Some minds fail to fathom our reasons.
...."Why do we write poetry?"

because...there's an energy,
a force, a small voice within,
consistently  prodding us
to share our thoughts, feelings,
our reactions to life's situations
and circumstances.

it matters not,
when senseless thoughts
are first to flood one's mind,
at the right time, the right
words and phrases, shall fall
into their proper places;
inspiration flashes like lightning
clear like thunder roaring
but, soundless, like first drops of snow
falling...we write on, until...we grow,

'til we learn how to turn an arid meadow
into a field, amber with ripeness...aglow,
ready to harvest...ere heavy rains flow.

we compare life with the changing tides  
of the sea...we re-live hell, with soaring fires,
lead our readers to imagine, as we vividly describe,
a life of half hell...and half paradise,
to teach.......to touch others' lives.

our words could redeem
a soul or two...emancipate them,
raise their confidence...embolden them
we can help them learn about freedom.

a life of fire and water, blending,
is where colorful poetry begins.

we write, for love,
we write...out of love.


sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 31, 2021

Melt me into a thousand, reflective sighs. I ache for such sweet release — hypnotic, cathartic. I want to see myself drown once — with my life flashing in a slow-spinning liquid mirrorball. Just once in such graceful, calm, permanent surrender. Just once, and for the last time.

The secrets of euphoria
Insist on letting you down

All this work but no reward
just something for humanity to hoard

search for the ends & the beginnings
another goal but no winnings

Time ebbs on, doesn't subside
so much to figure out during the ride

these accomplishments spawn burden
satisfaction's not an eternal eden

greet with smiles & socialize
an addition to those that you despise

delete destination, expectation, emotion
no fun in life unless you're one with its motion.

It is not
the wind,
my favorite thing,
or a dreamcatchers feather
on a shamans ring,
those are spellbound
in the mystic of this sound
from midnight to sunrise,
it is the whisper
of your breath,
that opens my eyes.

~
abruptly waking to discover
the sempiternal daylight of herself
in a small silent village in Brussels

the sky's a cloudless blue
and she needs the sun
like children need two parents

sunglasses conceal bedroom eyes
smiles hide like inverted *******
clothed in peekaboo milieu

a highly individual creature
in an era of the exaggerated curve
she's an amnesiac

doodle-dawdling in the altogether
wrapping herself around
mise-en-scène

it's breakfast with Mr. Svengali
then unacquainted foothills
and undergrowth
in the flaring of conjugal
light and shadow

hum
thrum
'n strum
she's got the whole wide world
in her hands

her simple slantwise silhouette
declivitous neck
inclining embonpoint
summoning him

no clock, no watch
the keeping of time
is served by rapping
her crown upon the headboard
at regular intervals

her open-tempered sighs
closing with the heaviness
of a sleepy hush

until the echoing of church bells
announce the footfalls
of tomorrow-come-looking
~

I read poems, stories, see movies
where protagonists fall in love
give themselves to their lovers
only to later be betrayed or abandoned -
a story as old as humanity.

We two lovers
entwined for five decades
still must re-new our love over and over
each still a mystery,
in a fashion a foreigner, a traveler
on the road
a road strewn with rocks
tiny pebbles that get in our shoes
irritate the soles of our feet
unsettle our souls.

And on our better days
we can laugh at our folly and flubs
and end with a knowing smile and hugs.

But still there are molecules of our being
hidden from each other and ourselves
that will betray our trust.