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High up there, I glance at you
You hide again, sometimes peeping,
While I put aside
My worries for this day.
Waves and curves seem to shroud you
This early April  evening
Though you are perfectly rounded.
We watch each other,
You eye me down,
I look above, to you...
We speak in our silence,
With me, listening,
Offering all the warmth i could share with you,
For, your Ivory white light, is cold and distant
Unlike your warm yellow crescent
.........of some nights ago....

This evening, you awake in me
Dormant, unsettling thoughts,
I am confused, yet,
You show me a panoramic view of faces
They dwell in my mind as I gaze at you
But there is this brilliant one
That smiles beneath your moon glow
It stares me in the eye,
Speaks to me, without words...

My breathing evens out,
It becomes a melody
Because the time has arrived...
These few moments,
When restlessness drifts away
As you shine down on me
When impatience departs from me,
And I am calmed suddenly
And I don't know what else to think of...
For, this evening,
You, and this brilliant face have once again
........comforted me....
I am warmed, I am glad.
I am now smiling, looking up, at you,
My April moon, I bid you goodnight,
I am beaming, as silently...I thank you....


(A repost of an older poem...edited)


Sally

Copyright April 11, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***not much to share, just a brief evening break, a short,
-wordless conversation, between the moon and me...***
 Aug 2017 False Poets
Star BG
A caring poet I am
in arms with bayonet of pen.
My bullets are letters
covered in words.
My words aimed to page
shoot out with verse.

The balcony I stand in
gives views to ponder
before poems come to life.
And when done,
I move with pen lowered
hoping they made their mark
to enter readers heart.


StarBG © 2017.pages
inspired by Nat Lipstad
 Jun 2015 False Poets
LB Parker
Regret is more than you would think
for it is a dark, dangerous sea
that shall trick my ship to sink
so my tears fill
my lungs and
drown
me
With love, kelsey
 Jan 2015 False Poets
r
Corvid soul
 Jan 2015 False Poets
r
I don't know the word
for this restless almost breathless
feeling  in my chest -

the opposite of a bluebird
- a ******* crow, at best

a last call cawing
or is it a raven's kraa-kraa

this feeling -
like a shadow in clothes
- a fly in the eye of those

who pray for repose
of my soul.
r ~ 1/25/15
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