(a repost, from last year)

One  fine sunny day today, and
i am chilling to my bones
when i am raring to be outdoors.
like a freshly painted image
i see through the bay window,
two wine-red butterflies
gracefully diving, while chasing each other
above the lush grass-covered ground,
of our front garden,
passing beyond and below
purple and yellow orchid flowers.
then, upon the stem of a palm leaf
the birds are in a row, taking their time
watching butterflies go by.

Rising from a chair, my knees are
shaking a bit, feeling tied together....
still in my pajamas,
i see my red-painted toes,
wonder why they are all folded so
i bend some more to feel them toes
uh-oh....they're all so froze
another bout of popsicle toes.....


   Sally

       Copyright 2013
  Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Why is hellopoetry.com black and white? I've always wondered about this... why my colorful photographs are required to travel back in time. How does this effect the poetry in any way, shape, or form? But I understand the wisdom of this design now. And it sets a great metaphor for all of the people of the pen involved in this truly noble motion, this secret society for people with passion, talent, and troubled minds and souls. Hello Poetry is black and white not because it has to be monochromatic and modern, but because us poets fill these pages with enough inovativeness and color already with our words, ideas, thoughts, songs, senryus, ballads, heartbreaks, insecurities, that adding literal color to this website would be overwhelming. These soft undertones of gray, black, and white may be considered drab and depressing to some, but to us poets it represents timelessness. And this is probably why we are all here. Hourly, daily, weekly, monthly, or even yearly publishing poems. Because we all know we are not going to live forever, and we are so entirely insignificant in the broad scheme of things and of the universe itself, that it is a bit comforting and helpful to have this coping mechanism or soft blankie to calm our fears, that this literature we write, however insignificant it may be, is absolutley permanent. And that maybe someday it will be remembered so a small bit of us may live on. Tom Riddle knew the needs and wants of man kind before anybody else realized it. Maybe he was just trying to cope with the fact that he is insignificant. These poems are all our Horcruxes so *viveamus per camenam nostram.