(How Do I Write Of Thee?)

I always asked myself then:
"How do i write of thee?"
...how do I start?
...where do I start?
i am an expert on being mum,
but, i must write of thee,
and I do...the way i know---
simple-worded thoughts
coming straight from my heart...
honest, innocent lines,
bare...unaffected,
no false pretenses
not much metaphors
at times, none at all...
maybe, none is needed,
i just want to reach out,
a message, i want to impart.

"What would i write of thee?"
i equally wondered...
didn't know then how to hide behind words
to mean "i," or "me," by saying "you,"
to show "happy" in words,
when the truth is bright and tasseled with "pain,"
but, i had to start........and so, i learned
to write of thoughts i am most familiar with,
they are like second skin to me,
i write about the beauty of nature
that surrounds and comforts  me,
i write of sleepless nights,
of distances not bridged,
existing and failed expectations,
hanging conversations
dwelling within...safely cradled.

Deep, in the hidden corners of my mind
are thoughts very, very private,
some written...
some, yet to be written,
all unspoken of.
they are gentle whispers,
soothing,
unequaled moments,
sweet, sweet words,
a balm to my aching soul.

One day,
when i am too old to care,
these journals would be beyond my hold
and find their own way out,
to be shared...absorbed...understood
in a whole new different perspective,
these words shall be
i m m o r t a l i z e d
when i close my eyes for good.
people shall read about me,
and finally will know
that once,
in my lifetime,
I had written
My One Immortal Poem.

June 7, 2014---12:09 PM



Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(14 lines)


It was one afternoon in New Jersey, quite early,
We were finding a spot on a mall parking lot,
Heels were rushing, people were crossing
Mothers were hurrying...their kids following.
We still waited, yet there were no more...what for?
Our car was not moving, my sister, still was not driving.
Why was she hesitating?
Clearly, sidewalks on both ends were empty
So I raised  my head, a nod or two, then lowered my view.
There were two tiny feet...walking...tiny steps were progressing
A creature, gray, brown, furry...its eyes flitting, like it was wary
Blue sky gave no flurry...pavement was crossed with no hurry...
I was wide eyed...I realized, as I admired,
<{ <{ <{ <{ <{
Upright or hunched, a squirrel is also a pedestrian...


Sally

Copyright January 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan...

It could start with dagger looks, other times, a hug,
I'm glad they've never  been too smug,
Could be a warm tap on the shoulder
A glance would suffice to the ones older,
When little ones keep uttering, "I'm sorry."
A smile erases all their fears and worries,
Mere presence connects
In their own way, they are friends.

Afternoons find their skirts and straps sliding down
Socks and shoes are twisted, almost awry
Blouses and pony tails are in disarray
They are tired, hungry, kinda hard to sway
Sometimes it is a hard choice
Between McDonald's, or KFC
Depends on the voices
Or on the joint's proximity,
They wrestle between fries and burgers
End up with home-made fried chicken for dinner.

On weekdays, morning to afternoon
House to school, and back are the only destinations
No detours or unnecessary trips
Some think it might be too strict
But rules are a must,
Yet...one must be fair and just.

It is said, ages are just numbers, and
Sixty-six is a long way, several tiers down to
Seventeen
Fourteen
Ten,
Eight, and
Last but not least: Six!

But these five girls and I..we are next of kin,
Yet, warmth and trust bind us, like friends deep within
Some girls, they are...sharing with me the latest trends
Their faces take me to places, a journey without end
Their faces show traces...a sneer, a grin, done in style!
A lost front tooth hinders not a generous smile.
It takes a soft "Hi!" Or a light kiss,
A warm breath, a whisper, telling me I am missed
A head buried on my lap
A poker face...pouting lips that could flap.
Sometimes, it takes just a glance
We connect with mere presence!
We...are the colorful pages
In this book called
Daily Existence.

Sally

Copyright February 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

It's like a habit, done unconsciously
Do we even know, it is reactionary?
This breathing out with varying intensities
Could itself, be a tendency
Says a lot---it could mean anything, 
It could mean everything...
Speaking becomes a choice,
To hear, or not to hear one's voice. 

There's a sigh of admission
Or agreement...a signal of an ensuing confession,
Rarely comes with a nod or a smile...
We admire with a sigh
Our eyes, a sparkle it could never hide,
We give out a sigh of despair
When hopelessness permeates the air.
From disappointment, we frown
Our shoulders are down,
And when one is anxious, and wait-less
Limbs are so restless
Mind is unruly, followed usually 
By a sigh of anxiety.
When heart and mind have conceded
A sigh of surrender has succeeded
When what we see is beyond comprehension
And we.....have run out of options...

When the air is laced with sorrow
We sigh, and then tears follow
Because words refuse to flow
A sigh is all that we can let go.

We sense disrespect
A snort, we usually expect
As things, people, sometimes stray
And we sigh in dismay.

When what we feel we cannot utter
We exhale...it feels so much better
Sometimes, it is gentle...other times, violent
Could be like a shout...or one so fervent...

I ventured...thought of a lot more sighs,
They could fill my page...I could run out of rhymes
So I'm ending this poem with one...prolonged and high
Acknowledging...that a sigh is not just a sigh,
it holds words, actions suppressed, even ****** expressions,
Confusing....at times, giving wrong impressions,
Because...the true reason for the sigh 
Is known, only to the one who sighs.


Sally

Copyright March 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan