<3

A kind of freedom enfolds me...here,
in this meadow, where summer colors
have deserted the horizon and the sky

a lone kite flyer has gone home
and i am left here, all alone
chasing butterflies in the dark
while i ponder long...on people,
their situations....their ideas,
their outbursts, that trigger uncertainty
their words that wound and hurt, like a plague

i sit and feel this vast openness,
nearing twilight...holding a flashlight
breeze and sound dance under a clearing moon
all i could think of, is i am small, but i want to
stand tall, in the middle of this huge open space
my voice is just a whisper in the atmosphere,
i want to stretch and reach out, but my arms are short...

all i can do, is write...i want to write with sincerity,
........use truthful, encouraging words
.......appropriate...not outlandish
...........simple......not highfalutin
...............never desultory
............or derogatory

all i want is share my  thoughts that could  mollify
i'd be elated if they please readers, and satisfy
i wouldn't want my words to confuse, or crucify

all i want to say
...and spread all over this troubled world...is:

"te amo"

"je t'aime"

"ti amo"

"Ich liebe dich"

"I love you"

"Wo ai ni"

"Watashi wa, anata o
aishiteimasu"

"Mahal kita"

::::::
during uncertain times,
nothing more than sweet words,
that warmth from love...can soothe weary ears
comfort, and mend broken hearts and minds...

<3

Sally


Copyright July 16, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

By the shore...

.....i dropped wearily, on the sand...

"O, silent dragon, as you lurk, my cold sweat
....merges with a rush of angry waves
lapping ******* me...i'm a boat, that keeled,
i'm already scared as dead,
of something that can't ever yield."

i bit my lower lip, prickly with salty water
stinging my eyes...i'm all wet, with salty water
restlessly...alternately, legs are spreading,
toes touching tight......then crisscrossing
shifting positions...left, right, forward,  
then backward
thoughtfully lowering hand, feeling ****,

..."my poor weary ones, i'm sorry,
......for too long...i tarry
so much weight you carry."

sand was warmer where i sat,
above, a spinning atmosphere
i stood up...reeling....fell on my back
made a loud splash on that
afternoon's sea water...i was squinting,
my face, i was repeatedly wetting,
to douse panic that was clawing
on the heart....though the cold was soothing,
i knew...a red-eyed green monster was lying
beneath........keeping vigil.........waiting
patiently for me.......to relax my defenses,
then fall........and let go of my reflexes,
its fiery eyes, anticipating its success.

"o, am i but a coward? I sway, my feet sashay
i am very sane....and definitely, not lame
i know......myself,  i can never betray.
you and i, we've been watching each other,
for years........would this go on forever?"
::::::
"great fear, my old friend, why do you accompany me?
you pulsate in every corner within me
i'm too visible
too vulnerable.
i am farthest from the lips of the shore,
yet, i feel you, a monster, watching me from afar..."


intense fear...births a rebel
weariness takes over.....it opposes, it swells
takes a turn, throwing caution to the wind.
lumps of wet sand drop from gripped hands,
later, they'll be dry and loose again,
free.....and reunited with the rest.

"each time i struggle, i miraculously survive,
...like you, my green dragon, you persist...stay alive,
...ebbing, flowing with the waves.....in my mind,
............where, you comfortably hide......"

Sally

Copyright June 15, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

:::::::::::.................:::::::::::

Here, in this sacred space...
   :::::::::.............:::::::::
...where curtains and breeze
.....dance and tease,

...no words are uttered, i hear nothing
.........except my breathing
eyes roam, legs are crossed, as if to rule,
determined....as a stubborn mule

here in this sacred space, i have a regular
dialogue with my Creator....my Saviour,
     ::::::::::::::::..........................::::::::::::::::::
thro­ugh His mysterious ways, He speaks to me
i am drawn to a quietude that flows from Him.
...........this noiseless space talks to me...
it's not the words...something else takes over
.....and enfolds me........especially,  when
fragmented moments start to stir my heart,
...i lose them all....when i hold my breath
when my mouth has ceased, my words on  a halt,
...........i am suspended.....far from the noise
.....................of the outside world...
:::::::::::::::
here in this sacred space, i am with my loved one,
         ::::::::::::::::..........................:::::::::::::::::::
tho­ugh distant............the world is...ours,
we're in deep conversation that could last a day
we are ourselves, naked..wearing no false pretenses
...we are timeless...we are one...the two of us...
::::::::::::
here, in this sacred space...rich with
......an imperturbable stillness
..........my mind is overwhelmed
...by a silence.....so eloquent.......
   ::::::::::::...................::::::::::::


Sally


Copyright June 25, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

This new morning reveals secrets,
the past nights' sudden bursts of rain
and wind, left the grassy areas of the
lawn...the bare soil...all soft and wet.
dark green moss and orange lichen, are
now peeping out from narrow apertures
on the concrete ground, from wet and
cracked fences....and on furrowed
barks of trees.

fine soggy soil is new home
to sprouting weeds
and on the base of trees, the
domed mushrooms grow sporadically,
moist to the touch....feathery, porous,
...all these growths, openly declare
we are drawn to the energy of the circle,
after night comes day...rain exits, giving
way to a rainbow and blue skies
...and smiles

there's hope, there's life,
in the least lighted parts
a breath is ever nigh  
the dark is not an ending
but a portal to a new beginning
even in jagged cracks,
in the dimmest, tiniest spaces
like holes and crevices,
life finds a way...to breathe,
its existence.



Sally


Copyright June 23, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Long before
orange-purple-pink-bluish shades vanish,
......before light evens out upon us,
before billows of clouds scatter and
fill the magnificent powder blue skies,
...fields...and other workplaces, are
already humming with activities.
:::::::
air drowns with a stream of sounds,
human, and otherwise.......voices,
...teaspoons against cups, mixing
a dark waking brew...rushing footfalls,
instructions given..revving up tractor motors,
chairs, tables moving...computers starting,
:::::::
comes  coffee breaks...and day's end
then...we go home to whoever, whatever
meets us at our doorstep...whether
our life is a bed of roses, or a bed of thorns
...or, something in between....or a mix...
:::::::
minor, major changes occur here, there,
everywhere...every second, every minute...
some seasons, dragonflies overpopulate,
wasps and honey bees swarm for their own
different reasons...flower buds turn to blooms,
various birds build nests based on their needs,
cocoons hang hidden...in silence....yet,
when time is right, new butterflies unwrap
....................and emerge...
:::::::
each day consists of old and new patterns
that lead to magical, new beginnings...
new discoveries,often called miracles,
...they happen while we are sleeping
...............when no one is looking
........or, even when we are awake,
.....but, just too busy to notice...
:::::::
from a nearby...or distant river
a sea breeze blows, and cools,
brushes..and touches... then tiptoes,
prancing upon other running currents,
acknowledging...emphatically reminding
that blessings from God are ever flowing
every breath taken, is a miracle...occurring
....while we are awake...or sleeping
whether or not, someone is looking...
:::::::


Sally


Copyright May 21, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(10 w x 6)


:::::
We baby boomers,
brought into this world
millennials--
strong, persisting,

:::::
we're~~~~ peaceful streams
....they're radical rivers...
their blood, restlessly stirs

:::::
young, fiery courage
..........pulsates within...
.......racing, cresting
............upon surf's cusp

:::::
...embracing new beliefs
......to the point of
.....defying old school

:::::
.....where boomers turn deaf,
.........................millennials listen...
......cold waters, sometimes
.................... divide...

:::::
......they ought to
.....sit down...talk
...........and compromise,
....................or else.....
................................
::::::::::

(In my home, at times, it's the other way around...
i become the millennial...my kids are the baby  boomers)

Sally

Copyright May 19, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayant

~~~

knowing your joys,
           seeing your smiles,
                   God, i am happiest!

knowing your pain,
                why do i feel them all?
                             why do i hurt the more?

~~~

Sally

   Copyright 2014
                     Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(haikus)

eggs aren't done yet,
deep frying oil sizzles loud,
my eyes meet pale red,

i anxiously taste
Korean strawberries......but,
..........eagerly, i sniff,

home smells of....fried rice,
garlic...coffee...petrichor,
sweet scents...wafting 'round.


   (10w)

youTube plays
Moondance by Van Morrison
shoulders sway...fingers tap.

i glow...while singing
with Don Mclean's
Starry Starry Night.


strangers knock, looking for never-heards,
at six AM?
very extraordinary!

then guards
warn us of strangers,
a bit too late!

clatter of china says,
table's ready...
wait...
rain is pouring!

where're you,
Creedence Clearwater?
have you ever seen the rain?

gosh....the dogs again!
...chased away
both cat and kittens :-(


     (14 lines)

the table...now speaks loudly
of perfect sunny-side-ups
mushroom omelet with sliced sausages
there's toasted bread......fried rice,
and fried plantain bananas, too,
all steaming hot......the aroma
......of arabica........brewing...
the many unexpected moments
that keep popping out of the blue
create a palette of bright colors
and moods for this new day...
i await more of these "unexpecteds,"
this  flow of eclectic poetry
really knocks me off my feet :))


Sally


Copyright April 23, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

I don't know why headless gargoyles
suddenly came to my mind
they terrified me then and now
it made me ask myself, why...how,
some people see beauty in them
...when to me, they look utterly scary...
i wondered about Venus de Milo,
why show an almost **** gorgeous body, with
no arms....could there be beauty in cut arms?
why do i dwell on these things.......when
there's nothing heroic about these two?

i should be grateful, for yesterday's
family bonding with someone who retired
from the navy...for talks about experiences,
government, hiroshima, and nuclear bombs,
moments of reminiscing, strumming and
jamming...sharing good food and laughter.
i did thank God.....

today is labor day...and images of years back,
thoughts of fearful days come back.
i watched past violent rallies on tv...saw some
kinds of marchers, those with unfocused eyes
ready to die....those faithless ones, with their
own agenda, disregading innocent victims.
in every protest march...not all participants,
share the same cause...some are users,
some are blinded by their lost causes...not
all those honored did heroic acts, and deserve
sweet praises, folded flags and gun salutes...
not all heroes......are true heroes....
my heart goes out to those real heroes.

Sally

Copyright May 1, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

They dwell somewhere underneath,
hidden, as they patiently tread, in measured
crawls...or flights, when starting to work.

i've seen them before in their other journeys,
these often despised creators of hardened,
paths...straight, sometimes crooked lines
inconspicuously appearing on ashen,
concrete and creviced walls,
especially on wooden furniture
and on live heartwood trees.

they've been working continuously
for months now....these reddish lines, rising
from the huge base of the Narra tree, are
tendril-like tunnels...spreading wider
for all their purposes.

yet...these silent destroyers,
could not even penetrate the tree,
all they could do was move upwards,
and patch the trunk
with their muddy creations

to make things worse,
ants from a nearby towering  tree,
crossed over their tunnels
and ate them alive.

the impenetrable Narra tree, stands
unaffected by its "invaders"...swelling
even more with golden yellow flowers
falling on our heads,
falling on the ground.


Sally

Copyright April 29, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bay

It's a bad dream..happens any moment
...late summer, or...early winter...
...suddenly, you're among unfamiliar faces,
....or places...in a  strange island, where,
a cloak of confusion spreads...thick,
to the skin, to the mind,  it sticks...
eyes gape, in fear...in panic...
there are only questions...no answers
those that had been asked, seem unasked...
.......
a moment of normalcy, a calm...arises,
...as if, you've woken from your bad dream
a bliss, that is momentary...because
....at the back of your mind, lurks,
a phantom fear...of the dark dream
setting in once again...of getting lost again,
alone...floating through the waters of oblivion
........and it is not known, when the waters
.....again, would clear...
........
this dream comes on and off, it frequents,
....up to a point...when yesterdays vanish
you're on your own...afraid...isolated...
.....what happens tomorrow when
your eyes meet with those of your loved ones,
would there be a spark? make you remember?
in that dream space of strange faces and surroundings?
why do you attempt to escape?
where does that urge to flee, come from?
why do you want to go unnoticed?
do you feel abandoned? are you hurt?
do you recognize that feeling?
.......
you struggle...and in brief moments of clarity,
your eyes ask the questions.......in silence...
"will i ever wake up from this nightmare?"
.......
It's a dream that can happen
.........in the late summer,
or early winter....of one's life...



Sally

Copyright April 24, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

#npmdream #nightmare #oblivion #alzheimer'sdisease

Come, dance with me...
.....hold my back
lead my arms...my hand
push my fingers
they'll obey
release your power, and
fuel my senses,
......got no room for false pretenses...

I'll let my creative ink flow
inch by inch, i'll move your hands, to draw,
together,  a field of dreams, we shall initiate
while we travel, our efforts will collaborate...
let's dance, fill our sphere with gems of thoughts
**** my pen.....its fire, my fingers will stoke
i'll guide your brush strokes
in painting bright colors on our walks...

lead my hands
as i lead yours...
This giving and taking,
this push and pull stuff,
let's make great art out of it <3
......

Sally

Copyright February  2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

A wind passed, and roused my lethargic mind
then, i noticed golden yellow leaves
starting to drop from  the money tree.
as a young girl, i recall chasing leaves falling
careful not to let them touch the green grass.
i pondered on my own invented game...do i run?
to catch, or not to catch.....even one leaf
was a child's dilemma...that became mine,
for, a leaf falling, is a poem, starting...
a love...blooming....or, an elusive one
or one that's struggling...

after a fall, comes the rising...where
something should be bravely emerging,
this is the time, when tamed, unnamed feelings
suddenly, become verses, sliding from the tongue,
mind is active, hand is alive, pen hurriedly writes
the soon-to-be-born poem,
...the one hashtagged...chased...or sought.
a word, a name, a face forgotten, now remembered,
a love...that is fading, or falling out,
all these should be held, grabbed...captured!
before they truly escape from our grasp
or, be blown further away...by a cold, autumn wind
...and leave us drowning, in a stream of regret...


Sally


Copyright April 19, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

When we're
down below
there's no other way
but...UP!

Sally

Copyright November 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(on a Black Saturday)


Sun beams touch the lustrous shells of
the capiz chime, dazzling the eyes and mind,
the walls on both sides of the big window are
newly painted, immaculately white, so bright,
....the pink blooms of the bougainvillea,
humbly bowed for almost two weeks now,
have turned to a faded brown.......wilting...

the strange nest had fallen, and gone
the young of the yellow green-breasted birds
have grown, flown away...all have found
............other trees to perch on

the sweet sop tree quivers
from its heavy fruits and birds on branches
enjoying their meal of fruits...ripe and juicy,
leaving some for the bats at night

a striped yellow cat rests on a shaded part
of the roof...i patiently wait for daddy long legs
to come out from the gutter...but in vain...
...paint still wet?...scent too strong, maybe?

maybe, the gravel and pebbles on the ground
weigh too much...did i unknowingly bury them?
i am missing the spectacle of an earthworm,
..........emerging from under the soil

big ants are restless...driven out...roaming,
the bricked wall's natural tan-beige shade
has surfaced...concrete wall is too hot...
these bricks, must be repainted white, as well

the ants, the spiders, the earthworms,
the bats, make their own preparations,
why can't we human beings do the same?
we prefer to suffer the consequences, and
deal with the results of unpreparedness:
el nino, earthquakes, unwanted people,
la nina, unexpected decisions, unwanted
changes...and all sorts of crazy "uns,"

townhouses have risen on my street
strange faces of new neighbors  
......pass me by...
......as i write...
the worst heat of summer is yet to come...



Sally


Copyright April 15, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(10w x 4)

SOMEBODY
Died..gave us
Our first experience
Of Unconventional
Love...

He desires His Words, be spread
His Love....be Shared...

But love without deeds never works,
..............action.....
makes the difference...

SOMEBODY
Up there...wants us
To make a big
Difference...


Sally

Copyright April 11, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Earth days are a mix
moments may be dim...eclipsed,
rays are speared....ellipsed...

Sally

Copyright April 11, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Pity him, or her...pity them
Pity those victims of devastation
And infestations
And molestation
Pity the children...those abandoned babies
But it is not enough...
Please...do something beyond pity.

Pity those in extreme poverty,
Suffering from incapabilities...
Pity those with agonizing hearts
Because of missing body parts
Marred, disfigured, debilitated
Physically,
Emotionally
Psychologically..
But, it is not enough
Please...do something beyond pity.

Pity even those with aching hearts
Devastated, with broken hearts
Who find it difficult to heal
Believe again, a cruel world, so real.

Be guided,in reflecting,
There are others more deserving,
Beware of those who are self-serving
Know who are in most need of caring
Know that, beyond pity, there's more to be done
Much can be done...If we all try to be one.


Sally

Copyright April 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

#abandonedbabies #abusedchildren #molestation #devastation #incapabilities #pity #npmimportant

Dinner is done
everyone's settled
the evening.....like the moon.....is full...
the weight of the night has itself eased into mine,
my expected moment of slumber...now distraught...
the Heavens are purpled
twilight drapes have fallen,
winds of March...bellow
.........my pillows
..............are hollowed
.......................by my elbows
......as a distant rooster crows........
i lie on my abdomen...legs swing back and forth,
catching inspiration, a word, a daydream...a thought,
i grab a pen falling, i grasp a journal, a book,
...............everything is within reach
but, not...the....long..................stretch
of hours....of a sleepless night...whence
....spiced...spiked...and sugared memories...
..........accompany me...and sail with me
.......as i cruise along this lethargic sea
'neath a silent dark, where aches are loudest
.........domed, by an unworded loneliness,
i am wearied by a flow, that is endless,
.....this minute...imagination is ceaseless
........i reach for my mug....but, it's empty
.........................i hear no liquid seething
this moment,  a dark sea, should be brewing....
this hour, verses must be a river, overflowing,
...enfolding, this cool and starry, starry evening...
.......i am caffeinated....even without coffee....

Sally


Copyright March 23, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Let not freezing winds
numb, or paralyze your thoughts
give them tunes...write them!

Let the warmth of words
melt frozen inks of winter
spring...is setting in...

Sally

Copyright March 19, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

>>>>><><<<<<

<<<>>>

It was a few inches from my rubber shoes,
i almost stepped on it!
if i had, i would forever feel guilty...
i was in shock, and....puzzled
a small yellow creature.....moving forward
when it should have moved upwards...
in its silence, its voice rang in my mind
friends had already left the area, but,
i waited....for clearance...
........hoping, to see it rise again, and.....
......redeem itself...
but,
my expectations seemed doomed
..............so, they failed
..........i finally turned to leave
......and...left its fate....
...to its empowered movers.....

It resembled a new yacht...being wheeled
by a bigger cart, towards the ocean,
for its initial dip..........
:::::::::the wings of this yellow creature
were widely spread....seemed ready to soar high
yet, it didn't move a bit...
it could no longer fly...
:::::
for the last time, i looked,
:::::::::::: and saw,
four tiny black ants, persevering,
painstakingly carrying
this dead yellow butterfly...
the trail went on and on, toward
their inconspicuous hill on the ground...

my feelings were indefinable that moment,
it was hard to speak...or decide
......ants?...... or .........butterflies?
::::: not their fault...they both matter! :::::




Sally

Copyright March 16, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

I saw...
a huge, open space, arrayed  with pink and
yellow roses and zinnias...there were benches
under trees that  stretched towards a lagoon,
for those gone weary, from their walks...

I saw...
a family...children were playing
on the green, lush carpet grass,
dressed in their bright-colored clothes
of red and yellow,  and blue jeans...
confidently hopping, and tumbling
wearing expensive rubber shoes...while
having bites of sandwiches, and sips of juices...
from a safe distance, seated on a bench, were
the overseers...the parents...as two nannies
kept close watch over the children.......

I saw...
a group of noisy children come in from the streets
running barefooted, feeling the cool, moist grass...
some refused to remove their rubber slippers,
their clothes were old and tattered...too excited,
they jumped.....lay on the grass without a care,
they shrieked, as they climbed and fell from slides,
obviously enjoying their visit....their shouts, their
laughter seemed contagious, the well-endowed
children, stopped their games and observed...

I saw...
how the parents summoned the nannies,
they gathered the children, and all their stuff
then marched towards a less peopled area,
and there, they let their children play....while
they sat on a nearby bench, pulled long sighs,
one after the other...i wondered...were they
exhausted?  or, pricked by their conscience?
were they sighs of relief.......because their
children were now distanced......."safe,"
......from the less fortunate ones?
:::::::::
whatever happened to  noblesse oblige?
are these just two foreign words,
with obsolete meanings?
::::::::::::::


Sally

Copyright March 9, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(a second time posting)


T'was a short poem I was reading...
I had started writing
My comments,
When...
Along came a very strange feeling,
With very strange thoughts:

"This... has exactly happened before...
This poem...I have read before...
Written these very same thoughts before!"

Over and over, I blinked... had to make sure...
But, all at once... one brief moment...
I found myself seated beside a grand piano,
By a wide ostentatious stairway,
In a bright, candle-lit mansion...
But, stranger still, while I was writing,
My eyes strayed to my right,
To a mirror by the wall...
I saw a handsome young man,
With slightly long curly hair,
Wearing a long-sleeved, white ruffled shirt
And a pair of dark pants,
Holding paper and quill,
Looking back at me.

I was staring at myself!!!

I was holding the paper,
Where I had written my thoughts,
About a poem titled,
"....WILT...."



Sally

Copyright November 5, 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

::::::

             Below is Timothy's poem,
             the reason for my "Deja Vu."


WILT

The wilting of the flowers;
Ephemeral bubble bursts;
The last grains of sand run out;—
I wilt just like flow'rs.


~Timothy~
Dodoitsu.
© Timothy 30 July, 2013.

It starts with a puddle or a pool
turns to a rivulet,
rainwater comes, fills.......then, over
time.....it becomes a true river...

we human beings are conceived,
nurtured inside the womb.....to develop
til it's time to be born...to this earth
we grow up.....we mature,
school...experiences, make us wiser
and, as we get older
.our own waters run deeper

we....are like the river...

our actions, reactions and decisions,
all depend on the tides of life...
our moods are waves...playful on a fine day,
they lap, roll...sometimes, crash on the shore.
calm now...later, high with turbulence,
on stormy days, assailing...belligerent,
courageously moving forward.....then back,
like retreating groups of warriors,
weary....defeat-stricken.......yet, all set,
to roll back to shore.......again...

our grounds, our cores, are embedded
with grains of Patience...it has a voice
in many ways, we become one with nature
we...are like the river...

Sally

Copyright February 26, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

i am in my own wilderness
in my own territory...where,
my voice should rise above
my mountains and streams
my music should play in every corner
my thoughts should be transparent on the horizon,
everywhere........hidden, or otherwise
i should feel some kind of power,  
as queen of this jungle...

i am in my own kingdom,
i rule...
yet...i know, there's a Presence
something higher than me
patiently  watching me.......waiting,
for me to wake up...open my eyes,
and my mind......be enlightened,
and be able to genuflect...

a never ending want...for renown,
and control...reaches heights,
we always give importance, to
i.....me.....and myself....

i look up to the sky
recognizing One...ever present,
ever patient,
the Omnipotent one...
i bow my head,
i kneel
in humility...


Sally


Copyright February 18, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

...to do things i dislike doing,
to utter things i disagree with,
things that i deem as prevarications,
i think hard...and long,
i straighten my body,
especially my back...
but,
when i look around me, and see
dire circumstances, with palms opened
and eyes that beg....for all kinds of help,
physical, and otherwise,
i feel my back...bending........little by little,
'til i finally decide
to meet their eyes
...and briefly dip my feet,
   ...in a stream of white lies...


Sally

Copyright February 17, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

....love is a gamble
relationships are a gamble...
they say,
"tis better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all,"
it's a quote cliched...overused, but,
countless times, proven true...

for, no man is an island,

we weren't created to be alone...
we were taught, brought up...to love,
to pass on, the love we were given...

it is a wheel...a process
an inevitable cycle,
love comes....love goes,
it ebbs...and it flows...
there are those who have hurt,
are still hurting.....
yet, they still go on, trying...loving...

for, what is life, without love?

it is death, it is hell...without love...

they say' it's nonsensical....it's foolish,
yet, we humans...take risks
the human heart, most times, forget,
it gives...without counting the cost,
It fights..unmindful of the wounds
it loves...in the shadow of God,

for, our faith always teaches us,

"Love is patient, love is kind.
   It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking,
it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts,
always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails..."

(1 Corinthians 13: 4-8)



Sally

Copyright February 14, 2017

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

by
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY


The fountains mingle with the river
   And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
   With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
   All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
   Why not I with thine?—

See the mountains kiss high heaven
   And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
   If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
   And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
   If thou kiss not me?

(by Percy Bysshe Shelley)

(Edited...reposted)


Time and past circumstances keep us in fetters
Long ago, I sketched this place on paper...
.............a beautiful oasis......
Where trees with long swaying branches surround
Along a placid stream, where crystal waters abound.

This is where i go
When feeling sad, or aglow,
I simply close my eyes
And easily....I am in an isle...

A place created by me
Not just you or I exist, but WE,
It could only be shared WITH THEE...
This, I have aply named, THE ISLE OF WE...

While working on this magical space
My brush strokes just fell into place
Not one, not two ever strayed,
With hues of aqua-blue, foam green...never blae.

I'm between a dream and reality
It is where you are, it is where I want to be
When I keep to myself, when I close my eyes
I am instantly here, in this isle
Perfectly...beside you,
Holding hands, we take in the view

Paradise is here,
In this unknown sphere,
From this isle, I would never flee
Where only I, exist.....WITH THEE.

    


Sally

Copyright February 9, 2017 (edited)
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(10wx3)

Ocean plays,
pokes the shore,
waves' bubbly edges
bashing,
lapping,

seducing,
making love,
calmly,
violently...
sand and rocks,
both subservient...

ocean...fondles shore with
masochistic caresses,
consummating...eccentric
love affair...

Sally


Copyright February 7, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

....to the solemnity of that place
felt just right...
a noise-prone, peopled space,
.....a corner i, we...go back to,
in the cold, or hot of
every morning

like every meeting,
we look above,
pay our respect,
warm up,
then, a time of peace, flows in, when
a calming moment starts...
breathe... like a baby,
inhale, at the start,
exhale, when finishing,
let go of the rush
let go~~~through movements~~~
in waves so slow~~~~~relax~~~
set free your worries, even for a while
think of peaceful~~~green mountains~~~
look through a nearby stream~~~soothing~~~
with tiny ripples whirling~~~
clear, like a mirror,
showing true reflections~~~while
a gentle breeze passes~~~and touches~~~
to unchain~~~to refresh~~~to dry
...to revive....

all purposes...will have been achieved
...........................before the hour ends...

then...comes the time to leave,
a time, for each one,
.......to face another day,
............another sunrise
             ........another sunset...


Sally

Copyright February 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

___________

(Love poem #3)


It's happening again!
A face...unforgotten
Re appears, through my mind's  parted curtains
Doesn't leave...it haunts
Eyes follow me
Eyes talk to me
And then a flame
Inside my chest suddenly burns
And I am wondering why
It doesn't wane
It's been many, many months
Yet, the fire is so alive,
Consistently bright
Inside me, burning.
I am left churning
And I don't know,
Why now?
Door and windows
Are almost shaded...jaded
Been trying to put behind my head
A name....a face
Your face
With eyes that don't blink,
They just look on...

I will just have to close  mine
To stop meeting yours.

But then
The flame will still burn....


Sally


Copyright February 5, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(Love poem # 1)
::::::::::::::::::::::::


I speak of them in hushed tones,
my feelings...my written thoughts....
they ought to resemble, exactly describe
what i've seen, or felt, and stored in my brain...
i draw lines, define the contours of your shadow
but, it's not easy to sketch a landscape
of your whole being.....
most times...words are not enough...

with eyes closed...i run my finger
on a blank sheet of paper,
outlining the shape of your face,
down to your neck, far as i remember...
.......................................i get lost,
distracted by your sweet, gentle imperfections...
i may tell of moles, birthmarks, or wrinkles
big or small scars...but, all these don't matter,
you might sing some songs off key, it's okay
for, i'd surely tremble , on hearing again
the high and low of your voice,
.........................God, there's music!
i hear tunes...as soon as you speak
your heart, must be beating with a lilt...

my muse waves at me, as
bolts of inspiration gracefully ebb and flow,
hand and pen quiver a bit, while writing
giving birth to emotions that, rise....and race,
one after the other....while moon, sun and rain,
provide phrases...to express my soul's delight...

on a high point,
i pirouette,
but, i am  careful,
not to lose
..........balance........
  ....or myself...



Sally

Copyright October 17, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan