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The sky is a stormy
kind of strange indigo
daffodils are reaching
out for attention
the mountains
crumble with a
matter of urgency
my dreams are a
puddle of mud and
sullen reflection
tears spill into an open
field of wild orchids
the gods are drunk
with the thunder  
of excitement
I drift in and out of
dark dreaming I am
just a passenger in this
strange and awful place
sometimes when the
lights are low I often
wonder why do colours
fade away when you
need them the most …
Clay.M
East...and west, are we?
north, and south?.....maybe...
we were nurtured with love,
our eyes and our minds opened
to different isms that helped shape our
values...we were brought up, bearing our
folks' customs, traditions. principles...
we have different faiths...some practice...some
don't...some, don't even subscribe, yet, survive.

we have dry and monsoon season...in
other parts, pleasant weather, cold winds,
and in some parts, snow.....turning to ice

we are  a mix of white skin, seeking for a tan,
and brown-skin, hiding from the sun;
one's night, is the other's day,
there are surfers among us, playing with the waves,
there at the cusp...gambling...daring fate...
there are those who hide from silent freezing winters,
finding warmth and comfort in long hot summers...

countless points of comparison,  
yet, we've something beautiful in common,
a connection of feelings, of words...our poetry,
flowing like blood, through our veins...endlessly
feeding, fueling our hearts and minds, with classy,
themes....sometimes bold, mushy, or....sassy...
no set skeds...we do it even through adversity...

we write......

we tell about our escape from life's banalities,
mindscapes, landscapes immersed in frivolities

yet, we await the marvels of each  morning we wake,
remembering gratitude, in every breath we take...

years have passed us by,
still, plays this soft music that mollifies
and inspires......heard only by you and i
prodding us, through hours, of day or night

while you exist in your own part of the world,
as i, in my hot, humid cosmos, long for cold.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::


Sally


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    May, 19, 2019
(a love poem, edited...for all Hello Poetry writers)
(a repost from May 2019)
How many drafts of our lives have we lived before this one?

How many versions of myself did I actually Love?

How many times could I sincerely say I know what Happiness is?

This life has been one of clarity and certainty
I know what Love is and isn’t, of myself and for others
I realize now that Happiness is not a constant, its just not possible
But the moments of cheer and smiles are what that feeling is supposed to be

I believe I’m in one of my final chapters
Perhaps even the epilogue

Whichever it may be, my soul is definitely much closer to peace

I’m looking forward to the final draft
Every time I see you, I’m captivated by you,
Imagine an Orchid growing through thorns,
Amidst the briers and pains of this life,
A flower as lovely as you was born,

Know, your smile’s my reason to smile,
I’d endure many seasons, walk many miles
To be near you, if only for a short while,
My heart could bear the trial,

But what it can not do, or live through:
Searching for what it can not find,
My puzzled heart’s in a bind, it seems,
It can’t judge reality from the dream—

The dream: plant you in my heart’s garden,
Reality: you’ll flourish right where you are,
For you are a lovely Orchid,
To be admired solely from afar.
 Oct 2020 Rickie Louis
joanna
I am created to see the beauty in you,
But sometimes I wonder if it's still true.
Your eyes, your nose, the color of your skin - everything about you is perfect.
However, your thoughts differ from what I reflect.

I am made to show you how extraordinary you are,
How your features set you apart.
You are who you are - there's nothing bizarre!
You're a masterpiece, a finely crafted work of art.

Sadly, I'm just here to portray - to be an aid,
Hanged on a wall and be displayed.
At the end of the day, I ask you this question:
Are you truly happy or is it all just deception?
What if a mirror could talk? What would it say? In this poem, I imagined a personified mirror.
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