I forget worries and cares
The unrest in the world I see
When I look at fields and flowers
When I behold a tree

I forget what nags a day
A sigh, a tear and cry
When I see a galaxy of stars
A golden moon in the sky

I forget jarring cacophony
The discord and the strain
When I hear a stream gurgle
And the patter of summer rain

I forget what ails the heart
With the breath of the breeze
It soothes and calms the spirit
It brings quiet and peace

I forget worries and care
When in Nature's company
Disarmed by her gentle wonders
Her beauty and her melody.

Mnemonic...

Over my mug of steaming coffee,
...i see cookies and a fruit...sliced,
to freshen my breath after my coffee break....

one glance...

one unexpected glance, took me back... to
when i decided to do something for myself,
to be happy.....and to be somebody....but,
finally....i fought the desire, to be defiant...
those awakenings, and newfound feelings,
still haunt my evenings...the hurting, somewhat
changed me, and my beliefs.......i realized that,

at some point in one's life, a chance moment
unfolds on a landing...clear to the eyes...on a mission,
to change attitudes...to erase wrong impressions,
triggered by unpleasant experiences....i have also
discovered....at the right time, somebody comes,
......like an angel with hidden wings...to soften
our hardened minds....to melt our frozen hearts,
ease our tensed opinions...offer us a healing balm.
sometimes, a place, or a face, becomes a kind of paper
that can't be crumpled, or destroyed...so hard to forget.
anyone...anything, that strikes the heart hard,
easily comes back, with the slightest reminder,
catches you..........unprepared....

this fruit on the table, in silence, it just sits there,
...unaware of its being mnemonic...doesn't matter,
if it's fresh, rotten, or candied...a plum, apple or pear
....................would prompt me, to remember,
over my mug of steaming coffee...


Sally


Copyright July 27, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

In the coffin lay your body silent and still
As with wax, sealed were your eyes
Bared of all passion, pain and strain
You were at rest, tranquil was your face

When your body was lowered into the grave
Tears trickled from our eyes like streams of blood
We stood orphaned beside the newly dug up pit
Knowing quite well that the days of glory have fled!

When you left, leaving in us a contused wound
We hoped time would heal the **** quite soon
But with every passing day you’re sorely missed
Especially when our life goes out of tune

At times when I feel lonesome with none to care
In weariness I search you among the stars of the sky
When my heart twitches with an unknown pain
To your comforting presence, my mind does fly

Sometimes I envision you coming into my room
Smiling that sweet smile in the dead of the night
But soon I realize it is only a fleeting vision
And from my sight, you vanish like an ethereal sprite

Rambling through the avenues of vanished years
We remember your sweet assurance, tender care n’ love
But never will we have the joy of having them again
For you flew into the horizon like a gentle dove

Mom, your presence my tiny world once filled
With that old bygone past how I was content
A treasure of sweet memories still I do hold
Now your eternal absence, how deeply I lament

Oh Mother, though you are dead and gone
Our love for you is inscribed deep in our hearts
Which nothing can erase or erode and will last
Until finally from our body, life silently departs!

I see it in
         shades of
liquid coal
  slaking
    my aching
           thirst in
black ocean shoal
      onyx crystals
             washed up
            in tides
       of barely
    peeking,
night-lava eyes
     silently spoken
                   and through
     the waters of deep
my soul is
    waking up from
          eons of sleep
              weaving garlands
             of darkest green,
            seaweed tips
that I tenderly keep
       strewn, in chlorophyll strips  
                      across the stardust glow
                                       of my naked skin
                                     as I liquid float,
                       spirit whirring within
                              eyes bright
                in illuminated
          moonstone glow
picking up signals
of halted flow
This is needed here,
in this darkest of dark
waters abundant
with tight, broken sparks
shards of the living
and fragments of souls
                  a luminosity of darkness
                  making us whole
      And pulsing next to me
   in beauty's surprise
phosphorescent creatures,
     a feast for the eyes
           loving, gently brushing
                my outstretched fingers-
                     bioluminescence divine
                         on my body lingers
                   from jellies to squid
                to jet -hued sharks
    knifing through layers          
     of dark on dark
         within the
lush waters' quiet force
a dance in faded flicker
conjures the source
                 within the depth
                         of the depths
                            of my endlessly
                            wet
          in my darkest of dark
between blood and sweat
penetrating the mysteries
   that quake through
          this heart
         filling it up
  as it tears it apart
         smashing it
    to smithereens
   creating sutures
   of ironic healing
until through the cracks
both wide and slight
        shoots up
the flare
of my own
    inner
          light

Some are blue with hits,
Some are dumped in *****,
Some where there is black-white conflicts,
Some are breaking the wall of heart brick by bricks...
No remedy to cease it,
Because zilch can be it,
Nothing makes everything in it...
Let us watch my brother's and sister's,
It is a film to cry, a saga which is not parable as History,
Because there is no one who will give their today for our tomorrow........

I met the man by chance on that riverside town.

The only one around at the deserted strand
I asked him the shortest way out
after I had my fill of the river.

He told me about the fish market
where the fresh catches arrive every morn
and the place ten minutes farther north
where if I slowed down
could catch the magnificent spectacle
of the orange orb thirstily dipping in the river
and if I stayed back for the night
would surely go insane
when the moon sets the river on silver fire
but if I was really intent on leaving
a half hour's drive would get me the highway.

I was thinking of the amazing mathematical probability
of my traveling over three hours to see the river
and his traveling ten minutes on a bicycle
to fetch his son from school on that riverside town
for our once-a-lifetime meeting on the life's highway
and then having him a permanent visitor in my memory
at sunsets and moonrises over the river.

A woman came to see me today,
She sat across the desk and handed me
A deed she wanted me to look over.

I didn't recognize the name on the deed at first,
Then slowly it began to dawn on me who she was
I looked up and saw her expectant eyes and a curl at the edge of her lips

God knows what she saw in my face, but she said,
"Hello, Jimmy, it's been a long time".
And it had, probably 30 years ago at my mother's funeral.

Here was my mother's friend, 81 now, old enough to call a
65-year-old man Jimmy and touch the place inside him
Where his mother's memory lives.

But it was more than a visit between old friends.
A friend of mine now gone called such things divine appointments

Because, you see, my mother was in that room as we talked
About our families and the days back when our world was young,
Full of love, and death had never touched me.

When she left I cried…

It's hours later and mom's still here beside me as I write.
I feel her as I have all the terrible times when she protected me,
Mostly from myself, and the blessed times like when I found
My way to a new home and love.

I'll see mom one day where she is waiting
I have missed her so very much,
But today I discovered she never left.

Look around and trust your heart, you'll see what I mean

Mending my leather mittens
for the third time this winter,
I sew them with waxed string
made to repair fishing nets,
hoping they’ll last
until the splitting maul rests
against the shrunken woodpile
and the *** and ***** come out of the shed.
I find myself praying.
Blessed be those who have laced together
the splits at the seams of this world,  
repair its threads of twisted waters.
Blessed be those who stitch together
the animals and the land,
repair the rends in the fabric
of wolf and forest,
of whale and ocean,
of condor and sky.
Blessed be those who are forever fixing
the tear between people and the rest of life.
May we all have enough thread,
may our needles be sharp,
may our fingers not throb or go numb.
May each of us find an apprentice,
someone who will take the needle from our hands,
continue all the mending that needs to be done.