7d · 127
Sword
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
Nov 24 · 215
The Day After...
Sally A Bayan Nov 24
......was a freezing morning.
no rooster woke me....i opened
my eyes at first light of dawn,
sipped hot coffee....my thoughts,
recalling....traveling, with the swirling steam...

turkey wasn't done yet,
but, hours before, table was already set...
while awaiting guests,
I leant on the counter...my head, to rest,
i looked outside the small window
and was greeted by a full moon, aglow...

there was so much food on the table...weariness
was healed by laughter...conversations touched
on weather, politics, food...they refused to end,
glasses sparkled with bubbly wine....sliced meat
was arranged on a big tray...baked sweet potato
with caramel smelled, tasted good...broccoli rave
was green and spicy...i didn't know potato salad
could taste good without meat!....coffee and pies
came next.....the dogs, communicated with their
eyes and paws...socializing, too, like their masters,
i saw what was left, after slicing the plump roasted
fowl...a skeleton, still with thick strands of meat, and
the  palatable stuffing made with onions and prunes.

dishes were washed, kitchen was back in order,
after showering....everyone rushed to their beds,
yet, i had to peep out the window, one last time...
the full moon, still was upon us...confirming its
presence....a long time witness to the moments
we celebrate........encouraging our moods,
our thoughts.....our hearts.......even when
it's not a thanksgiving night..


Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 23, 2018
Nov 4 · 167
Changing Hats
Maybe, we're just walking...or working,
merely going through our daily grind,
suddenly, the unexpected pops up,
something hard to ignore...we react...

when circumstances call for it,
mothers and fathers become doctors,
other times, to  plumbers, or carpenters,
even ministers of the church...

some folks, after their nine to five stints,
volunteer....to mingle with despondent
souls, like prisoners... reach out to them,
as priests or trusted friends do......
some swim, or paddle through floodwaters
to give food and supplies to flood victims,
others cross through fires to save lives,
others care for orphaned, or abandoned kids...
nurses, doctors,  even ordinary citizens,
walk the extra mile...help those lost in their
own illnesses.....to find themselves back.
............................the list never ends...

"mysteries" always unfold before us,
their purposes are incomprehensible, but,
they turn us into healers, therapists, carers,
we, at times become miracle workers...

even cold-hearted people were born
with seeds of love embedded within them
in some mysterious ways, the willingness
to change hats occurs, when the need arises...


Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 29, 2018
Oct 25 · 188
Mr. Groundhog
Sally A Bayan Oct 25
One afternoon, 'neath the shed,
mr. groundhog waited...
nothing in sight,  not a cat, nor a leapfrog
just the fading sound of walking clogs
"oohhh, she's gone!  time to burrow
.....my path is still short and narrow."
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
mr. groundhog started digging.....up to the rotting log
of the wide, cut-up oak tree, upon which, a bull frog
landed...then, leapt to a hidden garden bog.
fine rains started to wet the soil...at last, mr. groundhog,
emerged from his hole on the grassy center
he popped his head out.....suddenly, great fear
enfolded him, he felt a rushing wind...whatever, whoever,
could be watching....then, an odd scent filled the air,
it persisted...that stinging smell...of pepper
lucky woodchuck! the scent dispersed in the ether
its tiny granules got soaked in rainwater.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
mr. groundhog sighed..."i'll leave it to the weather,
i'm kinda tired...........october, is almost over."

Sally
Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 24, 2018
Not at all fiction....groundhogs have started digging,
ruining my sister's green backyard...ground pepper
is one of many deterrents....and it's kinda cruel....
Oct 11 · 850
Reflections
Sally A Bayan Oct 11
<>

There is power over what's in front,
what's behind, cannot be vouched for.

any one, anything that accost me, are
all taken at face value....just as they are,
disregarding love, or dislike,
or, what dwells deep within.

when not shrouded, i am most useful
some say i'm cruel
others think, i'm kindest
but, i am just being honest.
with the least of light, i try my best,
i earn praises...they come back, they need me
sometimes i am bathed with hatred
i end up in the attic...or given away,
just because the truth is unacceptable.

the area across is most times regular,
a man on his table...what hungs on his wall.
occasionally, it becomes spectacular,
countenances, joyful, or sorrowful
come to and fro...all sorts of accolades
a mix of emotions...each day, an array
of lively colors and moods......a parade
of varied appearances feed my view
it's not what i want...it's what i am given
any time of any day...any season.
whatever the reason
someone or something
stands  to face me.

when night is late, and in complete silence
that man by the table....ever writes on paper
and gets them all wet...with his falling tears,
he writes of volcanoes spewing fire, of rain pouring,
speaks to himself, then to me, of betrayal, promises
lost, of broken vows, and shattered expectations.
i am speechless, yet filled with his pain ....he is restive
til the wee hours of the morning....then i see light in
this visage, his face...giving an end to the dark
giving way to another day's noise,
......a facade.....

Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 11, 2018
Sally A Bayan Sep 29
Sun is setting.....the dark rushes in,
from its bright orange glow,  a pale
tint of  orange turns fast to  bronze
gray, like metal.....suddenly, there's
that powerful whistle!.......suddenly
what matters, is to count the hours
'til whistle sounds its leaving, on its
way into the open sea...as a million
stars...graciously take over the sky

grip relaxes........hand lets go of old photos
candle light flickers, moth dances in circles
"no rain, please," a whisper, like  soft wind
blowing.....the heart leaps each time a boat
arrives, heart breaks when the whistle tells
of departure....the whistle...haunts this sad
soul...swaying trees, wooden walls, in their
own ways, listen....lizards rarely knock, the
cicadas stop their night songs......as dweller
withdraws from an old self, from an old life.
hushed wailings melt bits of pain...it's hard
to forget a life lived solely....for one's selfish
interests....a family abandoned...a lost voice
talks to ***....of repentance....and of regret,
for years of straying, for precious time lost
an errant human being, longs to be  within
family circle again....the hugs....the giggles
baby's cheeks......the warmth of loved ones
they're a thousand reasons.....to reconsider
babies have grown up....people are weaker.
wind whispers their names under the fiery
sun...but, mostly.......in the still of the night.

"***, who would want me back?....why didn't
you let me? there at the gorge, or the stream?"

how many futile attempts had there been?
how many more boats must come and go?
how many more sunrises....sunsets to see?
one cannot.....could never escape from life
how does one learn to accept....to forgive?
when?...how....does one forgive one's self?

sleep didn't come.......faint dawn light peeps
through clearing clouds...the owner, the old
man is back, brought a daily.....with a photo
of the dweller...reportedly missing for years
a contact number, and a reward...offered for
precious information...the old man knew, he
too, was lost once.....he understood the need
offered the old cottage....to help another lost
soul, find himself again.....took long, but this
new, overwhelming courage has taken over!
dweller hurried.....then, hugged the old man
a ***-given friend...in his darkest moments
the boat arrives by noon......sails before dark,
..........finally, to take the dweller...back...........
.............................. H O M E ..............................

Sally


Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 28, 2018  (Pacific time)
...a sequel to The Cottage, The Gorges and The Stream
Sep 25 · 199
Bursting Thoughts
Sally A Bayan Sep 25
(haikus)


Steel brushing...annoys
but this odd, soft sound.....haunts me
peeped through the drapes.......and

thought of gum bubbles
imagined one bursting......as
bullfrog's huge throat shrunk...

Sally


Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 24, 2018
I heard the soft sound of a bullfrog one rainy night...I could almost inagine it there hidden among the wet plants...on the wet ground...
Sep 17 · 1.8k
Today
Sally A Bayan Sep 17
Today......in some places, heavy rains and
gusty winds rule, no way to control them
today, here where i am....sun beams with
fire.........hands keep fanning the hot spell
away, i think of ice...of snow falling from
heaven....touching the skin with coldness
that freezes the sadness in our heads...we
slowly become aware.........silently, gently
it fills spaces...seeming weightless.......yet
it soothes feelings....every drop, a comfort
we ponder more, as it amasses....painting
hills,  mountains, with  immaculate white
all over.....as if choking, but never slaying
cleansing........healing.......even the human
heart and mind, from bad energy......from
stubborn dirt......from being broken.....the
sparkle of white and  the refreshing  cold
bring clarity  to one's darkened  thoughts
a respite....a shedding of old, broken skin
much like new existence..............a rebirth.


Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. bayan
September 16, 2018
Trying to divert my mind from typhoons and hurricanes.....
Sep 7 · 336
Friday Night Scenes
(haikus)


Cold night by the swamp,
faint moon hides troubled whirlpools
wind roars...reeds bend low...

not far from swamp glow
owl struts on branch, and hoots on,
dogs howl.......wings flap close

hot fear flickers, this
september's dark friday night,
shadow's drenched with sweat


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    September 7, 2018
First Friday,  September 7, 2018
~ ~ ~ ~ ~


When emerging from a dialogue,
a communion.....with ***, taking in
all the good and bad we've poured,
a reassuring calm rests upon us, through
a peaceful silence...a lilt flows in every
word and move...a smile graces all
<<<~>>>

In the midst of chi kung mornings
all energies combine...no one speaks,
a silence enfolds participants...a time
to receive energy, and share...a time
to be strengthened...to strengthen others
<<<~>>>

alone, by the deck of a ferryboat,
with no bouts of mal de mer...a vista
of the limitless horizon, and the flowing
sea, mutes the human voice...gives way
to quiet moments, to mull over things, and
discover one's self......senses are made
aware, by a mist of sea water,
and a swooshing wind that brings
a scent of salt
......a peaceful silence calms the soul
<<<~>>>

a moment comes,
when cacophony heightens.
drums, gongs, church bells and cell
phones ringing, dominate the airs.
in our own found silence, we listen
closely...'til a pleasant beat finally
waves...rhythm is found...and heard,
until music is born....like a dream.
tunes agree, there's nothing left to do
but sing "la-di-das and la-la-las..."
<<<~>>>

late nights, before and beyond midnight
when the night radio rhythmically plays
a crescendo and diminuendo of snores,
i seek for my muse that teases and hides,
there's fun....in the silence of creation...
<<<~>>>
inspiration, suddenly becomes incipient,
it resonates, at times, stubbornly torments,
no sound could ever distract the flow.
<<<~>>>
Schubert's Serenade, or Beethoven's Silence
can only enhance......not crumble, nor ruin
the attempt to create......especially when
silence is most eloquent.....i am rendered
..................impassioned
<<<~>>>



Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    September 3, 2018
(mal de mer---French term for "seasickness")
Sally A Bayan Aug 26
..


Save from the hidden nests of birds,
it was the only one there...isolated,
like an isle...crested on the leveled
top of a gorge...its way down or up
was through a hand-carved series of
steps on its *****...at its front was a
curved gorge......one would think,
it was trying to cross over

the cottage was small, weather-beaten,
desolate......its wooden walls seemed to
have shrunk...its faded colors proclaimed
its age...its having survived past storms....
from its window, the stream was seen,
and heard, flowing on and on between
these two precipitous valleys.

light came from the sun...and moon,
music was provided by the murmurs of
the forceful wind, the continuous flow of
water on the stream, the stirring of the leaves,
the crackling of branches and twigs, the birds'
singing in the spring...the pounding of heavy
rains on its roof...and countless other hymns
of nature......the dweller had heard them all...

beneath a lonely moon glow,
when nights were cold,
there hovered low 'pon its aged roof,
rounds of layered fog...like a series of
steps....like a stairway to the sky...
fog slyly crept, and wilfully shrouded
the cottage.....it vanished from view,
the two gorges and the stream, hushed,
in the dark loneliness of that secluded
spot......their vulnerabilities, trapped
inside....misshapen silhouettes...

in light and in dark,
the whistles of nearing and departing
boats....were wailing, haunting calls,
piercing the peaceful calm of the valleys, or,
maybe, the stilled complacence of the cottage,
or...of the one living in that lonely cottage,
...lost, or gone astray, now weary and worn,
willing to be found...longing to be reunited
.......with the light and warmth of love...

the cottage, the gorges, and the stream
would be loneliest,
without the cottage dweller...


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 27th, 2018
"...no man is an island..."
Aug 16 · 350
Eclipsed
Sally A Bayan Aug 16
We are all planters and sowers
in this huge field...where seeds
of graces and blessings, as well
as trials and tribulations (i call
them weeds), are strewn in all
places...made to blend...to help
shape and strengthen our faith,
character, our emotional stamina...
all these seeds and weeds, paint
our earthly existence with bright
and darkened hues: blue, gray, black,
green...red, purple, yellow ochre, bronze,
and countless other colors of the universe.
it seems, we human beings are born with
coloring books, bearing our names..it's up
to us to paint them on canvas, or in words
...it's up to us, to bring light to our own
darkness, or,  to make them blacker than
a starless midnight......maybe an ebony
horizon to those blinded by stubborn beliefs...

truths that weren't perceptible then,
are much more visible and vivid now
i recall...when troubles piled up then,
i forgot to pause...to analyze,

i saw small alleys, when there were
wider streets...it didn't occur to me,
i must have the fortitude...to search...

i saw crowds, when there was much
space on this earth...failed to realize
that there were lessons to learn from
crowds, that i could create better space,
that these weeds also bring graces...

while looking at the atmosphere, my
eyes, my mind were totally eclipsed,
almost blinded...seeing only dismal skies,
when there could've been sunlight,
if i wanted to...within myself, or around
me...regardless, if it was stormy outside.

i could've created a gap from grief
i forgot that, light and dark take turns
...come what may.....they alternate...

much lessons and wisdom were gained
from younger days...........it is true...
we cannot change what we've started
yet, we can begin where we are right now
and create a different ending...



Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    August 16, 2018
"You can't go back and change the beginning,
  but you can start where you are and change
  the ending."        
    -----by C. S. Lewis
Aug 6 · 3.8k
Goggled
Ask...and you shall be given answers
seek...and you'll be told where to look
knock...say, hello?...hello? hellooow?
a voice named siri replies:
"is it me you're looking for?"
i think,
the eyes, the mind, even the heart, need
clear, goggle-like glasses, for 20/20 vision,
to grasp, to discern,  be forewarned,
not to be overwhelmed by whatever
data unfolds on the screen

they say, there are contrived solutions,
for life's every complication
search engines are accessible to all
just press specific keys, and, Voila!
surf, play...easy games, easy friends
but, can they really answer all questions?
every human question?.........like,
do elephants really cry? how did it occur
that they have excellent memories?
is Timbuktu modernized now?
are there still surviving cannibals?
will the remaining Bee Gees member,
tell us how to mend a broken heart?
do rosicrucians really possess secret wisdom?
what happened to you and me?
how do i save myself from emotional vampires?
how do i cook pad thai?
...and how do i get you out of my mind?
why does the rooster crow after midnight
how does logarithm work with poetry?
do dogs have souls?  do they visit their
masters?....i miss my dogs Misty and Tiny,
...and i miss you...what's wrong with me?
***, why do i even bother to ask?

my goggled eyes are blinded by grief
my goggled mind refuses to forget
this goggled life of mine feels empty
and it has nothing to do with technology...


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    July 23, 2018
.......just a poem, my poet friends:))
...a piece that resulted from rainy days and  mondays...and silly me :-}
.................just a poem.......:))
Jul 31 · 792
Breath
Sally A Bayan Jul 31
(a cluster of 10w)
><
daylight glares...melts shadows
revealing those stilled,
and those living
><
puffs of breath
could signify a desire
to still exist
><
some breathe erratically
amidst suffocating airs,
fighting,
unwilling to die
><
there're those breathing,
but, oblivious of everything,
themselves......deliberately,
forgotten
><
senile...scared...lonely
committed to indifferent homes
left languishing
abandoned
><
no longer exhaling gratitude
for, they're considered
dead...and...gone    
><
what're they thinking,
when they're with that
loneliest faraway look?
><
while wilting in confusion...do thoughts
about tomorrow visit them?

....aiming....meaning to defy death?
to again, catch precious breath?
><
><
><


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  July 31,  2018
Years ago, my group and I visited a facility for the aged.
we brought food, drinks...and did tai chi with them...
There, I first opened my eyes....to grim realities about homes and family,
and senility.....and other issues regarding old age.
Jul 25 · 2.2k
Scents
Sally A Bayan Jul 25
The sight of rain,
of wet clothes, wet plants,
wet doorsteps, wet hopes and dreams,
and, that known scent of sadness and grief
all these...create soggy, sluggish minds

we just lost two dogs to the virus
the glum of monsoon rains affects the moods
the "yays" from cancelled classes
have all passed...
sun is shining, not too bright, though,
peeps like a tease, but,
enough to dry the ground...

i see vacant lots...almost ***** now
motor's droning hum is a lullaby
that lulls the mind
a strong smell stirs the nostrils and
defines a welcome pleasance...
i sniff....and chase away sadness,
with this intriguing scent
.....of freshly cut grass....


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    July 25, 2018
Jul 21 · 551
No More Lonely Nights
Sally A Bayan Jul 21
The pile is ever ready
whatever type of music we dig...a ditty,
old songs, contemporary...all in a jiffy,
instruments will be playing
words, vocalizing all feelings
maybe, a song of calm
coming before, or after the storm...
.....
Notes hover above the piled 45s
look closely...find your desired jive,
let's find our favorite tunes
and take turns in  dropping coins,
record is pulled out...shortly, our song will play
hold disruptive elements at bay
because..you and i, we're gonna sway
as a full moon....rises from the bay
.....
allow our feelings to speak
while we're cheek to cheek,
as much as we want, we may croon,
after we dance, maybe we'll swoon
the world is ours...we'll be alright
"there'll be...no more lonely nights!"
.....

Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    September 4, 2017
(recapturing memories of the
jukebox...it's a feel good poem,
esp. when paired with Paul McCartney's
  No More Lonely Nights...)
Jul 14 · 689
Grounded
Sally A Bayan Jul 14
... ||| ...

It matters not,
if we're young or old
fair-skinned, or colored
rich or poor...smiling or pouting
our lives...our days are never easy
we either worsen, or lessen our load
each time we make up our minds,
through the choices
we make  
:::
in the midst of our daily grind
fashion statements take a big part
with nuances that define our style,
ease and comfort are emphasized
choices range from loud or vibrant
to subdued, or
not too obvious  colors...
:::
that morning,
we did tiptoes...and diagonal stretches
leaps.....kicks....slower wu shu, and
other  movements....we hopped with
a turn...and then back on the ground,
the world didn't reel...not at all dizzy
no aches from lower extremities
arches  were just fine
feet were still feeling light...
:::
i am cool, i am hip
i walk with dapper steps
in pants, skirt or dress
i move with ease
very comfortable
with low cut
:::
most of all, i have no qualms
if i would be standing up to my last step
or, if i would be led to an early fall
i feel confident
when wearing my
yellow
converse sneakers.
:::
it could be a pair of converse
or ordinary sneakers
a size larger, or just right
as long as we feel a calm content
no pricking on the mind and chest
because, we hurt no one
we do what is right
for the good of all

in making choices in life,
shoes, or otherwise
let's do what won't make us reel, or fall down
let there be balance...in heart and mind
let us be steadfast as we
stand on the ground.



Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 4, 2017
I thank *** for longtime friends, near or far
who i'm very comfortable with,
in many ways, they make me feel grounded,
just like my yellow converse sneakers.
.................
        .........    

Remembering,
how fast April, May and June ended,
gone.......yet, their breezes,
still whistle their songs into July
brazenly...heard by conscious, sharp ears,
by the bedroom door, i see how they
blow and push...how they move everything
...................
like these dancers on the window
moving with such grace,
always obsequious
to the call of the wind,
  ....................
soft silky bodies...dancing freely
moving with a gentle sway...flowing
flinging, waving up, down....in floral,
fruity and rustic prints....flimsy,
like summer scarves, in yellows,
reds, greens, blues, and browns
...................
baring......sometimes, hiding
a rich tapestry of an arcadian scene:
wide open areas of lush green
beside gold-colored fields,
eyes of passersby are stunned even more
by the long, wide, swaying leaves
of the proud  tobacco plants.
.....................
tireless hanging dancers, graceful and lithe,
organza curtains, pierced by rays of sunlight,
dancing with much fire, as wind becomes wild,
...but, shy at nights, when stilled by drawn blinds...
.........................

........Dancers........
....­.................
   ..............


      Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  July 1, 2018
Jun 26 · 8.5k
Late Evening Echoes
Sally A Bayan Jun 26
* * *
* *
*

Faces of friends, of people i met earlier
are  glittering stars on this late evening's
dark blue sky...their smiles are tattooed
in my mind...they're  hunched, going
lower by the days...slowed down by years.
it must be hard and painful...the arching,
the drooping of the neck, the curving spine,
they endure all, 'til each day's end...they rise
each new dawn...do what they still can do,
lest they stagnate in their aging ponds,
diminish to a state, where food, pills, or
forgotten information are forced on them,
......like drugs, injected into the veins

........................
these wee hours bring back the years...
they  have been good...never mind the
hard times...there were, there are good ones
life is a long, wide stream of changing hues,
flowing on and on....my water bears the
colors each new day brings...gray, at times
with sadness and gloom....other days,
blacked by despair...some summers, red,
roseate with glee, or green with life and
hope...blue, when trust is spilling, and
the tranquil sea and sky overwhelm,
with a promise of stability..........white,
when accepting......the unacceptable...
........................
the amber grains and i, are alike
ripened enough to be plucked
be pulled out from an existence...the
signs are known...shown...yet, we wait
for when it is due to happen...and while
waiting, the stalks sway, play and dance  
and enjoy the sun and wind...and i,
while i still can...walk, jump, climb hills
and valleys in this mammoth space
of land and water.............called life
...................
the sounds of my days, i still hear,
i am a lute, a harp, a cello...playing
off-key.....out of tune at times,
my strings are my graying hair,
i still can't stop dying the gray
i still want to highlight the dark,
but, one day, all these will cease...
............
one night, my face will be in one of those
many stars...glittering on a dark blue sky
sending a smile, to my loved ones...
...................
there is no other way, but forward
all are headed....towards an end...


Sally



© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
      June 26, 2018
...ahhh, the rains...do make us reflect longer on life...
Jun 19 · 4.6k
When Thunder Roars
Sally A Bayan Jun 19
Something caught me off guard, that hot day,
an unexpected thunder roared its presence,
violent...continuously rose in volume...
the throbbing...the thumping...the
pounding intensified...while swarms of red
and pink fragments simultaneously emerged,
and skillfully created arcs...becoming orbs,
multiplying, spreading...merging...then
shaping into rounds, like atoms...combining,
revealing...bearing a scary realization...
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::­::::::::::::::
suddenly, arms and hands felt cold,
thunder softened...waned...arcs and orbs stilled,
chest started to rise and fall, peacefully.......yet, here i am,
anticipating a next time...when thunder roars anew...

Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   June 19, 2018
...heart palpitations yesterday,while far from the house,
tried capturing the images...the feeling...
Jun 16 · 215
F A T H E R S
Sally A Bayan Jun 16
(a Father's Day acrostic, reposted...edited)


F-athers don't always show their feelings, they're not

A-s demonstrative and warm as most mothers are...yet,

T-heir love is deep...beyond measure....it's amazing

H-ow they hold their weak moments, without a tear falling...they're

E-steemed...like a statesman of enduring greatness...silently,

R-apidly perceiving the needs of their children, their family...always

S-elfless, as mothers are....to FATHERS, family is  their priority...

::::::

A father is made of  concrete,
hard as stone...a bit creviced at times
.......yet, always replete
with pebbles of love...and warmth, especially
when he nears the threshold of his home
to his children, his heart is soft as satin
...in his home, he is the hearth...the wall
........the love for his family,
............a fire burning within him:::



Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    June 17, 2017
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO ALL THE FATHERS
AND GRANDFATHERS OUT THERE!!!
Jun 14 · 447
Be Still...
Sally A Bayan Jun 14
0
~
~~~
~~~~~

You're inside...alone in your hiding place
yet, the limited sphere of your space
grumbles with voices...repeating words and
scenes...from failed, denied expectations

be still now.....remember
not to ponder long on hurtful moments
cry, if you must,
but, when sun sets and moon is up
let twilight's soothing silence
ease your overworked heart and mind
dwell not on sad departures...take a deep sigh,
there's hope......look up to the sky

be still.............surrender
to a silent Presence...that
makes the wind move creation
listen to the music of nature
its peaceful murmurs
hear the wind hum its many songs
hissing..swishing, whistling
listen to the trees,
hear the leaves softly rustle,
the water....running....flowing from
a waterfall.......down to the river
take time...hear a hawk or an eagle cry
see them soar and descend with grace,
while a wine-red dragonfly, and a
purple-yellow butterfly....flutter
atop pink Vanda blooms...
search with your eyes, ears, mind, and heart
be captivated!  explore!
nature, always leaves us in awe...

be still,
let sand escape from your palms
release cold, indifferent hands
let go of anyone all set to leave...or
anything that always seems awry...
open your doors, let fresh air bring in
new chances...new challenges, and
new beginnings...let them all in!
remember to build new dreams
welcome new friends, new faces
remember to smile!

soon...the hurting will wane

remember the cycle:
sunrise, sunset...live, die...weep, laugh
remember the Words:
"there is a right time for everything."
~~~~~
...have faith....be still...
~~~~~
~~~
~


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 6, 2018
"Be still and know that I am ***..."-Psalm 46:10

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens...a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance..."Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4

"Don’t hold on to someone who’s leaving, otherwise you won’t meet the one who’s coming.”-Carl Jung
Jun 3 · 5.3k
Painter
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors
to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle
tones......gather words together in lines,
uncertain in their ebbing and flowing...
the results create surprise in many
hues that could make one cry,
grimace......frown......or smile

readers are led to far, or near
destinations...to the cool, sweet air
and peaceful atmosphere of paradise,  
or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters,
or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole,
an unknown corner, where moribund souls
are biding their time, maybe, they could
now define by themselves, purgatory and ****,
understand those sunken souls who have lost
all...except their arms, and begging eyes...
then, through appropriate words,
a poet paints a laborious path, or
a stairway...so an enlightened reader
may climb back to safe, calm waters...

a poet makes the mind see a human heart,
beating in many rhythms...throbbing,
.......aflame with longing and desire,
bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments,
then, later on,  shift to grayish thoughts
that cut deep....tormenting...crashing,
............gnashing the heart...
a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine,
later, to dip feet in celebrative pools.

sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet,
an inner force prevails, thereby paints a
drooping soul...dying, in total surrender,
ready to fall..............but, again, with a
barrel of lively-colored words,  a poet
takes this despondent soul to berth,
with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth...
every human being is worth an effort
..............even those that have fallen
.........................are worth savin' .....

a poet's palette is uniquely
enriched with colorful experiences,
a poet paints life in its truest colors,
..........could be dark...or bright
.....nothing more......nothing less...





Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    January 29, 2017
May 28 · 760
Defiance
Sally A Bayan May 28
(10w x 5)


Through discipline
we see the results
of harshness
and moderation

in exercising,
we lift weights
defying heaviness,
body is toned

we sometimes
defy instinct,
magnify our
T R U S T,
B E L I E V E,
we'll survive!

yet, there're
gravitational pulls
on earth that cannot
be fought

what's fated
is undefiable,
we're silenced
when our time's up.

Sally


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    May 28, 2018
May 20 · 833
Maybe,
Sally A Bayan May 20
.... 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...i must always
be there...for when they need help...
i worry too about 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 offer even a bit of a remedy
especially when they are too far to be
touched warmly...or, my hands are tied,
....or, not that long to reach out...

i realize before long...i am not alone
decidedly, i refuse to be solaced
by the thought, that my worries
could just be pebbles...not rocks...
i musn't compare at all....

(excerpts from an old posted poem...edited)

Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    May 20, 2018
(excerpts from an old posted poem...edited)
May 13 · 969
Rose Garden
Sally A Bayan May 13
Nothing...had enchanted me more,
than that big yellow rose...
bright, stunning at the tip of its tall stem,
soft petals.....yet to fully unfurl,
its inner part...a soothing light shaded swirl...
i sniffed a bit of its fragrance,
and felt its softness...but,
i got pricked by a hidden thorn,
---
just a tiny puncture...yet,
my finger bled so much...
---
i walked on through the garden,
...with my pricked finger inside my mouth,
i was amazed by other flowers, more colorful ones,
but, the yellow, pink, red roses outshone them all...
with care this time, i touched a  big pink,
slowly.........and, again, i didn't see,
another thorn was in the way
---
it was more painful
it bled even more...
---
i stood thinking, while bleeding...
its beauty, its silky feel...its
fragrance that lingers in the mind
would all be difficult to resist,
the pain from the thorns...harder to forget,
but, i'd still want to walk through this vast
garden....live this life...and seek those roses
feel them...be inspired...over and over
---
never mind the spikes!
never mind the pain!
---
love is beautiful like a rose
a rose is beautiful like genuine love,
there are thorns...hindrances and
hurdles, that come with its beauty....yet,
that wonderful feeling of loving,
and being loved, in return,
the wanting, the longing for it,
never dies...the fear of bleeding,
is ignored,
---
for, what is life without love?
and what is love without pain?
---
isn't love lovelier...more hopeful
the next time around?
---
a rose could never be a rose
without its many thorns...
---

Sally

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 11, 2018
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL MOTHERS!!!
May 6 · 503
Come to me....
dear ones )/)(/\|\//open your hearts\spill out your
pain and sorrow unto this vast, moist earth, whisper
to me your secrets...i never tire, i listen....//)\ i hear
everything )(/)(/ be healed, be soothed by my cool
touch (/ be embraced by the wind that sways me \/
kneel over me, let your tears fall upon me, feed me
with your heartaches, your brokenness...bury them
'neath my roots, i'll choke them with my tight grasp.
in the open air...shout out your dragons, your night-
mares....let the wind blow your dark shadows away
let the sun melt them, deny them space  \/)/  i cover
the soil with a green  carpet.....one with the sun, the
wind, and the rain....i go wet, i go dry....i thirst, and
i swallow them all \\||....i am the grass ../)//((\



Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 13, 2017
I wrote this...as I was thinking of my granddaughters...how to keep them safe from harm...even when  I am no longer around...
Apr 28 · 460
Zen
Sally A Bayan Apr 28
Zen
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"...go to ****, purloiners!
you breached my trust...my privacy,
both, are sacred to me...
what about you?
...is anything at all sacred to you?"
:::
:::::
:::::::
It's been
three days and more,
of crossing fears...thinking,
how easily......and suddenly...
one's precious worded gems,
could be exposed to strangers' eyes...
to think that private thoughts can
no longer be private, is infuriating...
how does one deal with violated privacy?
i'm ailing...while drowning in dim streams
.....all assurances, now disputed
all negative possibilities considered
i'm paranoid...the devil is winning...

the stomach sympathizes
with a disconcerted mind
growling its discontent
creating deleterious acids...

mad, upsetting hours stay for a while
holes must be mended or patched...
what was disorganized ...must be straightened
got to start from scratch

these past evenings, i trod
through hot valleys bright with fire
burning with anger and disgust
...for, i felt betrayed,
never have i been this way before,

.....i must go back to the water.....

slowly............i wait,
'til i can look past those trees,
those walls....those worlds outside, and
from them, create a swinging hammock
tied on two coconut trees~~~then
feel a mist from a not so far clear, blue ocean
feel the breeze whisper its magic spell
to cool and melt the fires within
be at peace with everyone
with everything...

i must take hold of that space
where i'll float...and i'll forget
where i'll toy with the ripples
and be overcome
with
~~~~moments of zen~~~



Sally
...i keep on scribbling, even when i'm angry,
      'til i get to that moment of calm.
Apr 27 · 253
Meeting Fate
Sally A Bayan Apr 27
(Haiku-10w-Haiku)
              
/:/::/:\::/  _  ||||||

Clock tick-tocked...rain poured
.....my mind swayed...a pendulum
........in the wide dim sky ...
~~~

.....thunder kindly hummed low,
.........hand, tapping, tipping
....my bubbly wineglass
~~~

i stood....stomped my feet
...then, entered an open gate...
there.................i met my fate...


Sally


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 27, 2018
:::
deciding is like entering an open gate
decisions we make , shape our fate...
:::
Apr 21 · 1.6k
Unknown
Sally A Bayan Apr 21
?????????

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 · 241
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 *** 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 · 1.2k
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 · 957
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 · 667
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 *****
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 · 530
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 · 235
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 · 409
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 · 708
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 *******...all swollen

my ***!
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 · 484
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 · 1.3k
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 · 229
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 · 149
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 · 481
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 · 1.7k
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
just as fragile
as porcelain
......................................
because
we're human.


Sally


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 8, 2017
Jan 31 · 365
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 · 119
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 · 217
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 · 669
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 · 718
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
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