(haiku x 3)

Life is a river
we swim, we drift...a cycle
of rising....falling.

equanimity
is ******* soft riverbed
we reel....sometimes drown,

we give up, they dry
we fight...we breathe....rivers flow!
ripples do follow.

Sally
Copyright March 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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



I cannot not remember my mother,
whatever time...whatever day,
during work or while viewing sunsets
while relaxing...or while too stressed,
her face...smiling or wearing a frown,
or a tune of a song she used to sing,
all these hover over everything
around me, they dangle like tassels
of memories,
they make me recall more.

I cannot not remember the scents
of flowers in my mother's garden
that she used to grow and love,
for they all still exist  in my garden,
dishes she used to cook for us,
I now cook for my own family.

When a breeze brushes over me,
i cannot not remember, how in the
early mornings of her life, my mother
had rushed to the church, to hear
mass...to serve God 'til the last days
of her life...she did, in every way.

I cannot not remember my own mother,
for i saw in her how to be a mother
and a grandmother
with love, extreme effort and care.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 24, 2024

One dry night in June
brought a floating soft tune
of crickets' calling...air was strewn
with their song......the night wind
blew slow and felt silky on skin,
My steps were measured,
a good view, a right shot was needed
for, high up the neighbor's roof,
hang a creamy full moon.

On an empty street...quiet, moon-glowed
there, stood...me and my stilled shadow.
i felt, God put a finger on His lips, the world
was silenced...to hush sounds
to cease movements in the dark mounds
of vacant lots.......to call my attention,
.........to waken my perception.

It was too quiet...not a dog barked.
suddenly, i heard motions in the dark,
a crash...perhaps, a bat made its mark
in my mind, fear sparked
a cold wind swayed the branches
a scary noise, but i shunned my hunches
then fled, as restless leaves rustled 👀 👀
yet, me and my shadow never separated.



Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 24, 2024

💎
Restless, useless murmurs
poison the airs
journals and a bead plate stare
back at me, they connive, as i wait.
  💎
On the coffee table,
rough drafts lay parallel
sunlight and clear citrine spears
refuse to create shining tears.
  💎
Ideas dangle, then crumble...penciled,
then crossed out, darkened...the mind
is a lonely mannequin in a dark space,
no fire or warmth...only cold stares,
drab.....no pizzazz.
  💎
There's no glitter or sparkle
to excite an opaque mind,
to sharpen dulled senses,
my words...my beadworks
need candor and splendor.
i need my swarovskis...n o w.
    💎💎💎

Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    January 17, 2024

/!|\^/?

A little disorder in the hair:
a curl goes on its own...astray,
some loose strands
escape from its bun,
like a new style, it stuns,
as if it was styled that way.

A bit twisted collar, with a stain
of tiny brown dots...conspicuous,
but, a fine distraction, for its wearer
boasts of a perfect fair neck.

Ankle-length pants...hide
a shoe lace gone awry
during rushed moments, yet,
passes, "just like normal,"
almost unnoticeable...

Some freckles on the face,
a few pimples, yet, a wee
sweet smile compensates,
erases all what others see
as carelessness, or disarray.

Some shiver even on a slight
trace of mess...others find delight
in imperfection, a kind of  grace
felt from within, and appreciated
with a smiling face.

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  December 23, 2023

🕊🕊🕊🕊🕊🌹💐🌷


Doves and roses are sought
when hurtful, tempestuous thoughts
flood and create lumps in the throat,
the urge...the surge grow stronger,
much to write...we grab pen...paper,
suddenly......we are "there,"
in that comfortable nook...where,

We create fictional love scenes,
or...relive tremulous experiences
of blazing lava flows, souls despondent
driven by disastrous rains, by discontent,
or, of souls cherishing rare times, serene,
a lake, warm sun...calm coffee moments;
all these become messages conveyed
they're the carbon dioxide we exhale;

Verses are afloat above our heads
until they're written.....and read.

Both old poets and newcomers
come up with stuff...funny or bizarre,
some readers relate...epiphanies occur.
isn't that what really matters?

No kings or queens in prose or poetry.
some came first, others came later.
surely, both want to write...to share.
in God's eyes, no one is above the other.

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

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 27, 2023

🌑🌑🌑

Overworked fans
give out warm air
this uncomfortable
early evening.

Just a few sparkles
in the sky, no moon...just
a humid silence that hovers.
outside, silhouettes are
quickly gobbled up by
a great dark.

There's a slight wind
whirring....while
pink lightning
slashes the sky.

Finally, slow, persistent
showers tap on the roof,
September rains cool
this super hot night.

On the table, i see peanuts,
an empty wine glass, and
a chilled bottle of Rose...the
aroma of steamed pompano,
stuffed with onions, tomatoes,
ginger and pepper.....invade
every corner of the house.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    September 8, 2023

Through the years,
they have come bit by bit,
these telltale signs of one's
aging existence...glaring
changes that one can only
acknowledge, and not resist.

Especially when a fine-lined
face with a furrowed forehead
looks back at you each time
you face a mirror...or,

When knees must first gain
their momentum, before
they can stand straight,
leap, hop, or walk.

Reflective moments come
while ascending, or while
descending the stairs;
a plethora of thoughts and
scenes about tomorrows
create space, simultaneous
with heartbeats.

The hunching of the back,
the weakening of limbs
and the mind....must
be held at bay...there
are lots more unresolved  
issues to be fixed.

One wonders, how many more
sunrises and sunsets left?

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 8, 2023

Amongst silhouettes on the front yard,
weary mind, fatigued limbs relax,
Lee Ritenour sings "Dreamwalkin,"
no lyrics spoken, just soft humming,
while thinking of summers and
monsoon seasons gone by.
nineteen once...slid to seventies,
smooth, glossy skin have creased,
deeply furrowed, plump with stories,
yet...long taut muscles are now lithe,
softened by missteps and slides,
each day's unexpected rhythms
were reasons to waltz, boogie,
or swing...to balance the stance,
to sway, with grace
to avoid a fall.

A fragrant and pleasant sunset
greets tonight...a sweet refuge,
dimming skies, a comfortable seat,
a glass of pre dinner wine,
as the mind does the samba,
a nasal hum while cd plays
Astrud Gilberto's “So Nice," while
appreciating life's ups and downs,
ahhh...what a graceful dusk!


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 11, 2023

(10wx4)

Fading rays
of sunset
concede,
to welcome
shadows
of dusk.

Myriads of
sparkling stars
stupendously
complement
the dark indigo sky.

On
cold nights,
full moon's glow
numbs
the day's
wounds.

Life's smooth
and
serrated edges,
create
voices
in one's writing.


sally b
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 9, 2023

Friday night
is almost done,
it's past eleven,
body is stilled,
tired eyes gaze
by the closed gate,
restless soul
seeks peace
through low,
deep breaths;

Body rhythm
adjusts
to slow swinging,
like a hammock
stirred
by the wind.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gradually
body and soul
relax.....calmed
by Carly Simon's
persuasive
"Moonlight Serenade."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Tired...alone
amidst the silence
of this comforting
dark...but,
i feel fine.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(good night, everyone!)


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   June 10, 2023

After
long
dark
moments,
..............
the
splendor
of first light
..............
overwhelms.

sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    May 27th. 2023

(last night)

The day’s raging rains
finally stopped,
humid summer winds,
cooled into soothing breezes.
:::::::::::::::::
a pink, purpled sky
quickly darkened,
calls of crickets,
croaks of frogs
they got lost in the air.
the day’s noise segued
to a soft echo of voices,
.............f a d i n g
..........g r a d u a l l y
::::::::::::::::::::::
'til burning worries
of the mind were calmed,
forgotten for the night.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
lights turned somber
and amplified a spreading,
much awaited
silence.

All found their places,
their own shelter
in the comforting dark.
nature...was in repose.




sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
      May 17, 2023

<>
In the soft early morning light
of a quiet, peaceful kitchen,
some of us
make coffee, or tea,
while air is still cold,
the house,
still devoid of human noise.
<>
Fingers are slow and gentle
while stirring.
the careful touch of teaspoon
to cup is the only sound heard,
no voices, just the breathing
of a silenced heart...could be,
<>
A heart filled with hope...or a
broken heart, courageously
trying... to forgive...to forget;
it may be a heart  quivering
from unnamed fears...on its own,
in an unidentified darkness.
<>
Maybe, it's the heart of one
who seeks something meaningful
to say, or write, but, often end up
with mediocre stuff...
<>
These sleepless hearts are always
up early…savoring quiet air,
avoiding human conversation,
finding a perfect ally in cups of
coffee, or tea that provide warm
tolerance...silent witnesses to
sagging spirits...the first ones to
hear our contented or heavy sighs,
because,
once in a while, life makes us
seek the calm, the peace
emitted by the steam, rising
from a cup of hot coffee, or tea.

<>

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    March 22, 2023

It’s Springtime.
The hours, the days pass quicker,
especially to folks already in their
late seventies, or eighties…
a cool breeze blowing easily brings
back good times, bringing smiles
to their wrinkled faces...to some,
rage and sorrow are resurrected,
recalling, how they lost loved ones,
all that they've had, through ways
unlawful, how they pined for truth,
justice, and freedom...time is too
slow for for them...some choose
to forget, but couldn't...
malfeasance is a habit, a way of life.

The privileged ones bask in the
brightest of comforts…impregnable
walls of their fortresses have made
them blind and deaf to the woes
and the doldrums outside.

The "unsolved" remain unsolved,
the "miserable" are now despondent,
the needy, the hungry, in greater
need...are even hungrier...drifting,
wherever their needs take them,
some minds have gotten used to
distorted versions of democracy,
existing on uncertain airs and waters.

Being bereft.......takes its toll.

Past awakenings were wasted.
eyes...minds opened, and closed.
those outside the walls, patiently
await...nothing is ever permanent.



sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 18, 2023




      -<O>-

OZYMANDIAS
(Percy Bysshe Shelley)

 I met a traveller from an antique land,
2Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

3Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

4Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

5And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

6Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

7Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

8The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

9And on the pedestal, these words appear:

10My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

11Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

12Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

13Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

14The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

----------------------

Sous le plafond blanc
de notre maison,

je suis la voix
je fixe des règles
je suis reine… pourtant,

Sous un plafond de
ciel bleu clair sans limites,

Je suis
infinitésimal...

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

sally b
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan



>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

(English Version)


Under the white ceiling
of our house,

I am the voice
i set rules
i am queen…yet,

Under a ceiling of
limitless light blue skies,

I am
infinitesimal...
:::::::::::

sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Serendipity
is a random surprise,
like a handkerchief
suddenly present
to wipe off sweat,
timidity, fear, anxiety,
and also ice that have
been broken...and
have melted.

The air,
once cold with worries,
suddenly warms  up  
and beams with  comfort.
and confidence.

Serendipity,
brings about miracles
tugging on its tail,
for a soul merely grasping
for an invisible bar, with
almost zero percent of hope,
ready to fall……..or, maybe,

for two persons bound by love,
a beautiful, unexpected
chance meeting can do so much.

Serendipity
is a white handkerchief
brought out of the pocket
or bag…fallen from the sky,
fragrant with fresh hope
and good luck.



sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

November 7, 2022

☕️☕️☕️

Awake still, a few hours
before sunrise…and yet,
every morning, rising early
is a hard habit to break.

Dry thirsty mouth awaits
the morning’s initial cup
of steaming fulfillment.
caffeine's instantaneous effect
goes beyond waking hours,
working it’s way through the
day’s unfolding inspirations,
born from uncertainty, as
well as predictability, and
through deep concentration
and cups of hot refills.

One gets rapt in the hours of the
day…regardless if it’s a win or lose,
five-thirty…six pm approaches...
Mooned…or moonless, night comes,
to pause, or otherwise…our bodies,
our circumstances, the horizon speak:

‘Enough’ is a decision arrived at,
the dark sky leads to a new dawn,
to new journeys, once again, to be
enriched, inspired, and sustained by
countless cups of fresh coffee.

So, if it’s already four, or five am,
no more dilly-dallying..get up now,
have your first cup…take the first sip,
be driven………….be inspired.
☕️☕️☕️

sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

My sister bought it years ago,
too bad, my mother didn’t
get the chance to enjoy it,
she would've treasured it.

It became a reminder of sadness,
an unintended metaphor, for loss
and pain...it always brought back
that very unexpected, very sad
early morning in February.

Its bright red handle...faded
through weeks, months and
years of changing seasons,
stood on a corner for a long
time...unused, but still intact,
until i took notice one day,
brought it out of its dusty wrap
and opened the red cane umbrella.

A smiling face suddenly flashed
in mind...a presence who, on
early mornings, eagerly recited,
“I am the master of my fate:
  I am the captain of my soul,”
tirelessly sketched portraits of
unknown faces during unholy hours,
planted, cooked, sewed, while
humming "Ramona"...one who
taught us about silent vows and
undying promises that eventually,
became ours to keep.

It's now an accompanying cane,
the red umbrella...it saves me
from miscalculating steps, from
falling debris, when keeping walls
from crumbling.


sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 29, 2022

A cold midnight wind blows.
underneath a moon glow,
silhouettes of leaves, sway
with an enchanting grace,
while “Sabor A Mi” plays.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 21, 2022

It would be nice to face death
while being loved, not broken
:::::
while being held, not alone,
not sinking in a cold silence
:::::
while drowning in laughter
and not in tears,
:::::
while hair, though mostly gray,
still glows with love’s rays.
:::::
while dismissing the grieving
of those we shall be leaving
:::::
nothing could be braver,
it would be easier,
:::::
to accept, to welcome death
while in deep slumber's breath.
:::::
sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 11, 2022

NIGHT HAIKUS





Dew-laden grass…bend,
misty air…touches warm skin,
…..a tranquil evening.

Cool night breeze blows…’pon
scintillas of light..….fireflies,
on blue starry night!

Cuppa tea…on palm,
tired body and mind succumb,
bed calls....night is calm.


sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 30, 2022

#night #haikus

(Vous et moi)



I am....light,
i flicker not,
nor do i dim.
i am peaceful
as the waves of a river
on a summer day,
silent...fearless,
unshaken by events.
i am in a total calm.

I exist permanently,
and independently,
unaffected and
un-influenced
by outside forces,
i keep a close watch,
over my temple.

I am transparent,
hue-less,
yet...i acquire
the colors of
thoughts that
enslave the mind.

I fade not...i live on.
i am there on a lighted boat
sailing with you
while  struggling
through life's
troubled waters.

You have a silent,
constant dialogue with me,
that inherent energy,
dwelling inside you.

You are body,
i am soul,
“nous sommes un.”
  (we are one.)
  

sally b

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

~>/~ * ~<~\
In the middle of my chaos,
in moments of despondency,
a lone bright star shines,
and holds every piece of me,
together,
~~~~~~~
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

(Cheritas)

1)

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.
:::::::

2)

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

:::
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

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

🌄

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,
and...as 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

❤️


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,
almost...like 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 mind...in 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

        /          
         *       \
|         \      *      
       *             \             *


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

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 sparkles...is etched in our minds.

Time brings changes...nothing remains
except our memories...but, we can
remember, we can savour our youthful
years...no 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

🌈
🌿🌱 🍃 👩‍🌾


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 rustle...no 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

(Black Tide)

🌒
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My finger touches water...imagining,
tracing...the contours of a face,
eyes...hair...they 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
.......as 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

* * * *

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
  then...limited, uncooperative, stubborn,
  it refused to go beyond its first line.)


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  October 31, 2021

It's a hushed, misty,
and moon-glowed night,
cool air
.........becomes
a silken touch to my skin.
my breathing
joins
the soft cricket buzzing,
.............humming
amongst the shadows,
peacefully blends
...and
........becomes
the night's lullaby.
it calms my soul.




sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 14, 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
here...there...everywhere
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