It's like the world is revolving in the wrong direction,
You try with all your might and all your soul to steer it right,
But you're a lone ranger, a whisper in a monstrous typhoon, a wasp amid titans,
You're a torchlight, bright and fierce in the dark-yet your competition is the sun.
But don't wallow in doubt,shame or self pity,
Or in all your frailty, in all your sensitivity.
You may think you stand alone or that you are but a pebble standing against a raging sea.
Yet stand strong, firm, unmoving, even as the large warriors flee,
For you have within you One who is greater than all,
One who makes life worth living, One who gives life and removes death's pall.
He who restarts your life when all seems to stall,
He who gives you wings and teaches you not to crawl;
He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways,
They will lift you up in their hands, they will protect you always...
Your foot will neither dash against a stone, nor rock,
Nor viper, nor shall it land in a ***** pond.
His might surpasses your fight,
To catch flight and keep in sight-of Perfection.
Good night.

You sting like a bee
You're the cut on my knee
But I still have that need
To be trapped, and not freed

I have a need to wrap you up in my arms
A need to hold you in the dark
A wish to still feel your warmth
And the power to stay during the darkest storms

Even though it sometimes hurts
I will love you till we're as old as dirt.

Nights, we take the boat out
paddle our way green through water
swum by inlet waves, full moon apace
shadowy, ancient tribal faced
lose all trace of the shore, black
but for phosphorescence
glowing, trailing from the oars
a haunting ghostly art
green and breathing, disappearing
back into darkness, swallowed
by black water, by night
strange this death,
this rebirth and breath
felt in each and every moment.

(Just some passing thoughts)

What if.....
...the midnight blue firmament remained midnight blue?
...dawn didn't come...the sun didn't even peep...
...the lamp posts remained bright with light
...because the hours seemed to have stopped
...because the night.....didn't want to end

what if...
...everyone got tired of the night
...dreamt, and wished for a bit of light
...bonfire flames became too much for the eyes
...they burned nonstop, like those in a funeral rite
...as if waiting for the dead one to soar
...even with the wind blowing, temperature was hot
...everyone was awaiting the sun---
...the true light of day

What if...
...electricity did not return...gone permanently
...there'd be no more cell phones, ipads
...laptops, desktops, nooks and kindles
...there would be nothing...of these gadgets
...no more appliances to make life easier

But, what if...
...light came back
...we had sun...and moon...and stars
...yet we could not speak, like we speak today?
...no papers and pens...just rocks and pointed objects?

Where would you be?
where would I be?
how would we be?

Would you be one holding a club?
dressed in your off shoulder attire of animal skin?
would your hair be long, uncombed, messy?
would your house, be a cave?

Would my hair be rudely grabbed by a man
to show the rest that he owns me?

Instead of cats and dogs, would our pets
be big, long necked creatures that eat trees?
would they be friendly enough to be patted?

Would we ever know of a blood moon
apart from a blue moon, or a yellow crescent?
would we ever know of mars? jupiter?
would we still remember our own earth?
the way life used to be?

How would we be?
where would i be?
where would you be?


Sally

Copyright September 4, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

You must believe that you
can escape the prison
of your present.

The innocent future is available
if you empty your memory
and enter the fire that calls you.

You must believe there
is an angelic ****
you can **** that will
rekindle your virginity
and make you pure once more
in this deadly profane world.

You must imagine living
far from the prison of now
in a small house surrounded
by flowers and possibilities;
a small house that can become a home
despite the dreary lovers
buried in the flesh of your past.

What were they anyway but
mistaken barbarian shafts
upon which you impaled yourself
because you longed for love
but discovered only six inches
of throbbing, indifferent muscle
spurting urgent, burning seed
for their own pleasure?

When you never came did you think
you were being denied for settling,
for promiscuously accepting the
futility of their grunting flesh?

You must learn to **** the spirit,
not just magazine bodies and faces.

You must realise you
are ******* for your very being.

This is hardly about mere lust.

****** alone cannot possibly
solve the riddles of existence.

You must open your legs wide
once more to the ******* of hope.

You must know that it is possible
to escape the prison of the present
and emerge like a spring blossom
into the hands of a holy future
if only you let its fingers
pleasure you to ripe perfection,
if only you allow its swollen *****
to ****** deeply enough
to nourish your heart
with its steaming, sticky sanctity.

Meat and soul must finally conjoin
and in their junction innocence
will find and carry you triumphantly
like a chaste bride to the home you seek.

   ~mce

Oh when I was north, cold
and white as snow geese
blue on water ice, I'd fly
glide on frozen ponds
cry with snowflake eyes
sigh of winter's long goodbye

our bread and butter...
     the web of stars,
     the scatter of moons
     and orbiting planets.
the entire universe
harvested and crammed
into the metre,
of a poetic verse.

our bread and butter...
     harnessing the regal rays of the sun.
     inflating the fluff of quiet clouds.
     drinking up the winds of the weather.
     revering the magic in the flight of birds.
we fill our cups to the brim...
with fantastical dreams
and let spill
over parchment
the cornucopia of idealised words.

our bread and butter...
the incessant peeling and picking
on healing wounds.
of which we have learnt to savour...
     let bleed
     the willing blood...
     feed the seeds
     with impending flood.
nurture to fruition
thoughts stunted in discretion.
bring to light
thoughts hidden in the nether.

our bread and butter...
we dip...
the nibs,
of our word worn feathers.
let them sink,
shallow beneath the surface
to the sanctity of a familiar place.
     *casting our trials,
     and tribulations...
     pent up emotions,
     and what we think
     unto paper
     with the burn of
     everlasting ink.

quiet all night, then suddenly, the quiet
voice sings. it is time to speak, to make
a mark.

to dash the pencil ******* stone, break
the lead. erase inherited memory, genes
denied.

listened, it talks quietly, listen.

cut the paper, brace the ash, rub and smudge,
think again.

think if it had been you.

yours.

sbm.