever doing another good deed? If you found a Diamond that was priceless, would you trade it for mercy? If you could obtain a crown of riches and honor but never know the unconditional love of a child, would you give that away? No one can put a price on kindness, it is it's own reward. True selflessness does not have a material price, but some would trade it for wealth. To those who know the true value of humanity, they hold a treasure of untold value, but to those who shed the conviction to be human to their fellow person with no thought of reward, they will never know what kindness is really worth.

He steps in and our expectations ascend above the deep frustration, the anticipation felt by all creation as we bound into our liberation.

He steps in and we step out of age old bonds into endowed freedom, responding to the answer to our tears and groans and tears with redemption born of our adoption as children into a family kingdom.

He steps in and our patient hope is emboldened by Spirit-inspired words beyond words reaching deepest down, heart from heart to the throne of thrones.

He steps in and so we stand with purpose in the divine presence, secure beside divine  representation.

He steps in and choses us for gracious generosity with ultimate justification against all criticism, against all condemnation.

We step up in his image, secured in love beyond separation.

We step up, more than conquerors.

Once upon a time,
i had a book i read nightly....without fail.
t'was a compendium of impossible dreams,
big plans, summaries of late night talks
on "long-shots-but-worth-a-try," stuff,
...our very own fairy tales, where we
wished for magic wands and wings,
written on nights when sleep was elusive,
when bottles of cold beer had lost their effect.
talks were long...my fingers grew tired, for,
my guitar wept with sad songs....t'was then
i learned to pour martini...into my coffee.

::::::::::::::::::
lost my guitar one day, got busted....but, life's
many notes and tunes, played on with time.
eclipses shaded the already dimmed horizon,
floods ruined boxes of souvenirs...stamped,
handwritten...with ribbons of silver and gold...
people died, some left...some fell out of love,
moved near the mountains, others left their
preferred milieus...for uncomfortable zones...

the moon, looking down from mountaintops,
was a witness to tears...of sufferings,
.....realization, and of acceptance.

when nights refused to end,
when the howling of distant dogs, echoed
and shattered the stillness of the night,
i question marked our tales with suspended
endings...tore off  unfulfilled, hopeless pages,
i crossed out those with "no forever afters,"
only a few pages were left......so, i began
creating new plots......and new settings
i added new characters, and new twists,
all written in the midst of unholy hours
.......til a new dawn....proclaimed itself...
:::::
to this day,
i write my own fairy tales, with no beer, definitely
i still have my night coffee...though sans martini
......it could be black, or with its mating cream,
....and all the dark curves and swirls, in between...
:::::
"a long shot, but worth a try," it may seem,
...yet, i do wish, i could put some sugar and cream
......upon everyone's dark, and bitter coffee...
:::::

Sally

Copyright June 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan