Sally A Bayan

Nov 8

guy scutellaro

have you ever seen

moonlight on the lake?

the moon whispering

to the water lilies,

the lilies white as the lace of a bride's gown.

have you ever sat on a log

contemplating the mystery
of a cold and distant romance?

2 hearts
forever longing to,
but not able to embrace

separated by endless night...

...wild birds are singing,

and dawn's sweet chorus
chases away the sad, lonely moon.

have you ever heard the moon
loves the flowing water,

loves the mortal music
of earth-borne water lilies?

Oct 17

David J

To the stranger beside me

Your eyes sang the song of loss
And I recognized the chorus

I was reading a book in a place no normal person would be. When I was accomponied by a lovely gal who had the same plans as me. We never spoke a word to eachother but I've never felt so understood.

#stranger #reading #eyes #understood

Oct 13

guy scutellaro

slipstream

dark cave spiraling up
into jagged spires of silent distances falling
into splintered sunlight

the winds of the river Styx flows
on a distant shoal and waits
beneath the waxing moon

for the wounded lovers to bloom
into white and blue wild flowers

and into the loving arms
and silken threads of time lost.

Sally A Bayan Oct 9

Unspoken Narratives

Unspoken Narratives

< >..........< >..........< >

A late glum afternoon takes place;
two stilled shadows occupy space,
seated on warmth-less corners,
sipping cold, stale coffee...it alters
not, a pricking, awkward quietness,
both alternate, share flitting glances.

Timid, uncertain thoughts
enslave, and sway to and fro,
none wants to be uttered
they block the throats,
trapped...nowhere to go.
into lumps, they've turned.

Two restless shadows inhale
and take time to exhale
unspoken narratives are set free,
all spewed in one long, deep sigh.
a love that's gone awry,
meanders...and takes flight,
suddenly, their verses they can't write
why can't they do things right?
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
They're couplets, no longer spliced
::::::::::::::::::::
no cadence left, just estranged rhymes
hesitating...dangling on in their minds.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
A soured silence lingers,
bearing a scene in faded watercolors
their spirits, so shaded with pallor.
:::::::::::::
:::::::::::

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 11, 2019

(^o^ a silly love poem ^o^)

Oct 8

S R Mats

Aging Into an Excellence

Yes, this is true of aging,
That as we get older
We become more of ourselves,
A refined reduction
Down to the essence
Of what it is that we are,
The true self like cream rising.
A sliver of optimism becomes a slice
And it is delicious in its simplicity.