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Sky
as I look to the sky,
I begin to realize
that the depths
of the seas and stars
hold my heart
so tightly close

and perhaps
that's why
I'm slowly losing
the will
to breathe
No ode for you, periwinkles
No exalted verse or prose
No lover's gift you will be
Unlike the regal rose
Not placed in summer bouquets
In vases - never seen
Nor gracing dark tresses
Nor found in floats of dreams
Yet sweet you are to me
Happy in blue and white
With your merry little faces
Like fairies and lithe sprites.
She sells flowers in little bunches,
Sweet fragrances that please,
Delicate sepals of life,
That softly speak.

Bouquets of living colours,
Petals of inspiration,
Roses, chrysanthemums,
Daisies, carnations.
Accent blossoms, gerberas,
Lilies smiling in myriad hues,
Sunflowers a darling yellow,
Vibrant orchids in splendour blue.

With her touch, beauty breathes,
Glorious blossoms thrive,
Delicately arranged,
Floral expressions come alive.

For new love that slowly blooms,
For confessions yet to be said,
The finest of her finest,
She ribbons roses dark rich red.

Fond good health thoughts,
Through florals expressed,
She’ll wrap with gentle care,
With love’s tenderness impress.

She’ll weave wreathes and garlands,
Blends of wistful white, blues, pinks,
For memories left behind,
Now distant imprints.

In sweet scents, she colours days, months, years,
Walks alone each night when she is done,
Back home, no florid fragrance fills her senses,
To colour her world there is no one.
Written in 2012 - all old poems
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I cannot not remember my mother,
whatever time...whatever day,
during work or while viewing sunsets
while relaxing...or while too stressed,
her face...smiling or wearing a frown,
or a tune of a song she used to sing,
all these hover over everything
around me, they dangle like tassels
of memories,
they make me recall more.

I cannot not remember the scents
of flowers in my mother's garden
that she used to grow and love,
for they all still exist  in my garden,
dishes she used to cook for us,
I now cook for my own family.

When a breeze brushes over me,
i cannot not remember, how in the
early mornings of her life, my mother
had rushed to the church, to hear
mass...to serve God 'til the last days
of her life...she did, in every way.

I cannot not remember my own mother,
for i saw in her how to be a mother
and a grandmother
with love, extreme effort and care.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 24, 2024
...was reading some works by Rabindranath Tagore,
and I ended up with this poem...
Though we can't change the order of things
Nor make some moments better
Nor alter what fate brings -
We can be there for one another

Though we can't stop the sun from burning
Nor the ice from layering rivers
Nor stop the tides from turning -
We can be there for each other

Though we can't wipe away all tears
Nor ease the many brows of grief
Nor remove the shadows of fear -
We can be there together

Though we can't hold the dusk at bay
As darkness begins to fill the sky
We can still brighten the grey -
When there with one another

And when the snow streams for a mile
When the scent of flowers fills the air
We can hold hands and smile -
When there with one another
How do I love you - in poem or prose
In a story, a eulogy, aubade or an ode?
I could love you in a sonnet
A senryu, though terse
I'd spill my heart - drop by drop
Or ink it verse after verse
I could write a terzannelle
A villanelle I could chance
Tapping on the refrain of love
The feet of romance
I could weave metaphors and similes
Sweet and sublime
Or trip down the keys
Playfully alliterate each line
How do I love you?
I can love you as I do -
In simple words that are writ -
From a heart that is true



Repost
Draw child, mark on the wall
before life is dull
and you may not even
put your pain on the paper,
has to scribble mindless hieroglyphs
to qualify in some cruel test
and find a job that'll make you forget
where your heart is.

Do your paintings on the wall child
to your heart's content
even if they mean nothing
only mark the life's time
most well spent.

Spread your marks freely child
on the wall, floor, glass, wood
before your age suddenly vanishes
and the world binds you
with the shackles of rules
your freedom gone for good.

I won't scold you child
I would rather love the short time
you are wild and
the sweetest rhyme
my world would ever hear.

Leave child your marks behind
leave them firm and bold
so when I grow old
senile and dull
you will still smile on my eyes
from the wall.
And somehow
In my sadder times
I let go
Of friends close to me
friendships like poetry

But I still think of them
And reflect in reminiscence
On happiness shared
sadness disclosed

And as friends do, they enriched my life
Taught me a thing or two
So precious
And will always be
Those friendships like poetry

I wish them well
Wherever they might be
As they say, though not seen,
Still they are, hidden somewhere, like stars
It’s hard to care
for a bunch of flowers in a vase  
Neither here nor there
Neither quite dead nor alive
Though seemingly full of life
And fragrant and beautiful

But it distresses me as they start to wilt
Petals fall
One by one — all
Perhaps it’s better that I get a
bouquet of dried flowers instead
Muted creams, browns and reds
They won’t be as vibrant
But flowers yet
They’ll dispel winter’s gloom
Add colour to my room

They’ll certainly last longer…
Ah, if only I were wiser and stronger
I could make the most of each moment
And enjoy the beauty of flowers and their sweet scent
But I guess I am silly
To brood over wilting roses, dahlias and that odd lily
A shining star in the night sky  
A sliver of a moon
The burning wick of a candle in darkness
A bud pushing itself out from the ground
A green leaf on a winter-worn tree
The silver lining in a dark cloud
A rainbow after rain
The first rays of morning sunshine
The light at the end of a tunnel
The promise of a happy ending
The laughter of a baby
The antics of a puppy
A bird in flight
A hand
A smile
The words —
Everything will be all right

Hope
The rope of life
We hold on to
Gingerly
For without hope
Where would we be?
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