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So many thoughts feelings expressions emotions
locked behind deadpan eyes and a voice that's toneless.
A mountain of a person consolidated to this form.
A body unimpressive.
A face unexpressive.
The chaos upstairs requires all of my attention.

Conversing takes a back-seat which is why I seem distant.
Too many things to say only leaves me in silence.
I don't know how or where to begin.
If only I could let you inside to weather the storm
maybe you could make sense of this nonsense and bring me to port.
 May 2016 pooki3pooki3
ryn
Flight
 May 2016 pooki3pooki3
ryn
If you were granted the gift of temporary flight...

     Would you ascend...
          Just so you could feast your eyes
          on the horizon,
          beyond the confines of weather-worn tiles
          set upon unsuspecting rooftops.

     Would you take soar...
          Just so you could briefly leave the ground
          below.
          And as the land beneath you diminishes,
          all that's you tethered to your earth
          almost instantly would turn into nothing
          but specks of insignificance.

     Would you fly free...
          Just so your heart could entertain the possibility
          of being ensnared by the breathtaking
          view of the sun,
          as it rests its pompous girth upon its bed of
          clouds;
          Like a bratty king sprawled over lavish sheets.

     Would you burst through the boundary...
          That separates heaven and earth.
          Just so you could be bewitched by the full blown
          moon,
          be enthralled by the siren calls of the stars,
          and be a part of the spectacle that is the
          universe...

If you were granted the gift of momentary flight...

     Would you still ascend?
          Knowing full well that soon gravity would claim
          you with less than no pity nor remorse.
          And all that you had complacently forsaken...
          Will greet you with the harshest of punishments.



                    *I would.
 May 2016 pooki3pooki3
Gidgette
We are none truly alone,
I've written of this before
I shall write of our souls
And the invisible chains, once more

We are all connected,
By these universal chains
From the beggar on the corner,
To the broker squandering gains

We are seven billion shades,
Different shades of the same hue
From me here in my mountains,
Across the earth to you

Whether you're a dancer,
Stepping to a tune
Or a night fisherman,
Gathering food, under the moon

These universal chains,
They bind us each together
That's what the universe wanted,
And so it is forever

Each time you defame,
Your fellow human across the way
You're defaming part of yourself,
So be careful what you say

This is how its been since the beginning
This is how it is until the end
Be kind to each other,
Remember we're all akin
Oh wow! Thank you my fellow poets. Thank you for reading and liking my words.<3
In Florida sometimes it rains so hard
that you believe that it can't possibly stop,
that it will just rain and rain forever.

Sometimes I'd wake to a storm late at night,
and I'd sit out on the porch.

You could smell the lightning, and the coolness of the storm would
make your hair stand;
I'd feel so alive.

Some nights I'd go out, and my father
would be sitting on the porch already.
Lost in the storm
or maybe
called to it.
We wouldn't talk,
but we'd be lost together
in the rain and thunder.

Sometimes I wonder what of him
is left in me.
I am not sure
if I am more afraid of there being
very little
or of there being a great deal,
but when it rains
I think about him on that porch;
Every death
I have felt, or known,
In silence, i mourn,
Within my breath...

No words come upfront
Just thoughts, preponderant...

I'd feel the freezing cold of an empty space
Feel the absence...clearly imagine a lost face
No smiles, spanning from cheek to cheek
Eyes, seek answers...
suddenly, I'm there by the shallow water of the creek
While some nearby creatures quietly chirp...and squeak
While I......... I could not even speak...

Living,
Is realizing...and accepting
At the right time, they turn brown, the weeds...and reeds,
But, under the water...waiting, growing...are their seeds
Brown ferns...are almost detached from a mossy concrete wall
With a strong current, and wind, they'd be carried...ready to fall

The driftwood lying by the shore...is always wet, but petrified
Brown fallen leaves, on the green grass...no more hold...crisp and dried,
The dead bark of a tree...in pieces...are crumbling...
Merging with the wet earth...in a process of fertilizing
Deep down under ....a fresh spark of life is starting.
All these, remind,
Life and death stand side by side,
That in the midst of death-
Something new is birthed...
When faced with death,
there is always someone's living breath
And, as long as the heart wills to beat
Then, life.....will still exist.

Hundreds, or a thousand times,  
We all have died
In the high and low of life's tides,
Physically,
Emotionally.

We remember
Those who have left
Those who have survived..are still around
We think of those who are next to leave,
Waiting for their chests' final heave

---And then, we think of ourselves---

Worry not of our own time
Make each of our remaining days
Be golden, beaming, and bright
With good deeds, and straight pathways

The earth is a moving circle
It makes a round.......as it spins
We try to live outwards....and then, within
Any way we live it...life is an endless cycle.


Sally



Copyright March 23, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***A  HAPPY  EASTER TO EVERYONE!!! ***
 Mar 2016 pooki3pooki3
r
Motherload
 Mar 2016 pooki3pooki3
r
She is an atlas
her eyes deepest
and darkest Africa

Unfolded I hold her
tracing the source
of her diamonds and gold

In search of the motherload.
 Mar 2016 pooki3pooki3
SG Holter
For Helene.


Ashes on the water, now.
Love's bones like dust downstream.  
At least it got to see itself in our eyes,
Feel itself between hand holding hand

And whispered caresses.
From pillow talk to fists raised at
Concerts, glasses of Portuguese wine
On her balcony to the sound of magpies

We named our neighbours.
We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Ended gracefully.

I open hands that held hers and see
Nothing but skin worn by labour,
And air.
Ashes on the water, now.

Embers without a chance against rivers  
Cold with melted mountain snow and
Unyielding differences.
Some loves drown with lungs too full

To cry; others float like a funeral-pyre-
Longboat into the night, ablaze.
King and queen, hand upon hand.
Crowns tied from fresh flowers,

We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Slid apart the way a glacier parts from
The hills; slowly, but with the force

Of its thousands of tons.
Ashes on the water,
Where the ghost of our union rests
Underneath the surface of our memories.

I will remember you.
Until the stars burn out, raining the
Dust of themselves like snow upon
These waters that always are moving.
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