you owe me
and yourself

to repost e v e r y poem
that gobsmacks, renders you prostate,
that brings forth the whimsical smile
and/or a guffaw and a  laugh-out-loud,
but especially those that:

invoke/provoke/ evoke an involuntary s i g h,

that make you wince in recognition
(and breaks you)

but most of all those that make you utter
all of the above
and
make you think

****!  how  I  wish  I
had written that…


which is why I repost (costless)and bring forward (costly) so many
for the pleasure and pain you provide…

nml

Roused by its touch,
a brush of cold air
on my whole being;
am now taking in
the cold 4am air, as
the eyes struggle to
a still dark horizon.

Yet, it's already brimming
with a series of breaths.

It is automatic,
this habit of taking in
each morning's freshness
by the window...by the door,
inhaling its serenity,
slowly extricating
the soreness,
the brokenness of days past,
lingering still, invading still
a most precious solitude.

The atmosphere, already
is filled with a variety
of breaths: of faith, of hope,
of silent prayers, and
of endless gratitude.

The fragrance of dawn
blends
with raw anticipation,
bits of uncertainty,
and not to forget
the most welcome aroma
of hot coffee,
as a new day kicks off.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 9, 2024/6:56 PM

~
Precious Padma
You dearest aquatic flower
You grew in murky waters
Unblemished by its impurity
But come they did
To ****** your petals
And leave you a burning stem
Never can they take from you
The spirit of your plainsong
It continues to grow in your sisters
And in a time and season so near
They will sing your hymn
As one substantial voice
The changing winds will then
Lift it higher
~

Most of us grew up believing
that after death is when one  
gets to face heaven or hell;
but, as the earth gets older,
people's eyes and minds
change with the times, turning
deeper, coming up with various
analyses and conclusions.

Some fight for what they think,
that there already exists
heaven and hell here on earth.
to experience any of the two,
we......don't have to die.

While here on earth, we see
and live...we experience
the good and the bad, and
whatever is in between; we
breathe a mix of fresh and
stale air...survive countless
hardships, physical, mental
and emotional struggles,
are we already being
rewarded, maybe being
punished, for whatever
we deserve?

At this point, i remember
my folks words:  reward
and punishment starts
here on earth, while we still
breathe and have lucid minds
to identify the colors of our
past actions and decisions,
were they right or wrong?


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 29, 2024

A single lyric on a single song, sung, by one of my chosen ones, a brother and friend,
a brethren, whose hidden meanings are never hidden from me,
as we both, both gentle souls who, when lost, have been
lost
witnesses and also been witnessed:
weeping into the rags of remorse

this season is nearing conclusion, I know the sun rays penetrate, in a vain vanity of a last attempt to purify and make my soul stains,
a burnt offering, rising as smoke up to the wind,
my hearted words lifted,
letter by letter, to whence they came from

My senses are not cold, rhymes run, forgiving the sun for it’s inevitable disappearance, so it shall be displaced,
just lie us,
over then under, a nearby horizon,
with a sunset wave goodbye, a multi colored coat spectacle,
that reflects well off & on
my pallid skin

When it returns, it will be a different star, re-angled, in such a way that it can no longer do heavens work on my body and soul, both
kindred entities, each with each other,
a commemorative tree ring commonality,
a newly incised cain mark

sensitive locomotives ply between the sides of my head, knowing better than most the true meaning of fleeting, for although I am in my eighth decade now, and those words,
“there is nothing new under the sun,”
ring inherent inside like
they too newly born
 but,
running on a track well worn,
now nearly scrap iron

yet clothed in my sinner’s wet rags, the remorse ever lingers,
directed to mine own mark of Cain,
awaiting the day when the sun touches my
forehead, and those loco- motives ride higher,
for their denouement, their untying(2)

Aug 30 2024
fini 2:17 pm
by the Sound