Strengthen these arms
for they only exist to hold up the black canopy
that is the night sky

May these legs find purchase
on this expanse of tilth
that has received the boon of yesterday's cry

Feel the cadence of my skipping heart
resulting in the breeze of faltering breaths
lulling you as you lie

Comfort the tremors of these quivering lips
as they whisper forth
promises of mysterious galaxies and
cryptic nebulae

These eyes would cast their gaze;
assuming the role of sentry
guarding from all who would pry

My being... My entirety was put here
so that your bed would remain safe
from future's winds come silent and sly

If all I am's the landlord's daughter
High up in my room
Then you're the lonely Highwayman
That rides beneath the moon

Though, unlike Bess, the little death
I sought did not bring end
Not to our lives, but to our dreams
That rose so to descend.

My sacrifice was not my life
Lost somewhere in the dark
My method then of saving you
Was severing us apart.

For one to live a fuller life
The other must endure
A subdued sadness veiled beneath
Another’s cruel censure.


To keep you safe, I’ll bow my head
And watch on past your form
Knock on another’s doleful Inn
This Bess won’t cause you harm.

Ride on, my precious Highwayman
There’s nothing here for you
Your treasure lies beyond this Inn
A path you must see through.

~

Magnolia breezes scent the day
as dawn wakes in hushed sighs
neath a sprawling sycamore
where we watch the sunrise
paint a yawning eastern sky
in sunflower brushstrokes

I gaze into dark tawny eyes
reflecting heaven’s tapestry
awakening our earth, aglow
in soft petal effervescence  
upon your face illuminating
the radiance of your beauty

The embrace of tender lips,
sweet pastry bliss lifts me,
heightening my senses
as once again I breathe in
the aroma of your love on a
*spring kissed morning

she lifts me up
when i am down

she holds me tight
when she's around

she calms me down
when i am shaking

she's solid ground
when my world is quaking

she is the rope
when i'm on the ledge

she is the hope
when there's nothing left

she is the light
that shadows my path

she is the sound
when it is i laugh

she is the song
that plays in my head

she is the all
when there's nothing left

she is the time
that i can not waste

and she is mine
till the end of days

My Fingers Touch...
(an offshoot of an older poem...)

It happens  any minute of any day...the empty feeling...the sadness, the grief visit...all are put on hold...yet, they make me realize all the more,  grieving isn't over yet...
i think of the ones gone...but, there are people around me, with pressing needs...faces that get bored, but can't be ignored, needing my say and my care.

Mornings, i work around visible reminders...i touch them, i feel them...they take me back, while dusting old furniture,
window sills, and curtain frills.

My fingers touch the old bookshelf, i see Tortilla Flat, Perry Mason,
The  Raven, The Virginian
i find myself in a different era.

My fingers touch old framed pictures and photo albums, and i am slowly unburdened, sighing out unwanted energy.

My fingers touch the old bed, the old seal, the old vases...i am saddened, but comforted, by tangible souvenirs.

My fingers touch my temples, and the old memories, old dreams come back... it's the same face with the smile that never fades,
the same one that still shyly reassures me.

Never saw my father, yet he always smiled at me in my dreams.
perhaps, it was his way of telling me, he wasn't physically with me,
yet, he never left me.
despite his absence, he knows me, us, and we know him well.
i felt him closest when going through a dilemma, or when i was ill.
there was this loving presence,
only i can know...i was sure it was him
i miss the comforting warmth of those moments.

My mother had told us more than enough---their love story, dreams and plans cut short
where I got the shape of my face, my nose, my legs...my fingers
even my allergies,
the funny names he called my siblings and I, his funny tales,
his rocking chair
the events when he died...how he died
where he died...what time he died.

We knew him well
through those stories my late mother told us
through those accounts passed down to us by my late aunts
through my dreams that never have faded.

I realized
he was with us, all the way
silently...invisibly

...we never lost him at all...


Sally

Copyright March 28, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

****** against the cliff
caught in a vortex  
whirlpool of relentless force
pulling me down, down, down
Sound...deafening
Obliterating all sense of direction

I succomb to the waves
****** out, pulled in.
Riptide determined to
pull me under
spared by the mercy
of an upper current that
carries me weightless out and
over the break

Impelled by Grace
greater than the Power at hand
My body finds the sand.
I lie upon the beach,
all fight left behind.
The Ocean claims my strength
No question who has won**

Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.