little pockets hid inside big pockets,
storage units with keys
purposely misplaced,
envelopes of documents,
labelled, saved for a purpose
that is no longer memorable,
but still instant recognizable

scenes from a marriage
violent hatreds so great,
that years of a single silence
were successes celebrated,
secrets never secreted

the taste of them
from your gorge
can't be easy erased
once the bile comes up,
you can't stomach the notion
of choking it back down

well past
the limits of inane,
voided arguments
left your bowels cleansed
but your mind throbbing pain bombs,
your body
floored in an exhaustive state

the limits of inane,
voided arguments,
left your bowels cleansed
your mind lobbing throbbing pain bombs,
your body
floored in an exhaustive state
and you dd this to yourself,
so no one helps you up

caches of glimpses of video snatches,
trailers of a life woeful misbegotten,
sudden asunder ripped to the fore,
you know you were there,
know you took part,
is that a younger sadder version of you?

the backyard of your brain
where the cache was dirt buried
kicked open foul odor and
well you smell the screaming hatred fights,
and the reel to reel breaks but you see it
anyway in the orangey brown colors of
time decaying, burnt-edges of video tape

you think your life is tough.
*******.
did hard time, 30 years,
in a prison with no air or light,
a cell the size of my brain

just when the stench is mostly gone,
the cache ripped asunder
and stink so profound
you gotta lie down,
cause a reflection in a mirror
is ample excuse to put your
head or hand through it

and all you did was go see a play entitled
scenes from a marriage,
and afterwards you keep both hands in your pockets
lest you start choking yourself

Here lies
her name in dust
She achieved
Love from Lust
She lays down
in a field of shame
then the grave marker
**ran out of dates
and forgot her name

She slowly walked down the hall,
the bells had long ago tolled
It's the only thought she can hold
She paused at the painting
she had rendered by her hand
crying because she didn't
understand

How every day
he could walk past it
totally ignoring the subject
How his steps along the hall
didn't make him pause and reflect

He never noticed her demise
in each brush stroke
He never contemplated
how she would choke
As each colour was layered
on a pristine white background
Never noticed, how the vein bled
saturating the white with no sound

He never stopped to stare
or try to straighten the picture
She stopped almost habitually
praying silently a stricture

*Don't let me die tonight
while he never gets my Art...
Let the picture speak
a thousand words
While he stares at my broken heart

Time


the tricky ****

  
teases           to                trek


  to                            the                             top

Darkness* inhaled and *light
Became night, it whispered
Terrors upon the mind,
Nightmares,
Sight,
Sound,
Different upon the black canvass
The night silent,
But Whispers of nothing
Heard through senses,
That fear the obscurity
Of things not
Known,
Detected,
Perceived,
What happens
When we ask is anything there
And the darkness answers back,
"We have always been here"
The screams of insanity
Heard,
Breaking into the silence
That darkness brings
A phobia of the dark
Or of what talked back,
When next encircled
By the veil of night.
Are you brave enough to ask
"Is there anybody there"
Will you be a frenzied mess
Or
One that is rational and answered back..

You told me to draw you,
so I painted your body in crimson & gold.

You told me to write you in scribe,
so I wrote you a sonnet, fourteen lines across your back.

You told me to leave a mark on you never forgotten,
so I tattooed your soul with tebori ink.

You told me to taste your scent,
so I walked down the lane, collected tobacco, & smoked a cigarette from your favourite apothecary.

You told me to find the name for the aroma that lingered when you left the room,
so I closed my eyes whilst sat beside you, & inhaled you like the cigarette I tasted on the way home.

You told me to image you naked, like Rose being drawn by Jack aboard the Titanic,
so I turned away, took a seat in the Cumberland leather chair, placed charcoal between finger & thumb, sketching an image of your silhouette in black dust ash, a memory that found me from when you slept beside me last night.

You told me to pick a flower that I gave to you the first time I whispered;
"I love you,"
so I wandered amidst the clouds & air of mountains far & wide, until I found the flower I so remembered.

In remembrance, I knew to pick such a tender delicate stem, petals so fragile they would melt in my grasp, the flower would cease to be what I loved,
for, I love you.

You are the rose in all its abstract glory,
you my dearest are no possession.

If I were to misunderstand such beauty, you would simply fade to exist,
so I sat down beside you, a painted memory,
shed a tear,
knowing this memory of you
would suffice.

© Sia Jane

~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~
The life we live each day is a spiritual journey;
we find our places, we sit,
then we sail meditatively
on waters where the past and present play.
a chance to reflect on what to think, what to do,
a place where raging thoughts are purified,
all worries and fears are washed away.
soothing words gently rise and fall
with the waves that fill the sea,
thoughts that dwell in the steerer's mind,
a message he conveys to us, his passengers,
like a wind blowing, caressing our unsettled hearts
as crystal waters, calm and still us deep within.

At journey's end, we rise and leave the vessel, enlightened.
with endless thanksgiving, we gift our captain,
a Soul Whisperer,
his name is
Amitav Radiance.

~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~



Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

when the poems don't come,
where do they go?

silly notion,
what's the commotion...
don't they just wait,
gestate,
till the time is right,
till one fires the starter's pistol,
they come when they come,
right?

no.

poems are journeymen,
cover bands,
looking for work steady,
airborne, breeze borne, atmospheric,
looking for a ready, willing & able
host and hostess

a recognizer of their properties,
willing to offer themselves up,
by adding the final touch
to a project that has
its deadline passed,
needy for a Caesar,
cut it out,
to come and get it

are you willing to add
your name to it,
cutting its chord,
let it pass from the airs of heaven
down the stairs
to an earthly audience?

are you willing to own it?

Angel you were once so
Pure,
On earth you looked
Over us all, but temptation
Was your downfall
*******
Crack,
Crystal,
Stardust,
Was your sinful choice,
It took you to the heavens
But with every comedown
The higher did you fall,
With every injection,  feathers did
Wilt,
Diminish,
Wither,
Till white turned black
Upon the wet mudded floor,
You were one of the many
Who had succumb to human
Desires,
Sins,
Pleasures,
That were the failings of
Mankind, but even the
Highest morals can falter
Before they fall,  
Angel upon high
The last feather did fall,
And in to the arm injected
Pure white heaven
That turned you angel of white wings,
To a ****** human how far did you fall..