The Library van has reversed into place
the same place it parks every month
It came over on the  9.30 am ferry
as it has done for at least twenty years.
Folk arrive like a small swarm of insects
all hurry out car doors laden with books.
This will increase come the dark winter
the time of Human slowed activity.
Come next spring, all will be a little wider read.

It's warm.
Like smoke,
Shapeless,
Pushing my sins through my pores
To be cleansed by the crying sky.

This feeling,
This reality
Is crumbling down
Around my feet....

With arms wide,
and skyward eyes
I look for the answers..

This rain...

It dwells inside the cave of my Self.
Past the Guardians
Past the ego, the shadow,
The Anima, the Animus,
This truth I hold now

It comes to me as
Red and floating, weightless
Wrapping around my conscience,
Lifting me up, to the heights of
This existence
To the levels of a higher sentient.

I am safe here.
With chills in my spine,
And closed, but wandering eyes,
I peer inside,
The only place I can really call home.

A journey to the past
 
My spirit felt restless in pain
In drowning fear,tis heart's dream be slain
Souls of Love in tis world found few
My joy melt like early morn due
laid in bed my eyes search for sleep
memories of hatred and hurt made me weep
pains of past refused to let go
A feeling lost, to the end a journey slow
My heart longed to reach the past
Holding hard the joy to last
Times in my dreams i cry for thee
Only to be waken by darkness around me
I cried for the past to let me go
I seeketh the answers in starlights distant glow
many a thoughts and mayhem in tis mind
Tis a curse to my loved ones I bind
Lost are they from tis life
Fate a thief of joy in disguise
Tis heart tormented like a stormy night
I take my steps a journey in past to find some light
 
Words of my friend bought peace to my heart
to seek the answer a journey to start
my bag with cloth and food. a whistle to start 
A beast on rails steaming hot,my time machine to the past
Seated by the window.Fading concrete to fields green
the breeze on my face a journey begin to my dream
My thoughts travell back to the days of my childhood
with my father walking through the wood
his voice of wisdom close with nature
Ever to linger in my dreams of the future
through the rice field the silver brook
pictured in my heart a printed book
the sound of men and women with fruits to sell
wake me up from the memories spell
My time machine a familiar sound metal on wheel
the window my theater to the world like a movie reel
times i fell back to my memories past
Till I saw the familiar station in memories to last
I pick my bag and my heart with joy to beat
Will I find my memory among the familiar aroma of sweet meat

The night in the inn my sleep lost in journeys pain
With the hope of day break my past to gain
The sun in the morn yet to shine its ray
I start to the bus stop  a familiar way
decades past since i laid my foot here
yet the ways to my field so fimiliar
I walk towards the gate changed to a different name
Yet the house and trees stood the same
I wait for times few searching to find a soul of past
with none in sight I turned my back time changes fast
A voice I heard , A dream or a memories trick yet loud and clear
An old and graying man in my memories vague yet walking near
with the name my father calls his old eyes searching my face
Cry not my child ,I knew not tears hath covered my eyes
The old gardener decades eight remembers me his old eyes bright
His stride as of young familiar clothes washed to white
He held my arm strong and sure led me through the garden with memories ever
The old house stood its ground faded paint memories a burning fever
We sat down in an old familiar place the old man spoke of days old
My dreams etched in this house my heart with joy untold

His tales carried on of my father and family his love to the land
Tales of fishing in the brook and pains of honey bee sting,a painted picture by a magic wand
Time stood still the young had moved to city with lights bright
Yet with time their hearts dimmed and the ways of old faded out of sight
The old bike gleamed in the sun In tis I learnt my first lesson to cycle
we ride it through the trees green to the brook on the edge of fields circle
With my legs in water My I felt as child the days past yet never lost
The old man with stories fresh changing masters and rising cost
The sun burned hot in the noon yet through the filed a breeze so cool
The sweet fragrance of lemon my spirits soar tis to leave I am a fool
Lunch in plantain leaf spicy dish with meat the old man a better cook
Served with love with a proud words tis the son of his lord a child of the brook
An hour of cycle ride to the mountain mother with her silver tress
A water fall painted with rainbow on the rock drizzling droplets sprayed my dress
Hours I stood under it watch full eyes of the old man to him iam just a child
We walked and talked among the natures path the mountains call me to beauty wild
The day end with the sun sinking low we ride back with a breeze to follow
We sat to watch the fireflies glow tis must be eden my happiness flow
The days tiredness ebbing with the local brew tis in earth a heavens part
In his words I felt his love, TIs garden after death his spirit his heart

I start to return to the inn in the fire light tear drops shine
He held my hand with a promise to ask to return back in my days fine
My heart wants to utter words million yet in silence I stared
Yet I took his hand with a promise to keep an oath sacred
To the spirit of my father Ill come there again 
A love of an old gardener in his memory my heart remain
I walk back to the inn my spirit with joy boundless
To my friend I spoke yet my words scarce with smiles countless
I slept with a lightened heart with dreams without pain
Tis old gardner his love for the land a memory of a child to gain
The new begin my heart longed to see the old man one more time 
yet the call of the world and promises in tis heart chime
Time to pack my bag to board the machine to present The green flag wave and a whistle sound
My heart refuse to leave my dreams found
The life of the old man strong decades eight
A heart of gold who won the time passing fight
My promise to return to the garden of my childhood 
My vision to share it with the unfortunate of tis world
My spirits in peace my eyes watching the window of nature
My heart hopes for my dreams of the future

we descend
untidy birds fallen
so low there is no song
of birds.

being a poet, i live through the words
i transplant emotions i've found
no matter how they think it's absurd
these words keep pouring down

being a human, i'm cursed with these thoughts
what else am i to do?
i write them down to untie the knots
just trying to think it through

being a poet, that's for the birds
i try to sing to the clouds
i set my pain free through my words
the words i can't say out loud

He loved me once
With exuberance and joy
He loved me once
And saw my flaws as perfection
He loved me once
And helped me to love myself
He loved me once
With all that he is
He loved me once
With an honest soul much like my own
He loved me once
And made me believe in forever
He loved me once
With neither question nor doubt
He loved me once
And in a flash of perception
All I can say is...
He loved me once

Fog of pain veils the path
Burning bridges of enmity and wrath
Unknown destination unknown path
Searched the way in the heart

The compass of life misguided past
The sign board of destination die cast
Know not the end as pains last
Searched the way in the heart

Road ahead to ride ahead
Sign board to ride ahead
Road ahead to ride ahead
Paths to find road ahead

...
..
Much before the door closed
Can be seen regularly when walking on the road
Though dark, see the mass of trash
But did not hear any noise ever

On the side of the sky touch wall
My constant movement
Though shadow yet trademark cynicism
I can go away even closed eyes

Closed eyes within the dark
Yet unbelievable, but brings a dream
A dream within the dark,
See a diamond crystal
Where only light and light dispersion
From each dimension

Suddenly, in dream
I am in front of the closed door,
See a footprint,
Known voice with tune,
Can hear the illusive song

Now neither there exists any tall wall
Nor any closed door in the mind
...
..

the goal of love is to make every person you come into contact with
feel as though they are the most important one in your life
there can be nothing else.

Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Myriad summer colours of an abstract view,
Curling up between and under the far away.

I’m lost in the mix, a melting *** full of play,
My own shade of Dark, a subtle blended hue,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.

Beautiful retro splendour, asking me to stay,
Flower in her hair, white petals, edged blue,
Curling up between and under the far away.

Smiling, she raises my soul from feet of clay,
Dark and Stormy cocktail easing me through,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day.

Cuban rhythm dancers give a riotous display,
Bohemian sight and sound unleashed on cue,
Curling up between and under the far away.

We sample dreams from an enchanted tray,
Allowing hearts, minds, and spirits to renew,
Thrumming life-threads are weaving the day,
Curling up between and under the far away.

©Paul M Chafer 2015

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 


When still, there was light,
not one of them was in sight
they hang upside down
certain not to fall on the ground
this very moment, i  hear their wings flap
deep into the night, they won't stop
here, there...they fly...so alive...so brave,
as they emerge  from shielded nests and caves

i feel them...but do they feel me?
i hear them...do they hear me?
i am not too far from their realm
between us stands a concrete wall, high and firm
do they know that at night, like them,  I stay awake?
amassing all the strength i can...to fight the ache?

my own shaded presence weighs over my head like a block
i sail on long rivers of angst and despair, during nights so black...
see, this has made me oblivious, of my fear of the dark

as first light comes...tiny bursts of rays peep, and start to spread
what little dark is left, they rush, then hide from the light they dread
silenced, as sun is upon us...this life of theirs, they never intended
and i, through the day, must appear as a super hero...impenetrable
for the others, see me with strength, unwavering...dependable

i often wonder if my courage is feigned
was this acquired from an avalanche of pain
kept from long ago
that i just couldn't show?
if so, why do i feel at times, that my efforts are in vain?

late, late hours, i gather every drop  of courage
as these sharp-eyed bats in flight, fearlessly crash...as if in outrage.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^batsinflight^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Sally

­Copyright August 8, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan