~~
While the dawn flashed
Even rest of the friends went away
Exhausted cigarettes were on the Ash Tray
Evidence of the lost existence of

None didn't recall her, her words
But everyone moved with his head
Morning to evening, random
Not remembering, wandering  

How many people came
within too many ways
Again went through,
anywhere
Once I saw
even they didn't come back
anymore

At the late afternoon
in the window of my gray days  
I remember some faces
Mystic flowers remained
prostrate in the dust of
meandering ways

Came back
and picked up her
Loved, love
Far away on the other end,
rose up schematically
with the seventh
tunes of the guitar  

None didn't recall, her words
within the crowd
of a thousand faces,
In the counter path
of the clock
again I heard the song

The old song replaced
by the new,
morning shines
with the new sun
I hear the sounds of cry
of a new baby
Fungus has seen on the tape
of the old cassette

You are captive
within a dust covered album
My friend,
The lost spring,
The richness of our love,
As if I have left thousands of dreams  

Intangible time passing gently
with the tic tic of the timepiece
As if I have passed on the fastest train
Recognized the great known,
unknown wilderness

I woke up,
Saw
On the one hand,
your faded picture
The other hand,
holding hands of
The New Stranger of time
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen

A poet writes
about truths,
what is, and what is not...
a poet writes about nature,
people....the sun, moon and stars,
a poet dares to feel...to see the whole world...


A poet writes...
to vent his/her own shares of  joy
of agony...and aches...miseries...afflictions
as well as those of the others'
a poet reads...sees through someone else's eyes,
face...words...voice...and actions...

A poet writes,
to euphemize the sharp truths and facts in life
make them less painful to the ears
to at least, soften the pointed edges of every trial...to hurt less
to pad the impact of a fall...from frustration and despair
and, through words...encourage one...to rise...when fallen...

A poet writes
to cite reasons...so a hurting one would believe again
have faith in life...in love...again
to reach out...to those who have gone far, in the dark
and take them back to the fold ...of the bright side...

A poet writes...
to tell the woes of those oppressed
the world over
those tortured...violated...and killed
of children abused
their future stolen away from them...

A poet writes
of how nature has been exploited...and maltreated
how human beings
would one day disappear,
how nature...would be around.......no matter what...

A poet is sensitive
observant
and vigilant...
A poet is compelled to see and tell all truths...
truths of yesterday...those that are here now...happening
and those of tomorrow.....and beyond...
All these,
A poet must write...
...nothing more
...and nothing less...


Sally

Copyright January 3, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan



[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[(())]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]­]]]]]]]]]]

Kicking pine cones , hands in pockets with my favorite scarf on ..
Outfitted like a business man with something important to decide ,
a lawyer testing a juries intellect , like an important subversive agent with a clandestine government ...
Walking the fence line , dressed to save the world someday , my flashy duds turning heads , yet their only clothes , and clothes never did make the man so they say !
Fancy leather gloves , gold cuff links , cashmere sweater with well planned schemes ..
Upscale hero with a prominent address , four star restaurants , high end assets ..
Caviar and red wine , penthouse vista .. Fancy cigars and first class tickets ..
I'm still Cocoa Cola , cheese and crackers , homemade biscuits ..
Forever overalls , laying hens and sour mash whiskey ..

Want to play a game?
You know that one where,
The first person to break a heart wins.

The one where our anxiety is so bad,
We think that if we stay in bed all day,
That'll wash our problems away.

The one where the crippling pressure that still lingers from school,
Is killing you in college,
And you don't know how to tell anyone.

Want to play a game?
You know that one where,
We place a gun to our heads,
Count to three... then press the trigger.

A year older, a year wiser

A wisdom always in the making
Nourished by experience
Vitaminized by failures
Strengthened by aspirations
Built on the foundation of hope!

Year after year
Brick after brick
Wiser
Cemented by determination
Watered by dreams
Cracked by blows
Repaired by a mason
Working round the clock
Anointing healing!

Get up man.

You are a year older
But a year wiser

And the fruits of this wisdom
Often unseen
Oftener unknown
Ripen inside
And then no more just yours
Scatter in the surround
Beget nurseries of wisdom
Building, vitaminizing, strengthening
Repairing healing
Your foundation
Your hope!

Beyond the thoughts
that keep us bound
fear
suffering
anger  
love
we will fly
though it be fleeting

we savor
the height
while craving
the ground below
knowing
it takes both
to make
a soul

ι.

Pυlcнrιтυde oғ lυмιneѕcence,
Cнarм oғ тнe eaѕт; darlιng oғ
Tнe Candeѕcenт, тнy нearт'ѕ
Mapped, wιтн υnιqυe ѕтreeт'ѕ.

ιι.

Organιc Angel, ιnnocenт
Serapн; нarpιng wιтн god,
Wιтн тнe rod oғ cнerυв'ѕ.

ιιι.

I ѕpy ιnтo paradιѕe,
Wιтн тнee on мιne
Sιde; I'м cloѕer тo нeaven,
Wнen I ғall ιn тнιne eye'ѕ.

ιv.

Tнιne ѕιgнт ιѕ a vιѕιon,
Glιмpѕιng ιnтo тнe new;
Seeιng мιneѕelғ, ιnѕιde oғ
Me, ιnѕιde oғ тнoυ тo.

v.

Zιon ιѕ reвorn,
Broυgнт ιnтo
Tнe new; мιne
Loѕт Aѕιan pearl,
Oғ rapтυroυѕ вlυe.



©Brandon nagley
©Loneѕoмe poeтѕ poeтry
©Earl jane nagley dedιcaтιon ( ғιlιpιno roѕe)