X X X
In some places,
monsoon season has long ended,
in other places, some freeze, some quiver,
bending their bodies, to warm their guts...
::::
the head aches....it swells, wanting
to spew, to set loose some things
as nature speaks....murmuring
its restiveness, through gusts of wind,
::::::::
the weapon....is impatient
its holder now alert, feeling sentient
but, unswerving...sounds are clear
hurrying footsteps do not matter
:::::::::::::
hand stretches...grasps a sign
fireworks have come and now blind
..........an unprecedented high
an untold moment becomes nigh
an energy rares to be...needs to be
......and is now ready to be
::::::::::::::::::::
already atilt
snug within the palm, its hilt
sword has yet
to pursue, to capture...but is now set
:::::
:::::::::::::
...and when she began to write,
she did it with such elan!
mind, hand and sword, worked as one
catching bright, newly born ideas
writing them down, as quickly as
they came to mind...she started swinging
dashing...circling and criss-crossing,
black blood flowed from the tip of her sword
created lines, with defined letters and words,
captured thoughts......filled blank pages
with scenes of action, without traces of rage
............................
in moments of restless silence
............her poem was born....
...........
.........
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 1, 2018
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
X X X
In some places,
monsoon season has long ended,
in other places, some freeze, some quiver,
bending their bodies, to warm their guts...
::::
the head aches....it swells, wanting
to spew, to set loose some things
as nature speaks....murmuring
its restiveness, through gusts of wind,
::::::::
the weapon....is impatient
its holder now alert, feeling sentient
but, unswerving...sounds are clear
hurrying footsteps do not matter
:::::::::::::
hand stretches...grasps a sign
fireworks have come and now blind
..........an unprecedented high
an untold moment becomes nigh
an energy rares to be...needs to be
......and is now ready to be
::::::::::::::::::::
already atilt
snug within the palm, its hilt
sword has yet
to pursue, to capture...but is now set
:::::
:::::::::::::
...and when she began to write,
she did it with such elan!
mind, hand and sword, worked as one
catching bright, newly born ideas
writing them down, as quickly as
they came to mind...she started swinging
dashing...circling and criss-crossing,
black blood flowed from the tip of her sword
created lines, with defined letters and words,
captured thoughts......filled blank pages
with scenes of action, without traces of rage
............................
in moments of restless silence
............her poem was born....
...........
.........
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 1, 2018
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