===========================
you sit
bare feet
in deep water
to look into the sky
trying to get answers
for why the crystal clears
the water
has an abundance of pearls

in deep water
where you sit
bare feet
so crystal clear
the fishes touch you
with new sensation each time

not giving you some aqua pressure therapy
but a touch by their natural movement
if you know the answer
then for what are you waiting for ?

After all, that splendid or wonderful or exciting happens
just remember those that brings simple little pleasures,
following one another softly,
like pearls slipping of a string

Experience this chill of winter
then cherish the warmth of brightness
please,just, do not look to the sky
This is the beauty that comes from pain
and that pain is the source that gives us pleasure

~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

it ends in tonalities of spliced ends
some woven together others
jutting into nowhere dangling
like a Dylan song you love but don't
quite know all the metaphorical meanings to
of nowheres and space probes
sent to tickle you
on your own you must believe in
something more
special spacious
put meanings into amorous
trysts space gods
mystiques
unadorned with the accepted norms
a late night sobbing alone
cats and dogs your companions now
but knowing some outer space
visciously beautiful being
is gonna haunt you soon
and fly you off to the moon making passion
without touch a beam a laser like on your ******
tickles    get it doll

Colors, have ways of making us soar,
or fall.......they make us buoy...
they, too, can divide and isolate...
long ago,  a magazine
was colored and identified for a reason.....
also,
a kind of blue-sy music, upon which i groove,
...was named for the same reason...
.............a magazine..... a music genre,
became instruments...and parts of
dark and golden moments.......recalled
and enjoyed, every now and then...they're
painted.......registered in people's minds....

life is a magazine of stories, of  poetry...
life is a jukebox...filled with soundtracks
life is an album...a collection of smiles
...of colorful images and emotions
reddish brown at first...turning yellow brown,
with tinges of taupe.......mottled through the years,
turning...into fading shades  of sepia...

i refuse my late summer moments on earth
............to be done in Grisaille,
painted, only in tones of grey and dark green...
...it is written...one day, life would be hued with
subdued colors...the blues, silvers and grays,
...........will be cold as winter...

but, until then,
i'd rather be consumed with liveliness
i would adorn my days with peach and lilac
blossoms, hang fuschia pink pennants
on my wall....to brighten my disposition,
i'd practice...play the guitar once again,
i'll wear my ruffled, dappled-purple skirt,
and yellow converse sneakers when i walk on
the pavement....under blue skies that enhance
greens, and gold...colors that breathe existence
transforming weariness to courage...

wherever...whenever, however possible,
i speak, whisper to  God words of gratitude,
and endless thanksgiving...i  pray for strength.    
and acceptance........prepare myself...when,
.....i, too...would face my own moments,
...............of fading sepia.

Sally

Copyright August 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

August is not a Melodious Month

August is not a melodious month
Unlike September with its amphibrach
A rhythm of soothing rises and falls:
September morn and then September song

For August is a trochee all intemperate
A restive foot that wants to walk away
Impatient with discourse, laughter, and song
In its wearying heat and lassitude

August is a word alone, without a rhyme

And so

August is not a melodious time

A willowy passage greeted us
threading a trail through a light wood
high with pine and robust elm trunks.
Frens curled and licked
ankles and shins
leaving damp sheen on boots
carefully avoiding sprawling roots  
there as reminders
nature can reclaim the trail
if and when it chooses.
Husks of beach nuts
dark open stars long pilfered of their bounty
littered a strech of eight paces.
She pointed to movement in the undergrowth,
a flick of leaves and scurry of a squirrel.
Taking my hand for balance and warmth
I lead her through the silence
fearing to breathe in case a breath spoiled the tranquility