When I die,
I don't want to be buried.
I don't want a casket.
I don't want a tombstone.

I don't really want much of a funeral.
I simply want whomever desires
To say something about me
To do so
(Whether it's good, bad, or funny).

I want to be burned
In a cardboard box,
And as I'm being cremated,
I want someone
To read a poem that I have written
For that very occasion.

When I'm all turned to ashes,
I want them to put me
In a cheap little container
And throw my ashes into the wind.
Maybe over a field, a forest, or the ocean--
Whatever, so long as it's windy there.

Mostly,
I don't want my loved ones to have a
Specific place to visit me

Because
I want to be the one
Who visits my loved ones

So I can give them kisses
When the wind
Brushes their cheeks.

I see your smile i touch your face.
I feel like i can't breath.
A Breath of air a silent space
Just mezmorize me take me to my quiet place
Where i belong please stay with me
For now my love I have to leave keep me in your memories

Hatred is a poison that fills your body. It becomes impossible to think of anything else but the object of your hatred. Sometimes if you don't encounter the object of your hatred for a length of time, the hatred may dissipate throughout your body. You may be under the impression that the feeling is gone. The truth is that is has spread like a cancer. It is very important if possible to tell the person who you are angry with how you feel. If this is not possible it might be helpful to discuss your feelings with others. In any case do not let this hatred sit and poison your body.

if everyone cared
and no on cried
if everyone loved
and no one lied
if everyone shared
and swallowed their pride
then we'd see the day
where nobody dies

I never got to meet my father...
He died when I was nine months old,
But his presence, I always felt
While I was growing up,
Even up to this day...

He would often visit me in my dreams,
Told me not to worry or despair,
Took my hand,
Told me I could go with him..
Which I almost did...

A few times, in high school
I felt a light push on my back
When my Home Economics teacher
Almost caught me nodding...I was
Too bored, to focus on her sewing lessons...

I was always saved from falling
Each time I climbed the guava tree...
I feel some kind of force stopping me,
Standing ahead of me,
Whenever I cross the street, even now...

My late aunt said she found me
Looking up and giggling
When at three or five years old,
I played by myself beside
My father's tall and sturdy book case...

I see his face when I go through
His dwindling collection of
Edgar Allan Poe books, including his
Law books, and a few western pocketbooks left,
All, with mottled pages now...

The matrimonial bed he shared
With my late mother is still in use...
His portrait is hung on our wall...
Today, the fifteenth of June, his birthday,
I look through his eyes, and-----

In silence, I greet him,
"Happy birthday, papa,
Happy Father's Day, as well."
In my mind, my father lives,
And my own stories of him therein dwells...

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

These streets and alleys
I've chosen to roam
No roof nor shelter
No memories of home

My shopping cart
Contains all I can hold
Leaving behind
The world I sold

No room for memories
Nor kitchen sink
Beyond a care
Indifferent to stink

No *******
No riches
Just the essentials
Bags full of resentments
Where I lay my head
And dream of what could have been

I park my cart
Outside the liquor store
Short of change
I panhandle a little more

I quickly turn in my returnables
And purchase the cheapest wine
I  return to my cart
And now life is just fine
...

Our lives are on an endless journey
Bound for a mysterious cognitive end
Come and take this hand of abandon
I promise, I’ll never leave you again

Blown down are these walls of inflexibility
Dissolved in acceptance my life’s resent
Exposed by love these insecurities
Resolved to you my true intent…