4d · 1.1k
Unknown
?????????

Time is not flying
the evening hours are so slow, inching by
and spent tossing and turning
my restless mind roams dark avenues
my restless feet roam the bed,
left...right...then back, over and over.
the bed, that was my hammock....no longer sways
a promise of peaceful slumber, flies away,
???????
new and strange images
start to trail me...they're heavy tassels,
tagging on the  hemlines of my mind,
seeking to connect...to be known
???????
this late hour, i recall
a forked road, not far from a winding road,
from afar, a child admires a white castle
high as the clouds, its windows, foggy,
its high fence, mossy...on its front lawn
is a treehouse, perched...resting like a bird
inside a very old tree, leaning to its left side,
with a long set of steps...all painted white.
just below the white steps are gathered,
doyens of poetry...seated in their own chosen
corners...tacit, yet, empowered by their brilliant minds
the tips of their feathered pens, smoothly sliding on
paper......strange, that they're waving at me,
why, they could be dead!
???????
i must be dreaming...my muse is showing
me paths, i would think twice of treading
???????
a quartered moon selfishly glows
unsettles even more, my murky thoughts...
yet....my pressing thumb is on my journals
i must heed.........the need.
???????
"o' my elusive unknown poem,
kindly show me...lead me to your home
let my pen give light to your dim path
give second wind to my weary mind and heart,
deny, even a bit of a space......for wrath,

help me, push me...my efforts musn't cease
show me your face...we'll both have peace."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~
~
Sally  

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 21, 2018
...started with a dream.....then scribbled...and scribbled...
I don't know if there is any sense in all these...pardon me, guys...
Apr 14 · 124
Harvest Time
Sally A Bayan Apr 14
::::

::::::::

Sky is a blend of pink-orange-violet,
dim...but birds are already awake
steaming coffee wakes the senses
rooster calls on and on.....its silhouette
completes the early morning landscape...

it's that perfect moment...when
tradewinds blow...carrying scents
of the harvest season............when
horizon turns to the clearest of blue,
the eyes feast upon moving straw hats
...big and small.....

under the radiant morning sun
sparrows fly high and low
over lush golden fields of rice,
stems are now bowed....grains are ripe...

maidens' sweet voices join the air
hands and sickles move with flair
cutting.......in practiced strokes,
small hills are formed from gathered stalks
feet move in their rhythmic walks
laughter and conversations become songs
their cadence, brought by joys of the season,
weary thoughts have no space.....no reason
to exist, when sounds of glee are seizin' in...

hours can't be stilled.....excitement sobers
sun gives way to the moon and stars,
sickles are kept....laid beside mortars
and pestles......voices turn softer,
waning...slowly fading...into dark corners

................soon, cicadas' song takes over...

when harvest moon glows, a breathing silence
rules over the shadows of the field...no fences,
just the moon watching, and a Guiding Presence...

thank God for another bountiful harvest
threshing awaits....but bodies are spent
..............tomorrow's another day!



Sally


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 15, 2018



::::

::::::::
the traditional harvest time in my country
there was so much fun in the old practices...
Apr 10 · 1.0k
Secret Lovers' Ritual
Sally A Bayan Apr 10
<3 <3 <3

She enjoys her morning espresso
while he savors his mug of cappuccino

she shapes his dimpled face
in her newly wakened mind
he imagines her big brown eyes
gazing like a buck...inquiring, yet dreamy

she hums a lover's lullaby, for him,
each morning, before leaving,
he lets his charcoal pencil play
on his ever ready sketch pads
draws her face with pixie haircut

they think of each other day and night
always......at the very same time

yet...not a word is said when their eyes
meet...not an effort done, to break the ice
they'd rather keep things within,
their coffee mugs...witnesses,
to their similar daily practices

what a shame...what a waste!

their elbows, their arms touch in haste
as they hurry....towards the quay,
the ferryboat takes long, they both wait
leaving their untold love go by
along with their unsung lullaby...

it happens daily...without fail
their feelings, bubbling as they sail
but...neither has the guts to bare

how could they let life go on this way?
content with just a secret love affair...
<3 <3 <3


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 5, 2018
...a work of fiction...
Apr 5 · 880
Hungry Years
-----
---
-

This isn't about being numbed,
or blinded....and most definitely
not being an ingrate.

an eerie feeling came with a breeze:
a  life of long ago
came back......and lingered,
fed my hungry mind with
resurrected difficult moments.

there were tears.....and  laughter,
our feelings, our heartbeats were heard,
we had that kind of warmth...a nearness
only we, could possess.

t'was like brewing coffee....waiting,
'til bubbles started seething,
aroma and taste were satisfying,
steam...evaporating.
what remained in the carafe
got cold...became  stale and rough
to the mouth.
confused heart,
refused to fall apart.
how hard it had been at the start,
our kites flew high
so did our sighs.

how could expected changes,
how could progress be trailed by an emptiness?
why did i hear a pricking whisper of discontent?

plans didn't stop........i thought,
half the ladder was high enough.
:::::::::
somewhere along the way
....why did love have to stray?

a smoke of displeasure
took a long while...to disappear
:::::

in those times of simple dreams,
our humble needs and wants did scream
some days may have been dim,
still................we were a team.


...i miss...those hungry years...
-----
---
-



Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 1, 2018
Mar 31 · 559
When i hold my pen...
Sally A Bayan Mar 31
.......a parade of thoughts,
crowd its tip......sad...sweet,
scary...unpleasant...pleasant,
hopeful...or prohibited,thoughts
come.....one after the other,
like white circled smokes from a spectre,
smoking....hiding, behind the curtain,
triggered by a song, a verse, or somethin'
else.....like a photo, a voice...a memory...

when they come to haunt...and taunt
..... i just bow my head,
and let my  pen stand erect
or lean inside my palm,
allow it to make curves, loops and  
lines, to cross out untimely thoughts
on white blank pages...
pen struggles with me--whether or not, to share
my likes, dislikes, my disgust, fears, my despair...
my endless questions are frozen...wintered
within...i wonder, will they remain unuttered?
....the answers, as before, are uncertain...
.........my discontent, oh, so apparent...
::::
.....when i hold my pen...is when my soul
breathes and relaxes...it journeys...i forget all,
....hunger pangs do not enter my mind
..my troubled self....and the peaceful me
....join forces....their combined energy
flow freely, inside my inner streams...
...i sit tall when they bring out the best in me,
...wonder if i could bring back worst moments,
......and correct the wrong in them...but,
who's to say what is right? what is wrong?

when i hold my pen, i realize its might,
its omnipotent power....its written bold words,
exclamations, lines, commas, dots and dashes,
can incite, or douse strong actions and feelings
it softens the sharp edges of anger and pain
it can puncture deeper...better than a sword,
it can heal...soothe wounds and  slashes
.................inflicted by other pens


........when i hold my pen,
i let it speak for me...time and again...


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 21, 2018
Mar 24 · 404
HOLY WEEK
Sally A Bayan Mar 24
(haiku x 2)

coffee and po'try
how could i ever abstain
they're my meat...my flames

i am pretty doomed
it's lent, can't stop, got some lines
how doomed could i be?

Sally

Copyright March 25, 2018
rrab
Mar 19 · 160
CIGARETTE
Sally A Bayan Mar 19
::::::::

...measured footsteps were hushed
....but the floor squealed and creaked
......door slowly, carefully was opened,
.........the hinges...all but squeaked...

cool sea breeze rushed in,
through the glass windows
...and half-opened door,
...stoking the ember of a cigarette
...resting on an ash tray....barely half-smoked...

flowered curtains danced and swayed
cigarette smoke snaked......and spread
within the small space of the sala,
white smoke...blended with the room's gray mood,
...and the low lamp glow.....while on the radio,

Miles Davis' "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes,"
........................played on...

there was too much noise
in the silence  that wrapped
the cottage........thundering...yet,
unheard, by the lady seated on the floor,
silent...with a cold gaze...agape...though, not
of splendor...from the creamy full-moon above,
her one hand, a few inches from her throat
that hurt so much....fingers reaching,
...towards her slim, silky neck....gasping,
....catching precious breath
'til there was no more......just death...
smoke was fading,
from the cigarette's dying ember...

.............radio was playing,
................"Every Breath You Take."



Sally

Copyright March 12, 2018
rrab
"Every Breath You Take" sang  by The Police...
Mar 11 · 326
Zombie
Sally A Bayan Mar 11
(10ws x4 )



P A S S - ing
::::::::::::::
moments
::::::::::
enfeeble one
:::::::::::
mentally
:::::::::::
emotionally
:::::::::::
phys­ically,
:::::::::::
time moves
::::::::::
slowest,
::::::::::
~~~~~~~

unfocused eyes
:::::::::::::::::
numbed heart,
:::::::::::::
dreary thoughts
::::::::::::::::::
render the mind
::::::::::
WEARY
::::::::::
~~~~~~~

be obeisant
:::::::::::::::
body and mind
:::::::::::::::
flow,
:::::::::::::::::::
harmonize,
:::::::­:::::
recapture
::::::::::::::::
lost CHI
:::::::::::::::
~~~~~~

wind enfolds,
::::::::::::::::
heals the soul,
::::::::::::::::
positive air
:::::::::::::::
f r e s h e s t,
:::::::::::::::
at  SUNRISE
:::::::::::
~~~~~~~

(PEACE  to everyone. Good morning!)


Sally

Copyright September 2, 2015
rrab
*** P A S S = pain, anger, sadness, .........
*** (i forgot what the second S stands for)
Mar 8 · 610
Tonight...
I see
the moon, in its fullness
surrounded by curls of clouds

I wait
...for the frog to croak
....in the mist of early evening

i wait,
but...it seems, there's no hope
in hearing its sad song tonight

i hear,
instead, the dark roof creaking
followed by calculated footfalls

and then,
i hear soft scratching on the gate,
soft voices......seem to be calling

i rise,
to see three stray cats lazily slouched
on the sidewalk, purring, looking at me

quickly,
i see this black dog....joining the crowd
its glimmering eyes...looking...asking

and through
the moonglow, and scant light from the
lamp post...i see its nipples...all swollen

my God!
where could her puppies be? my eyes wander in
the dark midst of mango trees and banana plants

t'was fed,
along with the cats...black dog ran when its
share was brought there at the dark vacant lot

tonight,
as in past nights, time is slow as a snail,
while i.....am thinking over and over,

how i,
can bring that black dog and her puppies
to safety..........here in my own backyard

in life,
we're like horses rushing...stopped in midstream
by homeless cats, dogs, kids, old, disabled people

either
we keep running...............or, we screech
we halt...and allow then to touch our lives...


Sally

Copyright March 2, 2018
rrab
**the night of March 2, 2018...at the veranda...**
Mar 3 · 413
Traffic

****


When the boulder was lifted,
Pandemonium started.
Everyone, in a flurry-
The usually slow flow
Of movements.
Now done in haste:
Moving out
Moving in
Resettling
Reorganizing
Moving shelter
Moving food supply
Everyone has to hurry
Confusion
shouts in every corner.
Still, peace is kept
In their lined activities
Though, getting hurt is inevitable.
How could there be so much
Hope and patience,
When soon enough,
Another boulder would be lifted?
Demolition is nearing,
Construction would soon be starting,
Desolation, all is expecting,
Still, they move on,
They live on.
****
****
We, could learn so much from
These industrious, persevering living beings.
They are brimming with wisdom,
These tiny,
Slow-moving, fellow creatures,
Called
Ants.


Sally

Copyright November 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
(A repost from 2013...edited a bit.)
Feb 27 · 1.2k
Sometimes.....
Sally A Bayan Feb 27
.....a day's, or a night's inspiration
just walks away
and escapes my mental grasp
an idea, pregnant with possibilities,
suddenly becomes infertile, like
a barren woman, or a wasteland
i try to get hold of it,
still...it glides away, falling along the
edges of my imagination.
i am bereft,
when my muse has left.
::::::::::::::

sometimes,
i eagerly dip, and wiggle my toes
on a sunny blue river that
manifests itself in my mind,
bursting with promises of new insights...
yet, a slightly curving path is hard to ignore
for, it easily presents itself......and
sometimes,
i give in to its swirls of unfulfilled
dreams, and....sublime moments,
hovering, like a hummingbird
quivering...in my own space,
there in neverlandia, where i'm left
pondering, about a life......unlived.
:::::::::::::::
my toe-dipping moments,
my rare moments of serenity,
are short-lived........ruffled,
besieged by old shadows,
because....phantoms of fear
refuse to die.
::::::::::::::::::::::

sometimes,
when treading this curved path,
unwanted, unexpected
circumstances occur,
and, all of a sudden,
my muse emerges from hiding.
inspirations bloom,
like mushrooms,
bolder,
than those that elude(d) me.
:::::::::::::::::::::::

sometimes,
it takes a while,
for love and life
to rhyme.
::::::::::::::::::::::


Sally

Copyright February 10, 2018
rrab



::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Feb 20 · 166
Wednesday Morning
Sally A Bayan Feb 20
Am

looking at the ceiling

eyes are fixed on the

white rotating blades

turning around slowly

......oh so slowly

......the monotony

..........hypnotizes me



everything around me

every sound or action

is moving like a snail



the ticktocks of the clock

are droning

the water inside the kettle

is boiling without a sound, i think

thin slices of pork marinated

in soy sauce and lime...frying,

doesn't scare me...the fight between

heated oil and soy sauce

is not as noisy...not as violent

as it had been in the past mornings



i feel them all...slow and hushed

..........as a snowfall in winter

i am thinking of winter this early hour

...yet, it's summer...so hot and humid

...........hot coffee has failed to alter

.......the weary, and dreary airs

....of this early wednesday morning...





Sally



Copyright Feb. 21, 2018

rrab
something that came up at 3 am...
Feb 18 · 58
Coffee Maker
Sally A Bayan Feb 18
Glamour, health and politics,
are ideal morning topics
blending well with hot coffee,
and, these early risers...share openly
their impassioned accounts, simultaneously
seething, with a dark and strong bubbling sea,
making the most, out of a few hours of bonding,
breakfasting, after morning chi kung
(sometimes, with family, reuniting...)
they have moved with the times and days,
subscribing to both old and acceptable new ways...
anger and dislike are voiced gently
no despair hidden...i believe, not a tad of ennui,
.......surely...

these ladies have no fancy hats,
flowered, feathered, or with colored tats
no jewels crown their heads...........just
plain hair: black, brown, long or bobbed,
no pearls grace their necks.....or gloves
that are trimmed, to hide overworked
hands, or wrinkled knuckles......they're
past their golden years, prim and proper,
their own sets of rules are flames burning,
steam rising, like those of coffee brewing
deep in their minds...their values, churning,
their inner beauty, transcending...

their mornings are like a coffee maker,
brimming with bubbles and dark swirls,
tamed, paled in mugs, when cream is added in twirls...
complex issues considered taboo,
sometimes, even plain tattoos
are discussed in hushed tones
voices agree or disagree...until froth is gone
and bubbles have simmered down...

the hours are fleeting, time passes so swiftly
one has gone...but these enterprising ladies
excitedly plan ahead, for their next assembly...

Sally

Copyright November 2, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
(an old unposted poem about my breakfast group)
Sally A Bayan Feb 12
<3  <3  <3

L-ove of my life
I-s a
S-ong
T-hat plays on in my
E-ars and head, without end
N-othing else is

H-eard...or felt
E-xcept that sound....its fragrant
A-ir...moist with mist...a caress on my face,
R-enewing  my strength, with its
T-unes, so sweet.........this song,

I-nsists...it wants me to feel its energy...a
T-ender  touch on my
S-kin, that clothes my whole being...like a

V-estment...with warmth reassuring...that of an
A-ngel.....with a haloed collar, bright...to guide, to
L-ight my way...my view...my heart, here on
E-arth...each day..........don't fail me, my love, i am
N-eeding...when you are nowhere...but when we're
T-ogether.....nothing, no one else exists between us...for
I-n the space within your arms...i am home
N-urtured...by your
E-ndless flow of verses....i am cuddled...i am
S-hielded..........in my dreams, you have no

D-eath...and so, i, too, have no death...i am kept
A-live........undying........sustained by
Y-our breaths of love, through your poetry <3

Sally

Copyright February 13, 2018
rrab

Happy Valentine's Day to everyone!!!
...a valentine's day nonsense poem :))
Feb 11 · 429
Worry
Sally A Bayan Feb 11
(People Alone)


Maybe it's normal...maybe it's not,
maybe, i overdo it....yet, i still do it.
i always think of things to come
...at day time....even late nights,
thinking too much of my children
my children's children...my siblings
i even think of my siblings' brood
my dear friends and their worries
...thinking how i can help them.
....later, i get weary....fed up at times,
exhausted from worrying......wondering
how i could remedy even a bit....when
my hands are not that long to reach out.
...........................................
then, i think of people who live alone,
their thoughts...their predicaments.
there are those who enjoy and
progress in their solitude....then there
are those who are given no choice,
forced.......or suddenly found themselves
in that space....souls that cope with consequences,
alone at nights...while their frustrations
breathe on them...and stare back at them.

some end up too absorbed
in their own darkness.
........................................
those lovely night falls...those resplendent
moon-glowed nights, are joined...stained
by silent lamentations.....muffled cries,
yet...playing loud as thunder,
in the high open air...
.........................................
moments of hiding and seeking linger on,
they try to seek some fun,
yet, their ghosts, make them run,
whether in the dark, or under the bright sun.
weary eyelids become heavy, like those of a swan
sleep teases like evil...a bit of painful memory, and it's gone
...one's night is done...
..........................................
and, i realize
as i think along these lines,
my worries are just pebbles, not big stones
like theirs that whir,
over and over,
like a drone.
........................
whether with company, or on their own
they are people alone...


Sally

Copyright October 24, 2017
rrab
"People alone may go very fast
But maybe not so far
Playing alone is still solitaire
Remember people alone
May reach for a love but only half as well
People alone may seem satisfied
How can they tell"

(People Alone-----sang by Randy Crawford)
Feb 4 · 1.5k
Like Porcelain
I do believe that, people's
breaking moments aren't spectacles,
to be watched like carousels in a carnival,
not free for all(s).....like publc seesaws
anyone rides....sees what comes and goes

my folks' words play in my mind, like a spell
"don't let your eyes stay wet too long, they swell,
one day, those tears will make you unconquerable
your fences and walls ultimately become impregnable."

...but.......there's a truth that's unavoidable
there're days when we're not that invincible
::::::::
sometimes, we melt, we flow
hurt by people's deeds, we don't even know
why.....the days, at times, become too cold,
confusing...other times, painfully bold
we break, we droop............we fall
we realize...we can't always be that tall
::::::::
we become...........frangible
just as breakable
as porcelain
......................................
because
we're human.


Sally


Copyright August 8, 2017
rrab
Jan 31 · 306
Scent...
Sally A Bayan Jan 31
...is a spray  
of sweet, nagging fragrance
borne by a rush of air
it touches nostrils as it travels,
to stimulate, and to scintillate
the flashing of memories
especially, when distance is great
and truly separates...

it could be the bouquet of a single rose,
or a handful of jasmine....or,
the welcome smell of cinnamon,
sage, nutmeg and other spices that
bring out the fragrances of good cooking,
or those of sweat and a fruity cologne
blending while working
from caring....from loving.
::::::::::::
it's a brush of summer wind
that captures, even a bit of a sniff
of any, or all of those scents.
:::::::::::::
a smell so pleasant
that dwells in the senses
and brings calm to one's soul.

the nose...the other senses know,
the heart and the mind know
the summation
of all these fragrances.
:::::::::::::::
no perfume could ever equal
the scent(s) of a woman.
:::::::::::::::


Sally

Copyright January 30, 2018---10:40 PM
rrab
This poem is for housewives and mothers, grandmothers and also for those women who have devoted  their lives  to being  housekeepers...
Jan 26 · 83
My Mornings
Sally A Bayan Jan 26
A mix of hushed voices, blend with
loud sounds, and slowly slip into
the early hours of the day...

outside my room,
.......shrieking has waned
spoons and forks and plates and glasses
are quiet...the rush, to finish all before 6:00 am,
is done........footfalls from black-shoed feet,
echoed.......and faded with the wind
...no more school bus motors revved, yet,
the dogs are now playing roughly...and noisily
distant roosters, are doing their thing nonstop
....the latest news from the radio plays,
........a cellphone rings loud
the dryer spins clothes continuously
..pots and pans hit the stove burners
...tap water flows, splashing in the basin,
water from the hose touches leaves,
.......and the graveled ground
...but, according to my ears and my eyes,
it's a normal morning...the atmosphere, subdued...
suspicions arise when cacophonous sounds
are not heard......something could be wrong...

this being composed in the midst of noise
this unique silence in my rowdy mornings,
......never fails to enfold me......

Sally

Copyright January 25, 2018
rrab
Jan 26 · 175
When(s)
Sally A Bayan Jan 26
When smiles become too often
...and things tend to be more than alright
.....when little mistakes seem tolerable
........and the past don't feel too pricky,
............when heart beats smoothly, calmly
................when things become too sweet,
...................and so sugar-y............is when
........................i start to worry...



Sally

Copyright August 2, 2017
rrab


(some nonsense from last year)
Jan 13 · 616
Empty Swing
Sally A Bayan Jan 13
---------------------
|----:--:----:---:---|
|    :    :    :    ­:     |
|   :    :    :    :      |
    :    :    :    :

 ::::::::::::     ::::::::::::


Chilly wind kept blowing
steel poles  of the swing
felt colder to  the  touch.
earlier,
chained seats  moved  high up
voices shrieking crescendo-ed
seats went higher,
wind became harsher
motes of dust hit the eyes,
and were forced to close
:::::
::::::::
speed lessened, then came to a halt,
the shrieking....the hands scooping sand
the giggles, the laughter, the cheerful air
all vanished...except the path of shoe prints
rushing away....and marks of tiny fingers
struggling to grasp anything to hold on to,
desperately...even the sandy ground,
but in vain.
:::::
::::::::
loud whispers of the wind rock the empty swing
pained, terrified souls.....are hardest to comfort
a cold fear breathes.....invisible eyes, stay alert
trust fled into the air.......phones are yet to ring
minds drown in dreaded scenes
they freeze better sense
:::::
the chilly wind, blows on.
:::::
::::::::


Sally

Copyright December 27, 2017
rrab
Jan 10 · 632
Tomorrow
Sally A Bayan Jan 10
Last night,
my thoughts were  of the coming days
i got up even before dawn
preparing to face tomorrow.

everything about tomorrow
is on the table...like a briefing on what to
expect...souls awaiting...sunny, stormy days
newly sprouted worries, and old ones that
refuse to go...food talks...pride...errands,
the good and the bad...everything,
all arranged on a platter.
it's like reading a big book...filled with
nows...yesterdays...and tomorrows..
thick with pages that turn fast, or slow,
pages that are bright, unwrinkled,
others are flapping...twisted, crumpled,
even torn......depending on the wind,
which could be breezy...or gusty.

some pages bring long-lasting smiles
some are too wet with tears
some cause a blink...once, twice, or thrice;
a brief way of escaping...yet,
truths are there when eyes open again.

we ponder over the pages skipped,
for clarity...for closure...not for turning back
there's no other way.......but ahead...
....like the wide and endless freeway,
painted lines divide lanes...define direction
...explaining continuity...moving forward,
no matter what.......because,
tomorrow
always comes

>>>>> ::: >>>>> ::: >>>>> ::: >>>>>



Sally

Copyright January 8, 2018
rrab
Dec 2017 · 275
Christmas Lull
Sally A Bayan Dec 2017
(Christmas haikus)


I'm sitting across
an old .eucalyptus tree
leaves are not  moving

in...out....so quiet
the hummingbirds are nowhere
curtain lights are still

has time stopped? no way!
Christmas bells rang, lights sparkled
...just two days ago

poinsettias are hushed
Christmas lull seeps into me
...am glad....clock still ticks...
*

Sally

Copyright December 27, 2017
rrab
(not too cold at the backyard...to,write)
Dec 2017 · 356
The Party's Over
Sally A Bayan Dec 2017
^^^^^

It's amazing how a child obeys
his, or her heart...finding  cheerful ways
...never tiring...holding excitement at bay
keeping busy, while counting days
'til Christmas is a few blinks away...
^^
i guess, i'll just age in numbers,
believing in magic....forever...
combining magic with the real world...whenever...
^
^
time flies so fast when Christmas is over,
the hours suddenly seem untethered
time gives way to new diaries...new calendars
the old year never lingers...
except in the mind...playing back events of triumphs and flops,
those times of healing  brokenness with fresh hopes
adding more faith  and patience.... to cope,
and when the waiting is taking
too long.....and life seems to be too dragging,
because moons have dimmed...lost their glow,
and balloons slipped off our grips...although
feet are walking on, steps have become weary...
it's time to find new courses.......maybe,
consider new options...a set of changes,
new roads.........new bridges
open eyes and heart......lend our ears
to the ones we have refused to hear,
hear their thoughts, not just the ones we like
.....find time, notice their smiles,
turn our faces to the other side for a while
listen to other people's song
sing a new song!
at this point, what else could go wrong?
^^
and for those that have caused us pain,
our dance with them is done
...the party's over...
^
^
it's time to take action,
let us dream on...let's dance on,
because, we can....because, life goes on
the true lights of Christmas must sparkle on,
.....even when december has gone...
^^^

Sally

Copyright December 23,  2017
rrab
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR TO ALL!!
PEACE TO EVERYONE!
Dec 2017 · 633
Morning Rituals
Sally A Bayan Dec 2017
(Morning Poetry with Lola)

Wednesday started with a cold, cold morning.
i wrapped myself with a thick blanket,
hid my "popsicle toes,".....seeking warmth
from recollections that played in my mind
like pleasant, joyful summer, music.

when my kids were toddlers,
i started them off with, "all things bright and
beautiful, all creatures great and small..."
but, as they grew a little older, my mother,
she woke them up each morning with,
"o captain, my captain,
our fearful trip is done..."
and then, tomorrow, we would hear,
" i shot an arrow into the air
it fell to earth...i knew not where,"
the next morning, my mother's feature could be,
"of course, i love my country,
the land in which i live,"
some days we would hear reruns....but,
the week would never be complete, without
her most favored one....which, she delivered
with a valiant voice, while pounding her chest:
"...i am  the  master  of  my  fate;
  i am  the  captain  of  my  soul!"

my kids rubbed-open their eyes in awe,
as they listened to their lola..'til they were done
with their morning rituals.

their lola kept a copy of longfellow's evangeline
but she didn't live long enough
to share it with her five great-granddaughters.
God knows...my late mother knows, i did my part,
to open the eyes...and minds of these girls,
to waken THAT awareness in them, that would
make them see, and feel...the beauty of poetry.
not everyone realizes the importance,
the necessity.....of poetry,
that life itself...........is poetry,
that, when you're a poet,
and when you're deep into it,
........you cannot just let go
for, it clings to your heart and soul,
it is like,
your second skin
...................
it's a hard habit
to break.
..................
............
the older girls read poetry...and mythology, as well,
a mix of classic and contemporary,
......but they and i, have added thoreau,
dylan thomas, teasedale, and many more
names to their lola's most favored
longfellow, henney, and whitman.
.................
.......
Sally

Copyright December 7, 2017
rrab
^^^Lola is the Filipino term for grandmother...
     "Popsicle Toes"an older poem i wrote in 2013..^^^
Dec 2017 · 780
Silent Nights
Sally A Bayan Dec 2017
It's almost mid-December
...no more november thrills,
....just colder winds that give me a chill
and, remind me of a kind of peace...a rural calm,
in the old country days...simple celebrations
and the natural beauty of hand-made stars
hanging outside windows of houses...
their low lights seem dots , yet....seen, from
farms, ricefields, and from the old chapel,
:::
the old chapel.....where people's most
ardent wishes, dreams and  prayers, rest,
the old chapel, which sounds so heavenly,
when "silent night," and "o holy night" are sung
....in the cold hours of dawn masses...

no one feared the dark...people were guided
by lanterns.......star-shaped and lighted...
white-painted wooden Christmas trees
adorned the small living rooms...small, but
filled with that holiday warmth, shared with
family, neighbors and friends...

in lieu of those humble huts, rows of
pompous concrete structures now stand tall
over once vast pasture-lands and rice fields,
mostly gussied up with expensive decors...yet,
......bereft of the true Christmas spirit...
...silent nights, are not so silent anymore...

my chest goes high and low,
the late november winds have blown
farther away,  taken over by the boldly cold,
yet, welcomed  festive airs of december...
i'm always happy about Christ's arriving,
i am sad.......the old ways...they're vanishing...

Sally

Copytight November 27, 2017
rrab
Dec 2017 · 375
Washing The Dishes
Sally A Bayan Dec 2017
::::::

The faucet is noisy
warm water touches the plates, the spoons
and forks..........soap suds splash back
at my face.............i squint
::::::
high above the sound of flowing water,
their voices......and mine, take power
my mind identifies every face behind me
they're just within my reach from the sink,
extending a hand...sharing a memory
we share all...family stuff, jokes, and chores
things become easier....feelings are lighter
while washing the dishes
indeed...water is therapy
::::::
i seem to be at a vantage spot
i see, i hear everyone
i am the observer
::::::
pre and post dinner moments
of talks whle sipping wine, are always fun
leftover food is kept in the fridge
and leftover topics, play in our minds
they wait for the next morning...
::::::  
our laughter.......our giggles crescendo
then fade.....and then die with the jokes
shared.......in the cold of every evening
::::::
my hearing is clearing
talks reminiscent of the past wane
tomorrow's plans are favored
the dishes are clean.....now drying
::::::

Sally

Copyright December 3, 2017
rrab
i hope, i pray, to be
in this same scenario
in the following years
.........with my sisters...
Nov 2017 · 453
Take Five
Sally A Bayan Nov 2017
(Symphony)
      
The lamp glows brightly now
i sit by my  pine table
the old fan quivers as it blows...sending
sheets of paper........fluttering...
mind, pen, paper, and hand
work side by side without end,
to bring out unspoken feelings
especially on long starry nights,
like tonight.

towards the table, I now lean,
my shadow slowly rises
it shields me as i start.

while tapping pen on paper,
the strong scent of "Dama de noche,"
swims through the dark atmosphere, slowly
penetrating my nostrils.........i hear the song
of the leaves.............a calming rustle,
a soft  touching of each other,
paving the way, for
pleasant thoughts to start streaming,
gentle musings long held inside
and kept alive...all now come into being
this sleepless night
......a poem's birthing, is nigh......

chest rises and falls,
on a peaceful rhythm
the soft touching of the leaves
my own breathing,
the old fan blowing,
with
sheets of paper fluttering,
and on paper...........pen tapping,
all these sounds, create my poetry's
symphony.

at length, i get weary
from writing my poems of thee,
outside, i watch dark shadows of trees swaying
a soulful music comes to mind
the sweetest hymn
ever hummed to me,
reminding me, it is time
to "take five...."


Sally

Copyright 2013
rrab
:::Please listen to Dave Brubeck's "Take Five.":::
(take five means...to rest...to take a break)
Nov 2017 · 757
My Next Poem
Sally A Bayan Nov 2017
:::::::

Birthdays are over and done,
october skies have moved on,
and brought us late november winds
we close our eyes to our unwanted truths
but....when we wake up, they're still there
they're too lazy to scamper away from us

so, we paint our minds with positive  occurrences
regardless of how people and circumstances
burst our balloons,
and bring down our festoons
some people make our spirits soar
...they make our days less dour
we wish to spend time with them
we would do, give anything on any term
just to experience moments with them,
:::::
even just for a thanksgiving night,
:::::
forget for a while our collapsed goals
.............which have turned to debacles
for, their fruition have become impossible
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
in our hearts, these dreams hide.
...they live on in our mind,
until God knows when...
it makes me think,
"time is always behind me
like......a shadow, warning me.."
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
so tonight,
after stuffed turkey, cranberry sauce and wine
and veggies, and coffee and apple pie,
i'd go out for a while, wear a thick sweater
and find the moon
full or crescent, it won't matter
if it doesn't show up...the stars would be there
i'll sing my song.....and start my dance
til i can no longer put up with the cold
and i will have to seek warmth inside.

Sally

Copyright November 23, 2017
rrab
Wrote this while listening to
Van Morrison's MOONDANCE.
Nov 2017 · 811
The World...
Sally A Bayan Nov 2017
The world...nowadays, is in a lot of mess
Men, especially leaders, are restless
In most ways...in most places
Time....efforts.....battles fought....
All went down the drain
Our precious veterans' lives,
Have gone to waste
All seem wasted.

The world is truly
Not at peace these days
Sleep used to be so peaceful
They say rain is conducive to sleep,
Yet, even when it rains,
Some remain awake, open-eyed in the dark
They still could not sleep in peace,
.....for discord never aims to cease...

Rain used to be so lucid and pristine
Thanksgiving....used to be a sacred thing...


Sally

Copyright November 22, 2017
rrab
HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO EVERYONE!!!
Nov 2017 · 231
Broken Trail
Sally A Bayan Nov 2017
...words,  at times,      f
                                       a                    
                                   l
                               l

                          in   a    

                        c
                      r
                        o
                             o
                                  k
                                e
                            d
                                  row...


when gathering thoughts
when establishing a message
when trying to put words
in their right places
...they sometimes end up
............in   w e i r d    spaces

..................r h y t h m    
is messed...it's neither a poem nor a hymn
.....falling backward
..........it sounds   a
                                    w
                                k
                                     w a r d

......everything else doesn't     j i b e ...
...........time is not ripe....
the poem's moment...is yet to arrive...


        Sally

Copyright November  5, 2017              
rrab
Nov 2017 · 344
Humbled
Sally A Bayan Nov 2017
/ /  /
\  \  \


I am human,
my thoughts are where
strong desires dwell
rushing up...wishing to be heard
by the Almighty

i see
the tall bamboo trees out there
reaching.......seeking,
when winds come...they obey
and bend their heads down as they sway
they bow to the earth...accepting limits
acknowledging sense over obedience
to One...

the slim bamboo leaves softly rustle,
as if in agreement...and i look down...

trees and i are calmed...and overcome,
by a merciful Presence,
in a soothing silence encompassing,
we are humbled...

Sally

Copyright  November 5, 2017
rrab
Oct 2017 · 611
Contagious
Sally A Bayan Oct 2017
...kites, roses and apple pie
(A repost from 2014...edited)


In life, in deeds,
You have been, still are, courageous
In your words, in your creeds,
I say you are all so sweet,
Infectious,
You all are contagious!
Just a single line of your words
Would surely, quickly be re-quoted.
You are exemplary in
Whatever you say or do...

Enlightened are those with furrowed brows
Upon reading your works,
Commendations,
And acclamations
Bothered by ideas and words
So foreign and difficult...
Clarifications,
simple explanations
Readily are provided...
One need not ask...

Like well respected, learned leaders,
Actions, words are emulated.
You are sweet...
You are infectious...
You are contagious!

If you were colorful kites,
Soaring up the blue skies
You would have so many tails
Hanging, trailing behind you...
Here in our world
Your followers  are like ants
Trailing your footsteps...
Never straying, not at all waning,
But multiplying.....

In a bed of roses,
Bees, birds and butterflies
Would never stop fussing
Endlessly buzzing
From up above, and all around you...
Taking all their needs,
Not forgetting themselves to feed,
To recreate, from your seeds
these, they are bound to heed...

Now,  
If you were a plate of fresh,
Yummy and crusty apple pie,
With a scoop of ice cream on top..
Oh me, oh, my....
I may not forget these three men,
But....I am bound to starve...
Pardon me, but...
Surely, I would be oblivious
The first one to be ravenous
To the point of being outrageous
Can't stop...can't wait...
This is my moment:
As long as I have a mug of hot brewed coffee
I shall take my time...
I won't feel choked,
Won't even be thirsty...
Voraciously, I would finish the whole plate off...
Til crust and crumbs fill me with too much stuff...

::::::::::::

For the Triumvirate of Bala, Nat and Pradip...

in alphabetical order, no one comes first or last... for these three are
      all soaring high in their respective styles of poetry...

there are many others worth mentioning, a plethora of names and styles, in fact...
    


Sally

Copyright 2014
rrab
*i think i strayed from my main topic....though the mere mention of apple pie takes me away...yet...I am not bound to forget good, good friends, like the triumvirate above...*
Oct 2017 · 347
Unheard...Unnoticed
Sally A Bayan Oct 2017
::::::::::
in stillness...in what appears to be quiet
so many things take place...
there's buzzing, hearts are pounding,
faraway drums beating, like thunder, blaring,
in a soundlessness that reverberates,
:::::
       no one can tell when dewdrops fall
      not a sound permeates the air
      they have long been nourishing,
      moistening the grass of the earth, yet,
      no one hears, no one sees, how, or when...

       the leafholder, without a fiber of speed
       in its body....devours a whole leaf,
       there is no chewing, or munching heard
       even when watched, it gives no sounds.
:::::
my purple dendrobium proudly
shows new flower buds with such calm,
from the base of the cattleya orchid, young
green roots take a grasp on the driftwood.
how, or when these took place,
i really didn't hear, or notice.
:::::
      on the street, a humble, lightweight
      house spider, with less than eight legs
       suddenly moved....like tumbleweeds,
       rolling with the blowing of a gusty wind,
       a crawling see-through ball,  entangling
       fallen strands and tiny strips of street dirt,
       i almost stepped on it,
       i didn't notice....i didn't hear...

      the faucet leaks...pail is nearly filled
      there's a gap of many seconds, before
      each drop falls and touches the surface
      of the rising water...too long....most often
      too late....when heard, and noticed...
:::::
so many babies...young children disappear, they
pass away...adults die from many unacceptable
causes......some self-inflicted...some make it normal
an entry into statistics....read, heard, with passing winds...
:::::
we live in this noisiest of planets
every nook, every part, occupied
yet, significant parts of this world....of our life
remain unheard...........unnoticed.

      "i look....but i don't see...
        i listen.....but i don't hear."



Sally

Copyright October 28, 2017
rrab
Oct 2017 · 922
Open Roads
Sally A Bayan Oct 2017
What if,
the moon and stars appeared on sunny skies
well, i've seen God's wisdom, they're fine the
way they are, their time, their distance, their
glittering presence.....their habit of twinkling
at night, not day, is  justified, they're lovelier
more dazzling on a darker  blue sky.....i gaze
at them in awe, no words uttered...just sighs.
also, i've
seen God's wisdom about life's many  roads.
i'm fine, i have survived......earthly existence
is decked with many paths........busy, or less
traveled...always lead to new ones, after the
other, then to another......life goes on.......it's
where, it's when, the day's challenges start.
so....
i leave the house...start my daily trek in life
prioritizing familial  and  personal errands
i walk right  to the corner.....to where noisy  
turkeys turn so red, when i get  close to the
fence...to my left, the open road.....peopled
noisy...busy, humming with activities...my  
connection to the world outside the village
rain or shine, day or night, if i need to hear
breaths of life...of noise,  a tad of change in
atmosphere, cups of good coffee, a bowl of
soup and crackers, bond with good friends
bond with my  Creator  in a nearby church.
when
not too tired...i retrace my way back home.
God guides me....through long  and  faded
red unscrubbed sidewalks, grasping mossy
fences, lest i fall on slippery concrete...lest
i miss my quiet, my sacred space for good.
it's
never easy, finding God's wisdom, in pain
and suffering.......yet after each road taken
i gaze at the dark blue sky.....tell the moon
and quivering stars................"i'll  be  fine."


Sally

Copyright October 18, 2017
rrab
Sally A Bayan Oct 2017
Past midnight...
apart from a nocturne playing
i hear a symphony of peaceful breathing
and snoring...rhythmical, this quiet evening,
it sends me soaring up my own universe,
with eyes closed, it grows more immense
creates some kind of a calm, in the silence
surrounding me, and my muse's presence.
stardust and moon provide me a crown
while i float...and probe around,
seeking something i don't know about,

in this journey,
i feel the absence of souls, slumbering deeply,
dreaming their simple, or strange fairy tales.
the firmament, wears a navy blue veil
stars are dots, they glow and scintillate,
like a warmth in the cold....emancipates
my invisible wings flap and fold,
a door knob...my hands take hold,
my destination...bright, resplendent,
"Cosmic Coffee Shop," a place, transcendent,
brewing a blend
-the dark, the positive
-the sweet, and the negative
a sign says, "write....there's pen and paper
in every corner..."
an invite, for people to create prose and poetry
where coffee is free, smells...tastes heavenly
a place to share...with brethren, in poetry.
::::::::
(an old poem)
1:01 AM


Sally

Copyright November 21, 2016
rrab
on a sleepless night,
  ...a plane roars
     ...breaks the silence-
Oct 2017 · 221
ITCH
Sally A Bayan Oct 2017
(Candles)

A different kind of wind murmurs
a humming repeatedly echoes
restless birds fly round and round
a ball bounces up, down...back and forth
all of these, amassed in one's awareness
like an itchy patch on the skin,
...nagging...

there're many reasons for sobbing
but few are heard,
cries of discontent, of despair,
of mourning, from waves of violence
man-made, and natural disasters...

babies are born under the sun, 'neath
bridges...growing up, bathing, under the
falling rain, in floodwaters of many seasons,
in rivers without warmth and passion...
they get older...get used to those waters,
becoming dark-skinned...red-skinned,
some remain fair-skinned, with disheveled hair
faces aren't smiling...not all are willing
to share their questions...just their needs...
they need plenty....they seek free time
free knowledge, especially food and shelter,
whatever could be spared...and shared
for them to survive...
the world needs new avenues, new routes
for those reaching out, but could not...

a spark...is where it all starts...
the world needs candles to light
keep them burning bright,
flames, be enforced...empowered
protected from being blown...to resolve
even a bit, of the nagging itch...

one would think...it's kinda impossible
yet the thought is countered right there and then

    with God...nothing is impossible!


Sally

Copyright October 7,  2017
rrab
Sep 2017 · 198
Sunday Dawn
Sally A Bayan Sep 2017
(3:00 AM)


Just a few hours of sleep not a fiber of strength felt  in a body lying supine the mind so awake a rapid flow of rebelling ideas could not be contained thoughts quake needing a break in the dark of this 3am morning with the ipad providing light the body seems to languish in its own inertia only the chest rises and falls in silence behind the hills sunday dawn glows

Sally

Copyright October 1, 2017
rrab
Sep 2017 · 885
Undisturbed
Sally A Bayan Sep 2017
(a cluster of 10W)


T'was on a stroll
one cold and windy
autumn morning
:::::

palettes of colors
emerged...felt like
straying to another realm
:::::

roaming,
reluctantly
stepping on
leaves of brown
orange, yellow ochre.
:::::

t'was pure
conscience
that gave voice,
made plaintive cries
heard.
:::::

"cruel feet, ended
my fractured existence
i'm silenced,
i'm powerless.
:::::

my
brittle body,
broke into pieces,
like shredded
paper dreams.
:::::
:::::

come, strong
gusty winds,
fly me
to soft moist beds.
:::::

o, set me free
let me rest
peacefully,
permanently,
undisturbed.
:::::

in my absence
new
life
emerges,
light
heralds
new existence."
:::::
:::::

sun...rain
night............day
birth...­...........death
the    earth    is
  round.


Sally

Copyright September 22, 2017
rrab
Sep 2017 · 238
Friday Night Haikus
Sally A Bayan Sep 2017
::::::::::::::::::::::::


Nary a frog croaks
terra cotta garden lamp
glows dim...selfish...weird

a striped gastropod
stretched longer, out of its shell
braver....in the dark

neighbors' dogs howl...deep,
gecko sings its night songs loud
bats crash...swoop their prey.....

unseen black cats cross
there's no wind, yet...leaves rustle
shadows multiply

the dark feeds the mind
superstition lives...it breathes
moon hides...........i shall, too...


Sally

copyright September 22, 2017
rrab
...it's like, my dead folks are still around when observing
    these superstitious beliefs...they had such great influence on us,
    we never forget....
Sep 2017 · 627
Bubbles
Sally A Bayan Sep 2017
( ) ) (( )(())

No cold wind blew
to abate this afternoon's heat...
no rain showers brought out
that sweet smell of very dry soil
...........touched by rainfall

tonight, my mind is occupied by
the transience of things
all thoughts are fleeting
inspirations are hard to capture...they're
soap bubbles, flying...bursting in the air

"bubbles"......made me turn to my left
where a wineglass stood, and sparkled...
my eyes stopped, stunned...a bottle of Prosecco,
was within reach......it beckoned...

ahhhhhh......sips came one after the other,
much delight in its bubbles...in its taste...
i want to be numb from nagging pain,
from the cries...the anguished sighs
that can never go, without a tear falling...
bubbles of pain...slowing down
the passing of days....but all these
will wane one day,....and be part
of the banalities of my diurnal life...

just like in the past, this, too, will pass...
this late hour, again, i raise my glass,
and drink away my days of woe...high
to the bright lights
for, a different kind of radiant yellow
drives away my trail of shadows
i will just smile
even for a while
and enjoy its bubbles
::::::::::::::
:::::::::
::::::
::::
::
::
::
::
::::::::­:::

Sally

Copyright September 15, 2017
rrab
.hard to resist sparkling wine :))
Sep 2017 · 665
On the glass window...
Sally A Bayan Sep 2017
/|\ //||//
the stillness of twilight, was disrupted,
thin, hushed raindrops, ....all of a sudden
became sharp nails hitting the roof
continuously,
heavy rain, now falls generously

the night...the dark firmament, they both weep,
shedding tears...they can no longer keep...
trees, houses...anything, anyone out in the rain
all are wet actors in tonight's masquerade
all are resigned...soundlessly, accepting rain.

their heads are bowed
subservient to the rain hitting ground,
performers, dripping all over
eyes, swollen from too much water,
laughter's gone, splintered smiles...scattering
in the dim air.......floating
like debris, from crashed stars...disappearing

the night's touch is cold...and bold...
but, in weakness, there's strength that holds,
the dark connives...moves in circles with the rain
hurting, comforting, reassuring, hurting again,  
touching back, again and again...
......until healing is gained

i saw myself on the glass window
i gotta get in from the rain
.....hide from wet shadows....

Sally

Copyright September 12, 2017
rrab
**rainy days and Mondays***
Sep 2017 · 254
Two Connecting Poems
Sally A Bayan Sep 2017
(1)

                    An Open Door....
          
.....invites you, to move your feet...if you agree
you'd metamorphose from an old self, to a new one,
an open door brings in light...it's a portal, for sun,
air, wind, even fire......presences......emotions,
so they may slide in and out, easily...

in many ways, YOU become the door,
either you allow, or you refuse entrance, to
some knowledge, an opportunity, a flow of art,
an energy...or people...or deep hidden feelings,
could be a love that knocks...when time is right,
it flows beyond control, there're no barriers, no
hurdles...only wide spaces and clear pathways...
heart and mind are willing...no more holding back,
.......never mind, if there'd be half-open,
.........or half-closed moments...
::::::::::::::::
time...gives way for what is meant to be,
..........energies conspire
...molecules grow together into one mass...
...ideas meet, merge into one whole thought
or theory....allowing a glow to flow, and rule,
::::::::::::disregarding:::::::::::::::
the creaking and squeaking of the door jamb,
the broken knob...the loosely screwed hinges...
:::even the lowly moss, stubbornly clinging
to the edges of the tiled floor of the veranda,
the vine-y, bushy passion flowers growing wild
on the trellis, they both look perfect...to one
inspired, to one in love, nothing could be amiss,
....all become negligible...dispensable...
.....you show willingness.....to cope with
..........i m p e r f e c t i o n s.......


                         (2)

                        If I...

........were moss, i'd silently
fill the surface of my chosen stoned panel,
my concrete wall...my loved one, in hues
of green...coating its rough-surfaced gray
with tiny growths, so cool to the touch

i'd shield his sturdy, cold and moist body,
my tiny green leaves would be his slipcover...
inseparable, we shall be....i'd be grateful
for, he gives me a home, my habitat.....

.......i'd be the door to his wall...

.....when his existence is threatened
......i'd face all....go down with him
......break into pieces with him
......he and i...stony concrete and moss...
.....would recreate...start all over again,
......he...the wall toughened by seasons
.....and i....the door to his edifice..



Sally

Copyright September 3,, 2017
rrab
(two connecting poems about doors, etc., etc.
...couldn't separate poem #2 from poem #1...)
Aug 2017 · 687
Rivers...
Sally A Bayan Aug 2017
...........run long...
... seeming to end at one point,
........yet, in truth, they just go on
.............for, currents are ceaseless
.................they find their own paths
......................they symbolize continuity.
...........................r i v e r s .....r u n...l o n g....


(Harlon Rivers....you are your name)


Sally

Copyright August 30, 2017
rrab
...a humble poem for you, Harlon Rivers...
...peace to you always , dear friend...
...your return is most awaited......
Aug 2017 · 298
LUNCH...etc., etc.
Sally A Bayan Aug 2017
In the kitchen,
......fragrance is eclectic......in spices
fresh, some stewing with other ingredients...garlic
ginger, and bits of pork, and shrimp paste, blending
flavors in boiling coconut juice...sliced eggplants, cut string
beans, squared squash, and squash blossoms will be dropped
soon................in a separate pan, fish is deep fried...

joining this redolence, is
the smell of plucked sweetsop tree leaves, and dry grass,
touched by rain.....raindrops shyly tip-tap on the hot roof,
flowing down on the eaves, dripping sparingly, softly hits
the steaming creviced grounds....a hushed sound follows...
red, blue, brown, beige roofs adorn the graying horizon...
too early for thunder and lightning...gray clouds hang low
...more tears from Heaven threaten to flow

the front garden beckons...awaits to be rearranged
.....peach, purple, mauve and verdant colors surround
........there's music! the air is rich with a mix of sounds:
the neighbor's washing machine is running...cats are meowing,
purring, the rooster keeps crowing...seems, dog is vocalizing,
a pleasant crescendo...as water in the basin overflows...
...i could see invisible arrows, leading me...seeming didactic
...where to go, what to do, this morning so eclectic
...but.....
i savor what remains of a late breakfast of red sausages,
......and the smell of almost gone coffee...so pleasant, as
drying bubbles cling to the rim of the mug......electric fans
are turned towards the table.....to dispel hot, humid air,
........plates are ready......there is always cooked rice,
...........lunch is served.


Sally

Copyright August 27, 2017
rrab
Aug 2017 · 99
Q-Tips
Sally A Bayan Aug 2017
(remembering)

Was still in the shower
draped with a thick towel
shook head...whisked drops of water
combed dripping short hair with fingers,
then reached for Q-tips,
dried right ear,
another tip...for the left.......suddenly,
the world went silent...utterly...totally!
.......i saw  my eyes froze
...the mirror, was too close...


i had forgotten...i sometimes do,
it's now ten.....and six months,
from that early mornin'

when distant sounds...cruel truths,
pursued me without respite...but, God is always good,
after my storm, came that proverbial calm,
indescribable!...that suddenness....the quietness
of those fireworks bursting...in front of my eyes
they unfolded...and enfolded...
easing out...the gravity of consequences,
slowly......i accepted truths.....and changes...
never skipped thanksgiving......i now know
when, and when not to keep fingers crossed...
those were days of clasped  hands, in prayer,
believing.....some good always comes out
....of a dark, or soundless moment...

i guess, Q-tips will always scare me...the
struggle is alive....seems dead other days
...but, a kind of warm glow eases my fears...
when in total silence, i believe, somehow,
someone will come, and hold my elbow...


Sally

Copyright August 19, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sally A Bayan Aug 2017
Two hours earlier
i whispered to Whitely
"go, if you must..."

My dog Moe
is sad
his father, Whitely
just died.

how do i tell Ashleigh?  Beatrice?
they're still in  school...


Sally :(
T
Aug 2017 · 210
Unbridled...Unreined
Sally A Bayan Aug 2017
Listen...feel closely
there's freedom in the atmosphere

the wind is
unrestrained...unbridled
it doesn't choose,
it touches anything it comes across
the trees, the roofs
the mountains and hills...the sea
takes even the humble dust, anywhere it blows...

it touches my skin...my soul,
it dries the sweat of my being, my whole
to my skin...it is cold...

nothing...no one
slows it down
except,
One, who tames the wind...
~~~
There is freedom moving in circles
inside...outside the waters

through the ocean, or the  smallest stream
even through the rain pouring,
water falls
flows freely by itself
unrestrained...unbridled,
transforms the humble dust,
into mud...

it touches my skin...my soul,
it dries the sweat of my being, my whole
to my skin...it is cold...

it finds its own path,
nothing...no one
slows it down,
except,
One, who stills all waters...
~~~

Sally
~~~

Copyright August 15, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Aug 2017 · 802
Sepia
Sally A Bayan Aug 2017
Colors, have ways of making us soar,
or fall.......they make us buoy...
they, too, can divide and isolate...
long ago,  a magazine
was colored and identified for a reason.....
also,
a kind of blue-sy music, upon which i groove,
...was named for the same reason...
.............a magazine..... a music genre,
became instruments...and parts of
dark and golden moments.......recalled
and enjoyed, every now and then...they're
painted.......registered in people's minds....

life is a magazine of stories, of  poetry...
life is a jukebox...filled with soundtracks
life is an album...a collection of smiles
...of colorful images and emotions
reddish brown at first...turning yellow brown,
with tinges of taupe.......mottled through the years,
turning...into fading shades  of sepia...

i refuse my late summer moments on earth
............to be done in Grisaille,
painted, only in tones of grey and dark green...
...it is written...one day, life would be hued with
subdued colors...the blues, silvers and grays,
...........will be cold as winter...

but, until then,
i'd rather be consumed with liveliness
i would adorn my days with peach and lilac
blossoms, hang fuschia pink pennants
on my wall....to brighten my disposition,
i'd practice...play the guitar once again,
i'll wear my ruffled, dappled-purple skirt,
and yellow converse sneakers when i walk on
the pavement....under blue skies that enhance
greens, and gold...colors that breathe existence
transforming weariness to courage...

wherever...whenever, however possible,
i speak, whisper to  God words of gratitude,
and endless thanksgiving...i  pray for strength.    
and acceptance........prepare myself...when,
.....i, too...would face my own moments,
...............of fading sepia.

Sally

Copyright August 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***Sepia is a dye, deep brown in colour, like the colour of very old photographs.

***Grisaille-- is a technique in which a painting is rendered solely in tones of gray, sepia, or dark green.
  *
***Sepia--a magazine for African-Americans which existed from 1947 to 1983.

***In the late 1940s and early 1950s, R & B (rhythm and blues) music was called race music or sepia music.
Jul 2017 · 302
Charcoal
Sally A Bayan Jul 2017
It started with a few strokes,
a pointed charcoal,
pulsed...led by the
thumb and index finger, that
initiated a sway of arcs, the contours
of boyish hair, clinging to the nape
a few short strands on a not so wide
forehead,
very near...........a pair of
not so bushy eyebrows, under which
stared...peeping, smiling
almond-shaped, brown eyes.
then...followed gentle strokes
of perfect highs and lows
of a
medium-bridged
nose.
:::::
hills, valleys, and softened arcs
shaped and manifested character-
high cheekbones....a pointed,
but softened chin,
suddenly, i was
looking at
sensual,
full, pouting,
luscious lips.
:::::
index finger covered tip, to help
define jaws....then slid down lower,
a slick,
slender
neck
appeared,
propped up by
a shallow clavicle
and gently shaped  shoulders,
that fool judging eyes and minds
they seem small, and weak
and fragile, but, they can carry
tons of worries...determinedly.
:::::
fingers angled, pencil tip slowly
danced...in careful strokes,
and curved lines,
artfully creating
a valley,
'tween two heavenly mountains,
with pinkish brown crowns
conspicuously tensed at the tops...
pencil moved decidedly....so sure...but,
slow in shaping waist...then curved
on rounded hips..sliding inwards
to the front.....to a central point,
essential, fundamental, umbilical.
its surroundings raised, as if to protect
a knotted cord...filled with stories...closed,
atop a slightly fleshy belly...
from there, a short distance downward,
led to a hidden flower
the reason...a cradle...a port,
covered by a triangular shield,
squeezed in between
chubby thighs and legs.
:::::
lines went lower, narrower...
shaped a pair of fair feet,
with painted toes
ably supporting
a bare maiden
::::::::::::
wonderfully
sketched,
:::::::::
in
deep
charcoal.
:::::


Sally

Copyright July 30, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
...just dabbled...then wrote...
Jul 2017 · 466
Streams~ ~ ~
Sally A Bayan Jul 2017
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Any time of day, when mind wanders,
it's like the water...splashes...escapes,
and flows down the precipice...
it spreads, surrounds, and creeps
...in and out of us......water sustains
...but....it can also drown us...

we come across big or small rivers,
...feel their depth....our feet, as feelers,
...narrow......running...calm......serene,
in cool colors of silver, blue or emerald green
they don't roar...they just make ripples
on the surface, when a breeze blows,
....dancing our blues away, on tiptoes

then, there are colder streams,
darker....where anguish, despair and
brokenness...comfortably dwell
...testing us....giving us choices...
some opt to float on the water,
thinking, none else matters~~~~~~
then, surrender to the rushing current,
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.....when they could sway, or play
they could waltz with the water...

the wise ones dance...fight, with some art,
they do freestyle.....breast....or back,
or the wavy butterfly stroke,
til they find a most welcome shallow part...
.........:::::::::::::::::::...........
for those fed up...and trapped
...at some point, they give up
surrendering to the force of the current
they abandon their body and soul,
with nothing left behind,
...........just an absolute

...D..e..a..d......W..e..i..g..h..t...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sally

Copyright July 25, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
^remembering a late friend, her smile lives on in my mind^
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