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When people ask me
Why poetry
Why not pick a paying profession

Take hold this truth
That I'm laying on you
In which there is a valuable lesson

If you do what you like
You're going to find
Life holds treasure in wonder

Instead of the dough
Taking you out in its tow
And then pulling you under

When you're doing things
Think more the gifts they bring
And not money to be made

When people ask me
Why poetry
Do I really need to say
* * *
* *
*

Faces of friends, of people i met earlier
are  glittering stars on this late evening's
dark blue sky...their smiles are tattooed
in my mind...they're  hunched, going
lower by the days...slowed down by years.
it must be hard and painful...the arching,
the drooping of the neck, the curving spine,
they endure all, 'til each day's end...they rise
each new dawn...do what they still can do,
lest they stagnate in their aging ponds,
diminish to a state, where food, pills, or
forgotten information are forced on them,
......like drugs, injected into the veins

........................
these wee hours bring back the years...
they  have been good...never mind the
hard times...there were, there are good ones
life is a long, wide stream of changing hues,
flowing on and on....my water bears the
colors each new day brings...gray, at times
with sadness and gloom....other days,
blacked by despair...some summers, red,
roseate with glee, or green with life and
hope...blue, when trust is spilling, and
the tranquil sea and sky overwhelm,
with a promise of stability..........white,
when accepting......the unacceptable...
........................
the amber grains and i, are alike
ripened enough to be plucked
be pulled out from an existence...the
signs are known...shown...yet, i wait
for when it is due to happen...and while
waiting, the stalks sway, play and dance  
and enjoy the sun and wind...and i,
while i still can...walk, jump, climb hills
and valleys in this mammoth space
of land and water.............called life
...................
the sounds of my days, i still hear,
i am a lute, a harp, a cello...playing
off-key.....out of tune at times,
my strings are my graying hair,
i still can't stop dying the gray
i still want to highlight the dark,
but, one day, all these will cease...
............
one night, my face will be in one of those
many stars...glittering on a dark blue sky
sending a smile, to my loved ones...
...................
there is no other way, but forward
all are headed....towards an end...


Sally



© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
      June 26, 2018
...ahhh, the rains...do make us reflect longer on life...
Hugs....
How you've known I needed
Them I will never know,
But what can I say, I do.
And when I read your reflection
On my words,
I cam stop what Im doing
And read my poem again,
And then I cam hug myself,
You calmed my climatic
Mind from shattering
Its self against the wall
Of my own making,
And that wall,
Well I can calm it down.

What is it about Patty M?
A simple seemingly pure
Heart in a world where fake to
survive seems to be the order
Of the day,
And when her words
Like mine, I can hug the
World again,
Because Patty M hugged
Me when no one else could,
Her words are not metaphoric;

She heals my broken self,
Because she meant it,
And I know that something
Is real about that,

So here's to you Patty M
From the Ded Poet:

H.    H.  U.     U.   GGGGG
H.    H.  U.     U.   G
HHHH. U.     U.   G.    GG
H.    H.  U.     U.   G.        G
H.    H.  UUUU.    GGGGG
You never knew but ypur hugs always come at the right time. I feel the scincerity. Thankyou for always holding me thrpuhh my words.
using his goading wit
and cocksure personality,

he declared to the public
that his physical features
were a chiseled mathematical
equation of perfection
in comparison to my own
unprepossessing attributes

a bit conceited perhaps
but I never give into such
supercilious irrelevance
with my modesty as I left
him soaked in his own
self-proclaimed victories

maybe I was doomed with
the probability of having an
abominable physiognomy
or maybe it was just that he had
a face only a mother could love
and I didn’t have a mother
 May 2018 Kitbag of Words
L B
Do I love you?
Do I,
Love...?

The words have stopped
doubled over on themselves
in pain
unrecognized

In truth
I wouldn't know--
you, Love?
But maybe from a picture
thinking--
"This is from where the poems come?"

Having never searched your eyes
with mine
nor heard your voice
invoke me

Known your thinking
in any given moment
Nor you, mine

Nor watched your hands
for hints
endear
affection
in expressions

Could you forgive my mess of moments?
the lame that years have left
so slow circles
the lonely artless?

socially inept

I fear
you could not forgive the fear
for so long
left behind

How can you say
you love me?

By what assurance do you

Speak into my void
 May 2018 Kitbag of Words
r
I know I'm not easy
to love
I never was

It doesn't take much
to please me

And when you smile it does

I know some day
you'll leave me

That's just the way it goes
like when a gentle
summer breeze blows

But when you do go
go knowing that I'll know
you were the closest one

Take my heart and run
baby, take it on home

Take my heart and beat it
women, I won't need it
where I'm going.
Zen
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"...go to hell, purloiners!
you breached my trust...my privacy,
both, are sacred to me...
what about you?
...is anything at all sacred to you?"
:::
:::::
:::::::
It's been
three days and more,
of crossing fears...thinking,
how easily......and suddenly...
one's precious worded gems,
could be exposed to strangers' eyes...
to think that private thoughts can
no longer be private, is infuriating...
how does one deal with violated privacy?
i'm ailing...while drowning in dim streams
.....all assurances, now disputed
all negative possibilities considered
i'm paranoid...the devil is winning...

the stomach sympathizes
with a disconcerted mind
growling its discontent
creating deleterious acids...

mad, upsetting hours stay for a while
holes must be mended or patched...
what was disorganized ...must be straightened
got to start from scratch

these past evenings, i trod
through hot valleys bright with fire
burning with anger and disgust
...for, i felt betrayed,
never have i been this way before,

.....i must go back to the water.....

slowly............i wait,
'til i can look past those trees,
those walls....those worlds outside, and
from them, create a swinging hammock
tied on two coconut trees~~~then
feel a mist from a not so far clear, blue ocean
feel the breeze whisper its magic spell
to cool and melt the fires within
be at peace with everyone
with everything...

i must take hold of that space
where i'll float...and i'll forget
where i'll toy with the ripples
and be overcome
with
~~~~moments of zen~~~



Sally
...i keep on scribbling, even when i'm angry,
      'til i get to that moment of calm.
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