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Jun 7 · 78
A Lone Star
~>/~ * ~<~\
In the middle of my chaos,
in moments of despondency,
a lone bright star shines,
and holds every piece of me,
always "there,"
from a distance,
but ever near
to catch me
if i fall.

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 7, 2022

#God #deadfamilyfriend #lovedone #lonestar #sallyb
May 16 · 280
At 4am...
Sally A Bayan May 16


At 4am, serenity surrenders to the rooster.

Early risers snap from their slumber,
thinking, the world is on their shoulders.

Eyes close...thoughts for the day gather,
strength is renewed...mind gets sharper
while under the lukewarm shower.


Aromatic moments stir the cold sleepy air.

there's hot coffee, frittata and fried frankfurters,
day starts with good food, whatever the weather.

Between work and breaks, we count the hours
of an unpredictable day, til 9-5 pressure is over.
coffee, gardening or wine, undo the day's fetters.

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 21 · 191
Sally A Bayan Apr 21
The sound of a train departing,
halted my world from turning.

I wondered if,
on a spur of the moment, will i be
brave enough? have the courage to
buy a ticket to an unknown destination?
leave without a suitcase? without a plan?
would i be ready for some other life?
away from my known zone?
w­ould i dare step onto the platform?
and enter the train?
a cacophony of doubts, and a small
voice, were all swallowed by the
loud noise of the train engine,
that faded into the clouds and sky,
while wet clothes waited to be hung,
while *** roast fragrantly simmered,
while the platform lingered on in my mind.

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 21, 2022

#just #a #poem #train #platform
Mar 24 · 274
Sally A Bayan Mar 24
It's a space within a space, where
all are transparent...i am myself.

On two layers of shelves on a wall,
a dictionary and a thesaurus,
share space with what seems like
an heirloom of books, old and new:
Gibran, Dylan Thomas, Dickinson,
Bronte, P. B. Shelley, Jane Eyre,
Hosseini, few Ludlum oldies, etc...

Here, a blending of the tangible and
the intangible is present, like habits
and thoughts that don't, and can't die,
stuffs that've endured the years: old
unposted poems with scribbled notes,
faded photos in sepia...faded jeans;
a bed that awaits fatigued body and
mind on toxic days, and becomes a
desk to write on...when needed.

It's not as though nothing's awry,
imperfections are seen by the eyes,
some details may not be precise
in this accepted clutter of daily goings-
on...of feelings...of some undoings
that interrupt and are mingling
with enigmas flashing up the ceiling;
lost shoe-laces wander, and go hiding
among indispensable habits and things,
kept...retained, like a hanging purse,
grabbed, when a sudden trip occurs.

It's hot and cold in this ***** place,
it's cozy, my neatly-cluttered space.

sally b

Rosalia Rosrio A. Bayan
March 24, 2022
Feb 25 · 174
Twilight Episodes
Sally A Bayan Feb 25

From the kitchen door, i watch
orange and pink layers of a
fading sun, pale and quickly vanish.
sky gets dimmer by the minute.

On this fragrant twilight,
"Queen of the Night" blossoms,
infuse the dark atmosphere
with their long lasting scent,
still appearing white,
even in the darkest of night.

Somewhere, in the garden blocks
a resident bull frog hides and croaks.

A brush of cold breeze blends
with tonight's scenes, sounds and scents,
easing...relaxing stiff, tensed muscles,
untangling this busy day's knotted tassels.

A bowl of peanuts is tempting me,
while feet are repeatedly flexing.
tiny sweats on glass touch my skin,
Pinot Grigio is cold as evening dew, if on cue,
Harry Connick easily sings,
......"It Had To Be You."

I hope for a new day without sorrow,
for another fragrant twilight, tomorrow.

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Happy weekend everyone!
Feb 15 · 357
Sally A Bayan Feb 15

Conversations are brief surprises,
sweet, like unexpected presents,
polite, yet laced with
genuine affection and
a growing fervour;
with every farewell,
strength flies with the wind, breath, departing
for, love hides...confines itself
in the ***** of the heart, it is
known, and yet, not known, but
silently exuding a sweet scent,
a subtle fragrance...more enduring
than a gentle spray of White Linen,
or, dabs of Dolce and Gabbana...its
scent lingers, the nostrils remember.
it clings deeper, dwelling on skin pores,
in every fiber of the the veins
that carry blood, to and from the heart.
it is a fragrance so reassuring,
never vanishing...more calming,
more relaxing than a glass, or two
of chilled Champagne, or sweet Moscato
it exists, even without the sun,
for, it has a light of its own,
a torch, but, with a tamed flame,
it burns subtly...even in quiet airs.



             sally b

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 14, 2022
Feb 8 · 186
Late Summers
Skin is the one that gets wrinkled,
it deals with the heat and the cold
of one's existence...not the mind,
the heart, or feelings...character
and determination mellow with the
passing years...brain is hidden,
but has always been
gets visibly gray with age.
Seasons, and life's lessons
help broaden and wizen
narrow minds...a much awaited
solitude, that silent dialogue with
the soul, gives light and sense to pays to be in touch.
Late summers have come...a face
that once youthfully beamed
with smiles...still smiles,
the grayed crown sparkles under
the sun...making it known that,
lightning still flashes in the mind,
thunder still roars through the veins.
Underneath wrinkled skin and gray,
thinning hair, there still breathes
within, a little girl or a boy...a once
young lady, or young man, now
aging men and women...more
introspective and ruminative...but,
it's still you, him, her,'s still US!
Not much changes, just numbers, gray
hair...lined skin, and plenty of wisdom.

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  February 6, 2022
Jan 18 · 1.3k
White Silence
Sally A Bayan Jan 18

         *       \
|         \      *      
       *             \             *

Fresh snowflakes continue to fall,
in case there'd be no squalls at all,

Let's make slow soundless paces,
and with our well wrapped limbs
we'll tread on vast white spaces
while humming joyful hymns.

Our eyes, we'll let them wander
through sun and serene blue skies.
our feet definitely will go yonder
on grounds soft, immaculate white,

like freezing fields of white cotton.
our shrieks and laughter won't be loud,
we'll go forward with much caution,
as a stillness gobbles up the sounds.

We calculate our steps...we reflect,
overwhelmed by a calming presence,
a break from life's noise...we accept
the peace of a reigning white silence.

sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
December 26, 2021

#peace #snow #reflection #whitesilence #sallyb
Jan 7 · 180
On new year's eve, i watched my five
granddaughters having fun on the front
lawn, bright with Christmas lights...their
sparklers, turned into fencing swords.
they took pictures and videos, laughed a lot
while they sang and danced on the grass.

Youthful innocence...being carefree,
are the most wonderful times in our
lives...exploring, discovering truths
about ourselves and people around us,
dreaming, building goals...when love
conquers our young hearts, the waters
in our world, turn crystal clear...every
scene etched in our minds.

Time brings changes...nothing remains
except our memories...but, we can
remember, we can savour our youthful space for despair...there is
beauty and inspiration found, even in
the most ordinary things and situations,
like, unknown plants suddenly growing
in the garden, bearing colorful flowers,
those shy weeds with leaves that close up
like clams when treaded upon.....and, yes,

there's the lowly grass, freshest of green
in the summer and during the rainy season,
blades are dulled by wetness...humbled
by heavy rainfall, kissing the ground, yet,
how easily they refresh our tired feet,
our world-weary eyes and minds.
my heart leaps as soon as my feet get
to feel their cold, soothing touch.

I look forward to more Christmases and
new year's eves...more fun times with
the girls on the grass...the grass, which
to me, will always be so splendid!
(Seeing my five granddaughters having fun on the garden grass
  on new year's eve, reminded me of one of my favorite poems.)

           Splendour in the Grass

"What though the radiance which was once so bright
  Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;

In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

.......(by William Wordsworth).....

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
New year's eve, December 2021
Dec 2021 · 656
Sally A Bayan Dec 2021
(Life Situations)

I stare at a hummingbird
perched on a flowered tree.
the old year is bowing out soon,
while holiday tunes are still dancing
upon late December winds...but,

this hovering hummingbird i am
watching, hungry and thirsty...
they can flap their wings, or fly
backwards...they do what they
need to do, they try their best.
but humans can do more...for
themselves...for their fellow

i should be getting ready, yet,
the mind remains distracted,
conflicted over scenarios of,
hunger, thirst and shelter for
those in typhoon-devastated
areas...those hardly affected by
the pandemic...those who have
none, especially these holidays,
they suffer the hardest...they
suffer the longest.

knowing all these,
tonight's special late dinner
will not be an enjoyable one,
yet, i am filled with gratitude
for all blessings, not only the joy,
but the pain as ever
unfathomable it may seem,
there is a good reason.

sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
December 31, 2021
Dec 2021 · 84
Sally A Bayan Dec 2021
From an uncertain time, i've since  
woken to truths each sunrise brought,
i was soothed by breathtaking sunsets,
and enthralled by full-mooned nights;

i have sung and bathed under
the falling rain...walked and waded
on streams of perilous heavy downpours,
'til i turned life's struggles into poetry.

like birds on my shoulders, seasons
have perched, flown away......and,
still, i exist,
still, i write,
still, i love,
0.9  years have slowly passed, and
still, ink flows through my pen,
still, i am dreaming.......thinking
still, of good souls i've never seen...
and though, every day,
this troubled planet
wobbles as it spins,
still......i hope.....and
still, with every breath, i cope.
(­ thoughts on a rainy after Christmas day)

sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  posted December 26, 2021
Dec 2021 · 167
The Gardener
Sally A Bayan Dec 2021
🌿🌱 🍃 👩‍🌾

In the garden, the hands and
the mind are always kept busy.
while pruning, pulling out slugs,
or just repotting, every fibre of
stress enslaving one's person,
softens and melts...none can
stop the flow of joy when we
see new twigs, new leaves,
and new flower buds.

That soothing, peaceful silence
in plants growing, enfolds the
gardener, who understands and
lets God's humble creatures
quietly live their lives.

Pine trees grow taller ,wider,
spiders spin their webs,
grasshoppers hop and feed,
dragonflies, butterflies mature
in their hidden spots...while
gentle breezes make leaves
softly sharp noises,
no shrills, no poundings heard,
just whispers  of  the gardener's
relaxed  breaths  and  sighs,
while taking in, enjoying the cold
feel of the soil, the clay pots, and
the tap water flowing.

In the upper sphere of the garden,
dreams, thoughts, and sentiments
that dwell in the mind, form a dome,
an arc, like a rainbow after the rain.
the gardener gets lost in a chasm
of thoughts...forgetting the burdens
of life..........forgetting about time.

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 25, 2021
Dec 2021 · 396
Sally A Bayan Dec 2021
(Black Tide)

My finger touches water...imagining,
tracing...the contours of a face, undulate on the
wavy mirrors of the water, reeling
on the blue luster of the rising tide,
shimmering streaks, reflecting
splotches, as sun rays are waning,
~~~~~this late afternoon.
i stay, unflinching, un-intimidated
by the lapping waves, violently
caressing the sandy shore.
The dimming sky blurs
your sketch into an enigma,
Your hair, your face are vanishing
leaving your open eyes, glimpsing
around, glinting like silver, through
the rhythmic ebbing and flowing
of the now black tide.
November sky's an undaunting view firm as dark navy blue,
a few stars in sight,
la lune is still queen of the night,
so determined in her scant glow 🌒
~~~telling me, it's time to go,
~~~to live through this night,
then, face a new sunrise 🌕
(#silly love poem)

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 17, 2017
(from my collection of silly love poems)
Nov 2021 · 368
The Hopeful Wait
Sally A Bayan Nov 2021
(This was inspired by Pradip's comments on
      an old  poem  of mine,  "Anticipation."
          It's been a year since...and i still
             go back to that poem, to read
                his recall the
                    countless waitings i
                        went through in
                              my life.)

Pradip Chattopadhyay › Anticipation
Anticipation is such a perfect word Sally for the hopeful wait.
Let's hope we come out of it more resilient more humane.


We wait for something to
take place...desperately,
we count the days, the hours,
for a wish to materialize,

a small voice whispers
encourages us to hang on,
to not think of the waiting
as a difficulty,
like, a cross to bear, is not...

the waiting time, the passing
hours, are journeys where
epiphanies unfold, and clarify
our dimmed perspectives.

while we wait, while battling
adversity and weariness,
we must make sure to fortify
our faith, our determination,
our patience, and not go the
opposite way...

some may not agree...but, there is
wisdom in what could be, where
none is certain...we see its beauty
when recalling the
teaches us to welcome, to embrace
the trust the wait.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  November 27, 20
(Thank you, Pradip!)
Nov 2021 · 70
What Do You Do?
Sally A Bayan Nov 2021
You look up to someone
with respect,
a parent, a sibling a friend,
you turn to them, when
you need to vent, or,
just to talk to someone
you know
you are safe,
you won't be lost.

there comes a day,
you do want to talk...or,
just to cry out your fears,
your have them
listen to you, even without
saying anything...their mere
presence would suffice.

but, what do you do, when
the  need for them occurs,
they're physically present,
but, "they're not around,"
their minds are elsewhere,
silently trying hard...harder,
to fight their own battles,
to conquer their own demons.

while drifting on uncertain waters,
an old adage reverberates:
"Do your best,
and God will do the rest."

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 19, 2021
Nov 2021 · 152
First Line
Sally A Bayan Nov 2021
* * * *

My eyes can't possibly roam tonight,
tonight is my night to gaze at the sky,
the sky is decked with milky areas,
milky areas that connive with the clouds.

the clouds, however, can't hide the moon,
the moon, it surely rules this starry night.

this starry night... i am left distraught,
distraught, with labored, strained eyes
strained eyes are unable to wander,
to wander? how? with a limited view?
a limited view of tonight's show of stars,
of stars and moon, with no pouring rain,
no pouring rain on this monsoon night!
this monsoon night, a poem is lethargic,
lethargic, floating on spiritless waters.
it ceases to flow beyond its first line,
its first line...refuses to expand tonight.
::::::::::::::  :::::   ::::::::::   :::::::::
tonight, poem and i will take a break.
::::::::::::::::::::  *    ::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::­:::::::       *      ::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::       *     *       :::::::::::::::
:::::::::::     *     🌕 *  *        ::::::::::::
::::::::           *    *        *         :::::::::
(That starry night from years ago, caught
  my eye through a small kitchen window.
  My view of said night was like my poem, uncooperative, stubborn,
  it refused to go beyond its first line.)

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  October 31, 2021
Oct 2021 · 1.4k
Sally A Bayan Oct 2021
It's a hushed, misty,
and moon-glowed night,
cool air
a silken touch to my skin.
my breathing
the soft cricket buzzing,
amongst the shadows,
peacefully blends
the night's lullaby.
it calms my soul.

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 14, 2021
(a few nights ago)
Oct 2021 · 1.1k
Softly Weeps
Sally A Bayan Oct 2021
Moods are in synch once again
with this monsoon season
raindrops come with threads of pain,
maybe there's a good reason
why pain...rhymes with rain.

there's pen and paper
for, when rain pours
is when my poetry flows
softly weeping its woes
like ice...that quietly thaws.

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 2020
(just a poem)
Sep 2021 · 210
Why We Write
Sally A Bayan Sep 2021
Some minds fail to fathom our reasons.
...."Why do we write poetry?"

because...there's an energy,
a force, a small voice within,
consistently  prodding us
to share our thoughts, feelings,
our reactions to life's situations
and circumstances.

it matters not,
when senseless thoughts
are first to flood one's mind,
at the right time, the right
words and phrases, shall fall
into their proper places;
inspiration flashes like lightning
clear like thunder roaring
but, soundless, like first drops of snow
falling...we write on, until...we grow,

'til we learn how to turn an arid meadow
into a field, amber with ripeness...aglow,
ready to harvest...ere heavy rains flow.

we compare life with the changing tides  
of the sea...we re-live hell, with soaring fires,
lead our readers to imagine, as we vividly describe,
a life of half hell...and half paradise,
to touch others' lives.

our words could redeem
a soul or two...emancipate them,
raise their confidence...embolden them
we can help them learn about freedom.

a life of fire and water, blending,
is where colorful poetry begins.

we write, for love,
we write...out of love.

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 31, 2021
Sep 2021 · 150
Sally A Bayan Sep 2021
🏃‍♀️ 🚶 🚶‍♀️  🚗

The lawyer neighbor daily inches
his car past its designated spot,
eating most of my front area,
my own parking space.

In my circling anger, i forget,
i come out to pick up the newspaper
without a face shield, not even a mask.

The other neighbors go on with
their daily cars,
sweeping frontyards, eyes and
ears are open...watching people.

None neighbors pass...walk, jog,
one after another, followed by cars,
all headed some a trail
of crawling insects when rocks are
in finding new hidden corners.

Upon some neighbors' treetops,
yellow warblers lament the ruining of
their the hacking of bamboo
trees continue, to clear the vacant lot.

I claim a few cut bamboo trees...fallen
on our prop growing vines.

The rolled newspaper defends me from
flies, bees, or mosquitoes, but none dare
touch me.....just a light shower and
a cool, caressing monsoon wind.

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 21, 2021
Sep 2021 · 261
Sally A Bayan Sep 2021
(A gloomy, rainy Sunday...4:50 pm)

Sundown comes, and takes with
it, the spirit, the lilt of the day.
it wearies, and wanes...restless
minds succumb to acquiescence
and introspection at day's end,

the dark calms the world...

we thank God, for saving us one
more long day...from misfortunes,  
diseases, from the evils of humanity.

on lengthened gloomy days,
ashen hues of displeasure
ebb and flow, born from hushed
questions...dying unanswered,
it's hard at times, to keep on loving
all that we everything we
love doing, with the same longing
and before.

to be, or not to be,
to do, or not to do,
to love, or not to love---
how do you practice continuance,
while reeling upon the murky
mid streams in life?

what if, we are suddenly, back off from
existence, take a final break?

do we carry resentment
wherever we may end up?
whatever second life awaits us?

our weary souls take rest, these
wonderings fade, as we close our
eyes at night...rising to a hopeful
sunrise, to wondrous chirpings of rooster's water
flowing from the faucet...the sweet
smell of maple syrup, the sound of
pancakes frying, and sniffs of coffee
brewing...songs and scents of a new
morning, then, sun peeps through
slits and spaces, melting last night's
dark perspectives...a continuance
occurs...another day to tackle.

::        ::

   sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   August 25, 2021
#morning #continuance #sallyb
Sep 2021 · 1.1k
Coffee...In My Universe
Sally A Bayan Sep 2021
Awake still...sipping coffee this
unholy hour...i wonder how buried
moments can easily gatecrash into
my sober flow of thoughts, flipping
like pages of a book, blown by a
strong wind...i could smell dried rose
petals pressed between the pages.

i could also smell mottled pages
holding mottled memories...they
should have crumbled, be forgot,
but, bravely, they flash back, clear
as the rustling of bamboo leaves
right outside my window.....ahh,
the devil never sleeps...he creates
a stir at the unholiest of hours,
drops it like a bomb, disturbing
my calm universe;

suddenly, it's 4:00 am
i blink a few times to dismiss what
should be forgot.....then, suddenly,
it's 5:00 am.....more coffee.

the eyes watching bubbles from
curling, crisping bacon, strayed,
far from the skillet, but, focused
back, before the pieces got burned.

6:00 am now...breakfast time
for online class attendees.

in my universe, mornings are a
mix of sniffs...of coffee, fried eggs,
fried bacon, sausages, fragrant
gardenia blooms...not to forget
whiffs of good and bad memories.
Good morning everyone!

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 13, 2021
Aug 2021 · 406
Sally A Bayan Aug 2021
On a late afternoon stroll,
the blue sky slowly dims,
as billowing clouds of gray
and white, move farther and
farther wavelets
on a stream.....always going
forward, never flowing back.

among a stream of faces, i wish
to be a shy spark, barely bright
like those tiny bearers of light
on starry or moon-glowed nights.

ah, to be like a child, with eyes
aglow, beaming with a smile,
when these dots of light
emerge on dark hours,
high and low...i forget life's
nagging murmurs of unfairness.

i err, as i am human, but when
i see the clouds, i see God's face.
He sees me without fail, as i rise
from the grass...or from a fall.

i join those low-keyed glowers at night,
with them, i'm just, a bigger firefly,
seeking truth in their short-lived light.

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 15, 2021
Aug 2021 · 244
Sally A Bayan Aug 2021
/|\ /|\
/|\ /|\ /|\
/|\ /|\ /|\ /|\ /|\
Whether  composed,
ailing...or up and about,
i'm always roaming
in this untouched forest,
where trees are tall with
blooming with lovely
words and phrases...and,
i always find you there.

i see you peeking, at the start
or, in the middle,
at the end...even between
the lines of a poem.

you're bound to mind
by indestructible ropes
made from vines and roots
of a durable seem
to be, unthinkably permanent,
not  even Chopin's etudes,
or Schubert's serenade
could unbind you.

you emerge from buckets i fill
with water, or from the ***
where i make meat
rise amongst tangled leaves of
the asparagus fern, or the crisp
and fragrant oregano plants.

there, you dwell pensively
within my forest of thoughts
you are the poem,
the longest, i ever wrote.
sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 22, 2021
Aug 2021 · 266
Sally A Bayan Aug 2021
(Be Relevant)

By a beading table, is where i sit,
a few steps across a desktop corner,
a sky-lighted, cozy space, a vantage
point where i see and hear clearly, as
i'm easily heard and seen...close to
the kitchen, where home scenes and
sounds...and scents of home-made
food, inspire and influence creativity.

here is where i mend torn garments,
repair anything that must be mended.
here, i'm found when my presence,
my sentiments and advice are sought,
when they ask what's for dinner, or,
just wanna hug...reasons for one's
existence, speak loud, just as my
thoughts...speak loud, too.

"is this why i'm here in this world?
why i was created here, and not in
other livable spaces in the universe?"

purposes and roles come to mind,
when hope is nowhere, and thoughts  
of an ungrateful world, an ungrateful
surrounding, drag on...

while the rest are still hushed by
the twilight of dawn, my eyes are
half-closed, but the mind is already
up and about...deaf and blind to
disappointments and frustrations,
oblivious to estrangements,
because, always a priority.

no arguments, just a
live through this purpose-driven life,

to be relevant,

to be involved, to be a part of the long as time allows.  


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    August 15, 2021
Happy Sunday everyone!
I miss you all.
May happy thoughts prevail on this rainy August morning <3
Jul 2021 · 372
July Reflections
Sally A Bayan Jul 2021
'/( '|/\'
) '/( / '\'

A gloomy feeling accompanies the rain.
harvest season sometimes reaps none,
the sun is weary, it rushes to descend
humid air wanes as darkness spreads.

sparrows and yellow warblers retreat
how do they stay dry in their nests?
newly-woken bats emerge at sunset
amidst the rain...they try their best.

in the waning light, trees start to play,
their shadows graciously sway,
they dance by the firewall
telling their stories by nightfall.

through a worsening weather
sounds, loud and clear,
the roaring thunder
July's long sunset showers
pour, to cool the dimming atmosphere.

then, darkness claims all the glow.

thunder, lightning, the heavy downpour,
and the warm shelter of our home
are like heaven and hell,
situated side by side.

monsoon season has come without delay
the mischievous puppies dare play
under July's cold pouring rain,
their eyes invite me...but in vain.

sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   July 4, 2021
Jul 2021 · 246
Foggy Steps
Sally A Bayan Jul 2021
Billows of fog
are quickly creeping in,
white as smoke, forming
into a wavy set of steps
and now beckons to me,

a soft voice calls my name
tells me not to be afraid...that it's
okay to climb the foggy stairs,
"i'll be there to meet you at the top,"
the voice assured me...

i must see the owner of the soft voice,
i feel i know him...he knows me well!
my right foot hesitates...but rises,
to take a step...

suddenly, a blow on my right arm
makes me open my eyes 👀 👀

my sister, sound asleep,
turns to my side, and
accidentally hits my arm
just in time,
i was dreaming of my late father,

sally b

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
(My late father often visited me in my dreams when I was small, until
I became a teenager.)
Jul 2021 · 171
Sally A Bayan Jul 2021
A low-flying helicopter
took minds off
a fiery mountain
about to collapse

were restless volcanoes,
on a simple issue, dared explode
precious serenity crumbled.

brushes of April winds, fanned
dying embers of bonfire-d days,
revived, and turned them into waves
of red and orange.

hours passed so slow,
silent fires, brightly glowed
all day the mind,
chaos was resurrected.

it was evening in the living room
windows were widely opened,
yet, the whole house was an oven,
everything was words,
hot heads
the heat conquered...dwelt in the heads.

soul, became a still life next to the wall
heart rebelled.....vowed never to fall.

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   July 5, 2021
Jun 2021 · 153
Etcetera, Etcetera...
Sally A Bayan Jun 2021
At sixty plus
       a series of scenes from a life past
       started flashing back...i was swaying,
       like soft organza curtains, giving
in to the forces of the wind blowing,

recalling...things that used to be,
       places, faces i no longer see,
       people i haven't met and long to meet,
       words i meant to say....but didn't,
       things i failed to do, but still meaning
       to, given fresh starts...i got so weary
       from counting "should haves," so i'm saying,
etcetera, etcetera.....the list is unending.

at past seventy,
       sunrises are lovely as ever...and bolder,
       sunset moments are quieter...and holier,
       old days seem nearer,
       with poetry-writing, the call is stronger
       and i dabble still in beads-making,
       designs pour over me, when stringing
lapis lazuli, sodalite, pyrite and moonstones,

i am in a different zone.
       when mixing poetry and natural stones
       to me, a word is a crystal, a gemstone
it's merely a word to some...a stone unknown.

i late seventies,
       i'll still be in white shirts and blue jeans,
       creating unique, interesting themes for poetry,
       say, a big bus with travelers, seated hesitatingly,
       or, finding a bright tunnel's end, serendipitously,
       or, unrepenting souls sinking deeper, regretfully,
more silly love poems?  i'd indulge willingly

my frame may turn fragile...i pray, not my poetry,
       not my judgment, nor my decision-making,
not my courage, especially, when i'm past eighty.

sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 18, 2021
May 2021 · 85
This Mad, Mad World
Sally A Bayan May 2021
Here in our imperfect world
our lives are influenced by the wind
and the rain, the sun and the moon,
the stars, and thunderous skies.

we live...we love, we get to taste
bitter and sweet, brought upon us
by people dear to us...we opt to
endure a bittersweet life...and love.

inside a room...various thoughts
of a person, or two...occupy and
float in its limited atmosphere,
there're no words...just lumps in
the a deafening silence
enfolds the room.

that life and love are never fair,
is widely accepted...that both are
painfully beautiful, is a known reality,

"tis better to have loved and lost,
than never to have loved at all," these
are old words...that still reverberate.
to be hurt, to be sad, are much better,
than losing a loved part with
one's beloved is "such sweet sorrow,"
yet, we live through the pain.
what could be more exciting than
a sweet reuniting?

we choose to live, and to love.
and so to heartbreaks...we succumb.
for, amidst the madness,
we find beauty....we find wisdom.

despite its ugly sides and borderlines
we can't just let go of this mad, mad
world...without losing our only world.
no matter how imperfect it is,  
or how injured it has become,
it's still worth saving...worth praising.
(Friday morning reflections)

sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   May 21, 2021
(Our world is a huge field planted with conjoined contradictions.)
May 2021 · 591
Sally A Bayan May 2021


Her heartbeats are imperturbable,
ready to face any day
blue skies, or gray,
with, or,
without uncertainties.
no words said, just thoughts progress
in the silence of after midnight hours,
her eyes and mind go far, beyond the
dark horizon, she's a bird flying early
morning...soars over shadowed trees
and mountains...well before light,
she perches on the window sills of
her real world.

in the kitchen, she fries sausages and
potatoes...her mind travels with the
rising steam of coffee brewing,
tiptoe-ing on sad waters,
then basks in unforgettable moments past,
as voices from far away lands,
and even those
who are long gone
still echo
and dwell within her.

she faces life's adversities with true grit,
is toughened by pain, by loss...and by
grief, that sometimes...refuses to die.

her happiness springs from shallow waters.
she regrets not, about her goals foregone,
content, that, once in her life, she had her
dreams...and wished upon many stars.

eyes and heart often wander upon hills
and valleys, she fondly calls "home,"
sun-wrapped at day, shadowed at night,
it is where her soul.....freely roams.

she is wife, mother, grandmother, sister,
a friend, a caregiver, a voice...a pursuer of
truths...all she needs to be...for the sake
of her loved ones.....she is WOMAN.


sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   May 8, 2021
Apr 2021 · 54
Shadowed Man
Sally A Bayan Apr 2021
:::::::::::::: 🎼 🎷🎷🎷🎼 :::::::::::::

Late hours of a Saturday night,
the shadowed man
toyed with his sax, and played
a beautiful excerpt from,
soon, it skillfully...beautifully
segued to its main piece,
"It Was Almost Like A Song."

the space was scarcely lighted,
there were whispers, yet, all listened.
eyes were glued to the darkened face
of the shadowed man.
they hummed,
as they held their glasses of wine.
some softly sang the lyrics.

the pieces he played each night,
were journeys,
he took his audience
cruising along a boulevard,
drenched with the blues.
that unfathomable sadness
in his eyes spoke
of a brokenness,
louder...than words.

there in the dark, as he played his sad
songs, a face always accompanied him,
a face he longed to see,
somewhere in a cold place,
who had so much love
and warmth in her heart.

while he finds comfort in the shadows,
he often asks himself,
"until when will i be playing this song ?
until when, will i be,
in the shadows?"
:::::::::::­::: 🎼 🎷🎷🎷🎼 :::::::::::::

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 28, 2021
#sax #silhouettes #almostlikeasong #shadowedman
Apr 2021 · 231
Tea and Coffee
Sally A Bayan Apr 2021

I wonder still, if you'd enjoy milked tea,
well, i'd let you....while i sip my coffee
let's gaze eye to eye and let things be.

spaces and times are not always comfy.
let's maximize, talk as we walk leisurely,
in spacious perimeters of the mind...saying
"us," and "we," first times, unconsciously,
a sight to behold, we surely could be
let's allow our feelings to unfold, shall we?

maybe, as we dine,
maybe, over wine.

by a shady banyan tree, we could stroll,
or bury our feet in the cool sandy shore
eyes and hearts are nourished lavishly
our souls, enriched generously,
as we devour the sky's infinity

we go back, refill our cups...would yours be tea
again? mine, this time, would be rummed coffee.

I soar, when our thoughts travel synchronously
sometimes, though, we're like a broken poetry

some parts of life simply cannot be changed
and i, definitely, refuse to break a chain.

and i start asking questions unceasingly,
which later, turn to crumpled poetry...
::::::::(another silly love poem)

sally b

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 20, 2021
Apr 2021 · 140
Sally A Bayan Apr 2021

Lighted candles were placed
on top of empty church pews.
in the absence of churchgoers,
tiny flames flickered on,
to mourn for the dead,
to bring hope back to life,
and to lift to God all pleas,
floating in the atmosphere.

⚡️⚡️⚡️ ⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

some flames burned still, some were
fervent...a mix of exasperation and
anger were silenced, as God's mercy
and intervention were sought,
⚡️⚡️⚡️ ⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️
to shut down infection,
to accelerate vaccination
to stop the race between
the two.....but, we cannot,
it's a sad reality, we don't
have what it takes...we don't
have that kind of power.
⚡️⚡️⚡️ ⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️
there're those who sincerely care,
and some....really don't care.

⚡️⚡️⚡️ ⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

Today, Sunday, in most churches,
the pews will be empty....again.
⚡️⚡️⚡️ ⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    April 11, 2021
Mar 2021 · 132
Sally A Bayan Mar 2021

When days are painted with melancholy,
i go back to those late stargazing nights
when our humble bed burst with
toothpaste and ***-scented whispers,
our eyes, focused if we could
see the big and small dipper through our
bedroom if we could see
stars falling...and the ceiling was our sky
some nights, we talked about
growing old...afternoon strolls,
and "six feet under" issues, but
never...never the death of love
(who knew that it could die?)
we were two souls fired by goals,
we were two torches defying winds,
even when fate's gusty winds,
blew against our sails...even when
rain doused the fire in our sky
we were both from
alcohol...i, from hushed brokenness.
many summers and monsoon seasons
sobered us up...until one day came
subtle fires of new dawns
we stared long at each other
with a shared reluctance,
thinking of
times to come,
with and without each other
the sunset sky is now layered with
bronze and orange fires, just like
my own embers, still fighting, still red
with flames that dance with a breeze.

sally b

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 2, 2020
Feb 2021 · 117
French Windows
Sally A Bayan Feb 2021
(one Tuesday morning)

Small circles of steam rise
from seething ground shiny beans
soaring just within
touching the glass surfaces
of the french windows,

celebrating mid morning blessings
sun is bright yellow, kindly shining,
simultaneously, it showers
hydrangeas, purplish wood sorrels
snake plants, lilies...and my soul.

there's laughing and hurrying to gather
near-dry clothes from the clothesline,
the rush adds fun to the day's delight,
forgetting for a while life's sad plights.

sun and rain, together,
influence my day, my life, my future
there's a small voice i always endure
i listen, though, with some pressure
to possible changes in my future

i ponder, but my eyes are captured
they stray further, as two yellow birds
perch and search for food
upon the sturdy pine tree.

eyes blink on, trying to recapture
earlier thoughts...i see, there are

no more circles of steam
to reflect on....they
have now vanished,
found their way
of the

sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 24, 2021
Feb 2021 · 167
Sally A Bayan Feb 2021
(10w x 4)

<3  <3  <3

Why do lovers
find coherence
in whispered
silly sweet nothings,

even just
the warm breath
of the one
who whispers,

every "ha?" and "hmm?
means the universe
to both...

there is more than
when gazes meet
and lock...
(who needs words?)

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  February 14, 2021
Happy Valentine's Day to all, esp. the lovebirds!
Feb 2021 · 69
Sally A Bayan Feb 2021

Odds, or two in ten,
the easy feel of a Sunday morning
can be ruined...a wrong move, or,
a wrong word, hits a raw nerve, and
wakens dormant embers of anger.

It makes one sweat even in January,
when it's usually cold and breezy.

Cooler minds patiently try to
neutralize tension-filled moments,
they soften rigid tempers, painting
light blue over's like defusing
a bomb that would explode soon,
it's like treading, tiptoeing on thin ice,
it's a sink-or-swim thing...

Blowing off hot steam takes's
hard to keep warm spaces in between,
when frozen, stinging air from the
past...lingers still

How exhausting! but it can be most rewarding,
when cold winds take over, to heal angered,
hardened hearts...when the warmth of
peace steadily creeps, and conquers all.
"Pass the pastis, please," i spoke
to myself, as i raised both legs on my bed,
so relieved, a storm had passed.
it was good to be in my room,

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 8, 2021
Jan 2021 · 801
[[[Caged Shadows]]]
Sally A Bayan Jan 2021
The house was simple...and small,
yet, sturdy were its base and walls,
it became the family's safest place...
its protective walls, were hushed
witnesses to the family's moments,
invisibly etched on their cold surfaces,
their silence was most comforting.

and then, came the waters...

the heart broke, wet with crystal tears,
people came....and people went
monsoon floods inundated the house,
a kind of centrifugal force drove peace
and happy winds astray...far, far away,
precious souvenirs became trash...

rain or shine made no difference,
nights became longer...i realized some
truths that played on and on in my mind:

"there's a time to be born, and a time to die,
a time to linger.....and a time to move on.

suddenly...changes happened...

after family, pets and all stuff were moved,
the old house seemed a wide gawking space...
on its glum doorway, echoed, a sad refrain:
..."Sally doesn't live here anyyyy...more."...

i turned the lights off, closed the windows
and locked the doors.....outside the gate,
a thought clawed on my chest:
it felt, i had caged inside
shadows...of a past life...

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 25, 2019
(twenty-two years ago)
Jan 2021 · 376
Fire Burns Slow...
Sally A Bayan Jan 2021

In the silence of cold, quiet,
after midnight hours...wind
audibly pushes branches and
leaves...sends them swaying
and rustling....i hear the rain small nails hitting
the neighbor's acrylic eave.

the peace of these unholy hours
empowers me...i feel, i rule the world,
my senses and my mind are sharpest..
while others are asleep and dreaming.

everyone's eyes are closed...mine, too,
yet, i am so awake, i see this cauldron,
where my life's goings-on are stirred by
an unknown force, spinning clockwise,
simmering, nothing burns, or breaks,
for, underneath, its fire burns slow...

good and bad issues mix and join
the stew of old stubborn ones;
daily rigors, wee triumphs blend in,
like a goulash of meat and veggies,
slowly cooking, as fire burns slow,
giving time...............taking time
the strong aroma of arabica jolts me
from my matters not if i
haven't slept......6 am, i'm back to
reality.....lots of work await me
five-pm past, arabica again stands by
me as i watch the orange fires of sunset,
hear the crickets sing, or a frog's croak,
while my rocking thoughts are cradled,
while i enjoy some peace and quiet,
exuded by a fragrant's
that feel-good part of each day...saying
gratitude for every sunrise and sunset,
while my candle's fire burns slow....


©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  January 6, 2021
*fragrant twilight* - I have a tree and a plant that
  bear flowers, boldly fragrant during the night...
Dec 2020 · 147
Lanterns and Lights
Sally A Bayan Dec 2020
Rows of multi-colored lanterns
and lights brighten the streets,
while frosted and glittered *****,
silver bells, stars and trimmings
on Christmas trees, paint our
gloomy perspectives with hopeful
greens, reds, blues, and golds...

life is never fair in the midst of all
these crises, we may have been
disheartened...yet, here we are,
trying to survive, finding wisdom
in sufferings...we manage to start
over, and prepare for the coming
celebration...even silent corners
in our houses and gardens, now
speak of festive thoughts...despite
difficulties, we find time to rejoice.

we prop ourselves physically, and
spiritually...eyes, heart and soul
are filled with joyful anticipation,
traditions bring cheer here and there.

a wooden diorama of the Nativity
reminds me that, all these lanterns
and lights...all these preparations,
lead us to but one the manger,
where lies....the Baby Christ Jesus,
the reason for this holiday season...




© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
December 23, 2020

#joyfulanticipation #nativity #reasonfortheseason #lanternsandlights
(My love and warmest hugs to everyone...if only I could see you all.)
Dec 2020 · 547
Sally A Bayan Dec 2020

Eyes get weary and blurry
turning dry, sometimes teary.

fleeting specks would appear
on the ipad or desktop,
finger tip wipes them off
the screen, but, just cannot
they slide...glide...and hide,
daring spectacle-free eyes.

it's fun to indulge sometimes
when they go up, down...left to
right...but, when it's time to stop
when you feel you've had enough,
how fast they vanish,
soon as knuckles rub the eyes.


Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
December 20, 2020
(we tend to be very observant, before and after procedures.)
Dec 2020 · 515
Sally A Bayan Dec 2020
(A series of couplets, from 2014...edited)

Though I AM fast like an arrow,
i hear, even your silent bellows,

for, I AM the COLORED ARC above your cloud
when heavy rains are no longer around.

I AM THE LIGHT...i melt and clear the gloom,
when gray days seem to be spreading doom.

I AM your  ARMOUR, your SHIELD,
when you're without strength, and stilled,

when you feel weak...when moments are bleak,
i prop you up...and when you're unable to speak,

I AM your VOICE, your WORDS, your ECHO
your guide flying by...I AM your SPARROW.

I AM the reason you are calm and mellow
I AM with you, in waters deep and shallow

I AM both your RAINBOW
.......and your SHADOW

I   AM    A L L
That can make you WHOLE.  

I am with you, here, there, everywhere
all times...and that means, FOREVER.


©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   (from June 13, 2014)
December 9, 2020
(an old poem, posted June 2014...edited)
Dec 2020 · 222
Sally A Bayan Dec 2020
(Reflections after Thanksgiving)

All the things that happened
in the past, and the ones that
are about to happen,
all flowed out/all will flow
out of life's huge cornucopia:
good and bad harvests in food,
health, career, even relationships;
could be bitter, too little, too much
of sour, salt, spices, and of sugar

We make choices from what flows  
out...some are promising, others turn
disastrous...some are happy with
just enough...there are those who
opt for a spill over their rims, and
get inebriated......or overdosed.

We've lived through poverty, wealth,
trials and tribulations, triumphs,
failures, birth and death, as well.

They say, a blending of spices, of
bad and good...of black and white,
of positive and negative energy,
brings out a certain balance...
angels, demons in human clothes
trying to claim each other...trying
to claim the populace....diseases
plague us...distorted minds distort
the true essence of democracy,

we end up conquered...or conqueror;
we may mellow down, or get worse.

Such a diverse horn of plenty!

Yet, we got free will and discernment,
so we may not be duped by lies
wrapped in bright white satin,
it's really up to us.

Also, it won't hurt to be grateful
more often...not only in November...


©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  December 1, 2020
Nov 2020 · 373
Sally A Bayan Nov 2020
)/. ||..\/..||../(/

Lilies and selloum,
anthuriums, snake plants
and wood sorrels,
pink bougainvilleas and crotons
greet me every morning,
they keep green poetry alive and
in motion, as sighs of joy awaken
and nourish the brightly verdant.

i walk the few steps to the small
front garden...every breath taken
reminds me of
precious oxygen they give,
we breath out carbon dioxide,
they gladly accept...

i keep wondering,
"where, when, and how
did these mutualistic symbiotic
relationships come about?"
we would not...cannot survive
without them.

someone's, or something's refuse,
could be another's lifeline, or treasure,
no one...nothing...stays an island...


Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 23, 2020
Nov 2020 · 905
We Humans
Sally A Bayan Nov 2020
Much  have been ruined, but, people know
what once existed in spaces where now stand
modern structures...mountains are crumbling,
not much trees left...soil, rocks are eroding,
the calming sound of gushing water is missed

since the beginning of life,
it has been our provider, our source
of food, shelter and protection. is the one that needs
protection from us, humans.....we
have turned inimical...deliberately,
ignoring its cries for help, because
of self-serving interests...we've exploited,
we've abused mother nature, and those
creatures living in its midst.

we humans are part of nature,
we dwell...we rely on it,
we survive in its realm.....yet,
we continuously violate this
human-nature relationship.

even before the laws,
an implied agreement,
a known understanding
existed...weren't we, humans,
taught not to hurt, or abuse
any thing?.....or any one?
weren't we taught to respect
all kinds of life on earth?

it's a pain in the heart, to watch
hurricanes wreaking havoc on lives
and sources of livelihood, anywhere
in the world...especially when they
happen....right before your eyes.


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 15, 2020
Nov 2020 · 854
Land in Sepia
Sally A Bayan Nov 2020
Overfilled dams released
khaki-brown rainwaters, while
slate gray stormy winds brought
down houses and lamp posts,
helpless trees were uprooted,
branches, sliced off their trunks
greens became hues of dark olive-brown.
red roofs floated, fire came in their midst

rain wasn't crystal clear as it used to be
death's color became faded elephant gray
lives were snatched as hands held tight,
emotions died in those brown flood waters

2020 painted my country's canvas
with the gloomiest shades of sepia

my people rise from inundation,
gray lava and tremors,
while they breathe,
they live on,
as before.


Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 6, 2020
(January 2020 started with Covid 19, Taal Volcano eruption, earthquakes, a series of typhoons, etc. etc.)
Oct 2020 · 175
Peanuts, Popcorn and M&Ms.
Sally A Bayan Oct 2020

At different times and places,
all kinds of fear enfold me.
...when they wear me out,
i claim the amazing night sky
with my dilated eyes,
i imagine gobbling a few
stars, like the way i munch
popcorn, peanuts and M&Ms
when i'm scared or worried...
sounds silly, but it's just me, taking
things lightly...enjoying
peanuts, popcorn, or M&Ms,
relaxing, while trying to be safe,
not beaten....or eaten,
by life's threatening adventures
with covid 19 and hurricanes, or,
i could be swooped and snatched
by agents Scully's and Mulder's
uncaptured aliens, who may be
lurking behind me, when i'm
deep in my fears, and
i've run out of
peanuts, popcorn and M&Ms.
:::::::::who knows?::::::::::

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 31, 2020
(an afternoon spent thinking of
apple pie, while anticipating the
landfall of a super typhoon.)
Oct 2020 · 641
The Sky And Me
Sally A Bayan Oct 2020
Any time of day,
the breathtaking colors
of the sky make me sigh,
however ecstatic, or unpleasant
life may be...whatever goes on down
here, she is up there...ever-present,
like a parent...i may be infinitesimal,
yet, i'm never lost in her
immeasurable span of attention.

the sky is a part of me,
and i, of her,
her colors affect my daily decisions,
gray with rains tell me to change plans,
on sunny days, chores are smooth-sailing.
at night, its dome of dark blue, graced
by the moon and stars in many shapes,
makes me recall some immortal tales.

i squint, looking at her vast spaces
as if i'm roaming upon a sunny meadow,
as i go back to my days of triumphs,
my failures...especially
my best moments.

i was born under this glorious firmament,  
she saw my first steps,
and all the firsts in my life,
she'll be watching, until her clouds
start bringing rain upon
my withered ground.


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 2019
(Posted October 26, 2020)
Oct 2020 · 545
Butterflies and Grasshopper
Sally A Bayan Oct 2020
^ ^ ^

I meant to write about two
black and white butterflies,
resting upon the thick leaves
of my Norfolk island pine tree,
i planned to write about
a grasshopper, camouflaged by
the green grass on the front yard,
i almost crashed its body, if it hadn't
leapt before i stepped on it...
i was thinking of turning on the
christmas lights this monsoon season,
for an early holiday start.

i focus on happy scenes,
on good times past...because,
i miss those times, and
i long for them to come back...

there are some things i couldn't fix,
which i think, gave birth to this
pain inside my tummy.
to not know what happens next,
scares me so.

and so, i keep write of
butterflies and grasshoppers,
i might just hang a lantern,


Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 12, 2020
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