I'm aware of the things that come from the woods.

The brooding water paths pushing to the west.
A quiet sprinkling of pine
  needles and
flooding near the
Ash Groves when the winters come

the winter's spent.

Cities are strangers and pavement is trapped soil
waiting for my hands to dig them up and build a
refuge out of dying-to-get-out-of-here-dirt

I'm dying to get out of here dirt.

I left myself in the absent way
a butterfly leaves the cocoon but do not know of what

I'm seek
  ing .

I enjoy the place your poetry takes me
your art is undeniable

a place in the Universe I never guessed existed

-unfolds in my soul when you sing it

We could have been lovers
our bodies hungry for the *******

our souls riding the outer stars
where new worlds are created


I enjoy your poetry, and the place it takes me
I am forever wondering

wandering along the hidden paths
of your soul-sense poems

the songs you sing
and leave me

leave me a better person
than I could ever have imagined.

We marched because
They told us we couldn’t march.
We loved because
They told us we couldn’t love.
We married because
They told us we couldn’t marry.
We ran for office because
They told us we couldn’t run.

Freedom is for everyone
Not just for the few.
If any group is left out
The word is not true.

We applied for jobs
When they said we could not
We applied for loans
But they tore up the applications.
We manned picket lines
When they said they’d **** us.
We put in for promotions
When they told us we wouldn't win.

Freedom being for everyone
Should not be a dream.
We should not have to explain
Why things aren’t as they seem.

We heard the words
That said Land of the free,
We heard the carols
Peace on earth to all men.
We read the Constitution
That we all of us were equal.
We remembered our schoolwork
That, segregated, taught these words.

Freedom is for everyone
Not just for the few.
If any group is left out
The word is not true.

Page eight....
.....tells of a ****
clearing his throat
the very same time my neighbor's
rooster was crowing, with all his might
this early morning,
i thought his windpipe would burst...

in my dark surroundings,
i could imagine his spurs...and
the red, bronze and copper feathers
of his flapping wings
while he was perched on a tree branch
while he sang his waking song...

was he boasting of his strength?
or his position in his community?
was he boasting of his sexuality?

my attention was taken by a continuous chirping
of the birds in another tree at the backyard
while i heard distant voices of people, and
a distant barking of dogs
while the other members of my household
were still sound asleep....
and a sudden thought assailed me, and
dwelt heavily upon me.....i suddenly felt
awkward.....like, i do not belong...that i'm
just finding my corner in this solemn space...

hey, hey, wait.....
it's now ten minutes to eight!
it took me this long????

Sally


Copyright April 9, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

A beginning made from
all things sweet and simple
...divine, magical

Time raised that vibration
up, just enough to burn dust
from the binds that kept us
alone, and scared

Passion poured from thoughts
turned to words until breathless
gasps seized our contentment

Reality met at the door...chained
from there all had been had
all had been felt and all
had been done

Forcibly my senses were invaded
with a slight blush on pearl
...aching for more

Good-bye was never an option
will never be...yet you force me
into silence

The intertwined branches of the
woods are brown...
There is not a song in far away lands
The scarf has pain
Knitting veil from my hair
The trees are repetitive to me
I see a man, green
Having no woman next to him

شاخه هاشان در هم تنیده
...چوب ها قهوه ایست
دوردست ها آوازی ندارد
روسری درد می کشد
از موهایم حجاب می بافد
درختان برایم تکرار اند
من
مردی سبز را می بینم
...که زنی در کنارش ندارد