(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
humans.

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 well...how ever
unfathomable it may seem,
there is a good reason.

sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
December 31, 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

(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 words.....to 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.



THE HOPEFUL WAIT

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,
because.....it 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 waiting.....life
teaches us to welcome, to embrace
the uncertainty....to trust the wait.

............
.........
.....


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  November 27, 20

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 trust....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 worries...to 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

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 teach.......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

🏃‍♀️ 🚶 🚶‍♀️  🚗

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 tasks...cleaning cars,
sweeping frontyards, eyes and
ears are open...watching people.

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

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

I claim a few cut bamboo trees...fallen
on our yard...to 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

(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 love...do everything we
love doing, with the same longing
and enthusiasm...as 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,
summoned...to 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
birds...to rooster's calls...to water
flowing from the faucet...the sweet
smell of maple syrup and freshly
made pancakes, 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

Billows of fog
are quickly creeping in,
white as smoke, forming
into a wavy set of steps
suspended...quivering,
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,
.................................again.


sally b

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February

A low-flying helicopter
took minds off
a fiery mountain
about to collapse

tempers,
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 long......in 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 hot......hot words,
hot temperature...hot eyes...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

At sixty plus
       a series of scenes from a life past
       started flashing back...swaying,
       like soft organza curtains, giving
in to 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...it's tiring,
       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
         while still dabbling in beads-making,
       designs pour over me, when stringing
moonstones, sodalite, and lapis lazuli.

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 guess...at 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

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

(  
     )


In the silence of cold, quiet,
after midnight hours...wind
audibly pushes branches and
leaves...sends them swaying
and rustling....i hear the rain
falling...like 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 reverie...it 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 twilight.....it's
that feel-good part of each day...saying
gratitude for every sunrise and sunset,
while my candle's fire burns slow....
........
......
...

Sally

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  January 6, 2021

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 path:..to the manger,
where lies....the Baby Christ Jesus,
the reason for this holiday season...

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

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!!!


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
December 23, 2020



#joyfulanticipation #nativity #reasonfortheseason #lanternsandlights

(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...


Sally

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  December 1, 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.

today...it 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.



Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 15, 2020