(14 lines)


It was one afternoon in New Jersey, quite early,
We were finding a spot on a mall parking lot,
Heels were rushing, people were crossing
Mothers were hurrying...their kids following.
We still waited, yet there were no more...what for?
Our car was not moving, my sister, still was not driving.
Why was she hesitating?
Clearly, sidewalks on both ends were empty
So I raised  my head, a nod or two, then lowered my view.
There were two tiny feet...walking...tiny steps were progressing
A creature, gray, brown, furry...its eyes flitting, like it was wary
Blue sky gave no flurry...pavement was crossed with no hurry...
I was wide eyed...I realized, as I admired,
<{ <{ <{ <{ <{
Upright or hunched, a squirrel is also a pedestrian...


Sally

Copyright January 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan...

(10 X 10)  

What a prudent choice, to walk under the pouring rain,
enjoy its cool, refreshing comfort, touching, sliding down one's toes,
walk over the puddles, and spots that are so muddled ...
body, mind, clothes, soaking wet...stained, ingrained with stubborn dirt,
now, washed away...you, courageously surviving acid tests of life,
emerging cleansed, transformed, filled with more sense, wisdom and tolerance,
no more airs, just compassionate, sharing more, this time around...
It's like a new YOU, facing the same world, armed
with rekindled enthusiasm, an enhanced attitude, and fresh, newborn perspectives.

Be brave, be drenched with rain...let it cleanse you.


Sally


Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Icing...

This Sunday morning dawned so differently
I woke up to a lively disposition
The fresh air surrounding me smells of flowers
so rose-fragrant..

This early, I think of you.....

And I see the cream on my coffee
The strawberry jam on my toast

I feel I have plenty of honey to sweeten my lemonade
On a hot summer day


A dash of pepper....plus,
A pinch of a bay leaf,
To enhance the taste of my
Chicken Adobo...


Always, on late night snacks,
You are the ice cream topping
On my slice of apple pie,


The bubbles in my glass of wine
When I am celebrating,
When basking in your presence,
In our happy moments together...


I'll even tell you
You are some kind of sweet music
To start the good memories flowing
When we are apart...


I am thinking,
Even in the years to come,
You shall always be the finishing touch...
The icing,
To complete my whole being...

In my life,
I have never been so certain....


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(How Do I Write Of Thee?)

I always asked myself then:
"How do i write of thee?"
...how do I start?
...where do I start?
i am an expert on being mum,
but, i must write of thee,
and I do...the way i know---
simple-worded thoughts
coming straight from my heart...
honest, innocent lines,
bare...unaffected,
no false pretenses
not much metaphors
at times, none at all...
maybe, none is needed,
i just want to reach out,
a message, i want to impart.

"What would i write of thee?"
i equally wondered...
didn't know then how to hide behind words
to mean "i," or "me," by saying "you,"
to show "happy" in words,
when the truth is bright and tasseled with "pain,"
but, i had to start........and so, i learned
to write of thoughts i am most familiar with,
they are like second skin to me,
i write about the beauty of nature
that surrounds and comforts  me,
i write of sleepless nights,
of distances not bridged,
existing and failed expectations,
hanging conversations
dwelling within...safely cradled.

Deep, in the hidden corners of my mind
are thoughts very, very private,
some written...
some, yet to be written,
all unspoken of.
they are gentle whispers,
soothing,
unequaled moments,
sweet, sweet words,
a balm to my aching soul.

One day,
when i am too old to care,
these journals would be beyond my hold
and find their own way out,
to be shared...absorbed...understood
in a whole new different perspective,
these words shall be
i m m o r t a l i z e d
when i close my eyes for good.
people shall read about me,
and finally will know
that once,
in my lifetime,
I had written
My One Immortal Poem.

June 7, 2014---12:09 PM



Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

a gecko in an aquarium
was my roommate...
not at all my idea of a pet,
but we shared a room, she and i...
i would warm her with soft light
at night time,
let her sleep with lights out
during the day...
fed her with worms,
young insects, water to drink...
nobody knew or noticed
what ever happened,
never seen what may have conspired
inside that lonely aquarium
where she'll be forever confined
'til the day she dies.

one sleepless night, while writing
'neath the soft glow of the lamp,
a tiny winged creature
slowly crawls, then stops
beside my left foot
resting down on the floor.
nothing to swat it with,
i shove it off my foot with one hand.
it would appear one time,
i would drive it away...
it would hide somewhere,
only to appear again later.
the movements flow,
this would go on,
until finally, i would fall asleep.

same things would happen
In the nights that would follow,
until i sort of await its presence...
it would keep still,
right at the center of the carpet,
wait for that shove or push,
so we could start our dance,
'til we both get tired...
when it would vanish,
and i, would soon
be left dreaming,
...in deep, deep slumber...

(Thank you, Soul in torment, for your "wing-ed friend...")


Sally

Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Mind and body were weary...it was the
Third night of nine anticipated dawn masses...
Most people were yawning,
Fighting the urge to nod and start snoring...
Trying to finish what they started,
To have their petitions granted.

The Reverend read the gospel,
Emphatic, spotlight was on him as he preached
About greetings, prayers and good wishes.
He didn't want to see more sagging heads
Among his audience,
So the Reverend spoke louder,
In high tones, but with a smile,
Aiming for his sermon to reach every ear.
Surprisingly,
The sleepy atmosphere became lively...
Every face turned to a smiley,
Laughing, murmuring about the funny stories
The good Reverend was sharing
During his homily.

Recessional hymn started...
We all rose from the pews.
On my way out,
I bumped into somebody
I had avoided meeting for sometime now...
But there she was, in front of me...
We both stopped, at a loss for words,
With no ****** reactions.
It so happened that
The good Reverend passed us by...
He looked, absorbing emotions...
He bowed his head,
Then turned to me, and smiled...
I sensed the air, the hint.

Without much fuss,
I smiled at the unavoidable someone,
The one with the unwelcome face,
Who brought some unpleasant news
With her usual audacity.
No more turning back,
I was already there, in that part of the evening's drama...
So I held her hand,
And as she hugged me,
I heard myself utter, "Shalom!"
The way the Reverend said it in his sermon.
Why was it not so difficult that moment,
When I used to be so unwilling before?
But...it was over, done.
We went our separate ways...
I could not believe I told her
"Hello!  Goodbye!  Peace!"

Walking home, a thought kept nagging me...
I dwelt on it, for it had happened twice already.
In the church, strange things do happen,
Strange occurrences that lead to
Happy endings.
I recalled the good Reverend...
He didn't usually pass my way...
Why that strange but encouraging, soothing smile
As he passed us...WHY?
Also, I could never forget his homily...
His funny, lively stories
About a greeting, a prayer...
A word that brought good wishes...
A single word that said a lot---
" S H A L O M ! "

  Sally

Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. bayan

My blood pressure escalated
Upon sight of the messy living room.
There was clutter everywhere,
Even on the dining table.
The bedrooms weren't spared at all.

I went to the bathroom, I slid and hit the floor...
What's a ball doing inside the bathroom?
My eyebrows curled....but,
I refused to give in to the situation.

With a sigh, I went to the kitchen
To get coffee and a sandwich,
With marmalade and cheese....
As I opened the fridge,  an avalanche
Of cheese, butter and bread
Fell on my feet.

I was really upset by now, but,
I decided to print some recipes, instead
I loaded some paper into the paper tray,
But got stuck all the way.  Just as I suspected....
Carefully, I pulled out underneath the tray,
A ball pen, a pencil, and some sticks of crayolas.

Too much to take at this early hour, I told myself.
I sat on the sofa, smiled as I saw a photo of
Myself, with five beautiful girls.....sweet little angels....
I imagined their faces,  wearing naughty smiles,
Their antics,  and their tactics, as well, their mischief...
I thought that,
...........life is too short, time is fleeting............
...........also, I'm not getting any younger.............
...........precious moments rarely happen twice.......
...........they'll be young ladies soon enough........
...........the house would be too neat by then........
...........no more cookie crumbs on the carpet........
...........no more scattered toys and books on the floor......
...........no more writings on the wall,
...........disastrous games and all..........

I miss my five granddaughters already.......

Oh, what the heck!   I sat back and relaxed
Amidst the mess and clutter.....I closed my eyes,
Savoring moments of pleasure, past and present,
On a stressful day, like today........

Sally


Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(Haiku x 7)

Ears are blocked...deafened 
Conversations are ignored
Disconnected.....though

Weary mind needs rest,
Wary, half-closed eyes make sure
  World...still exists...while

Aerosmith rocks me!
AHA takes me on...Go West?
Yes! Hall & Oates, too!

OMD's Secret
ABC sings Ocean Blue
All my dreams came true!

Eurythmics sings dreams
I love how the Bee Gees ask,
"How deep is your love?"

Chaka Khan pledges:
"For a chance at loving you...
Even through the fire...."

MP3 takes me...
To dip...to wade...an escape
~~~ imperturbable ~~~



Sally


Copyright March 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

We headed for Cold Springs
At past eleven this morning
There were countless cars rushing
My sister was driving.

I felt an air of incomparable silence
I sighed in awe...i felt, i knew of a Presence.
Overwhelmed by its essence,
It led me to a view that enveloped me:
The Hudson River, how it filled me with serenity,
The horizon, wavy mountains of reddish brown trees
The vast infinite blue above me
It seemed...all were watching me.

I could only stare at the perfect sky
That drew both my eyes
I could only think of God...feel Him,
In front of Him,
Below Him

...i am bare...body and soul...

like the endless rows
Of towering trees along Palisades Parkway
Bereft of leaves, fallen, and blown away,
For
He sees,
I cannot hide
He knows,
He understands, what goes on within me

I am naked.

On the same route now, going home
I feel again a breathtaking calm
I know i wouldn't tire
Of staring at this huge ball of fire
A yellow gold, still burning
And, oh, how stunning!
To a darker shade of orange...it is turning
Quickly dipping lower
the blue sky becomes purple...and darker
hoping later, a big round star is to hover
A creamy, glowing moon in December
One... i would always remember-

Alone or otherwise...night...or day
I am always aware
......
....i am bare....

He sees
There's nothing to hide
He knows
He understands, what goes on within me
In front of Him
Below Him
.......
.....body and soul.....
.......
I am NAKED.

Sally

Copyright December 5, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

after the tall glass of wine, i was rapt,
i was unaware, i was entrapped
to the spirit, i succumbed
my knees, now numbed
one hits the cold wall
...u n c o n t r o l l a b l e...
then falls "ka-blag" on the other
feeling so light as a feather...
..............f a l l i n g............
my eyes are Garfield-ish
hands, like a mallet, heavy-ish ...
G O D !
my mind, ~~~d r i f t i n g ~~~
i need some black, brewing...
gotta have strong bitter coffee, dark
to take my slurry mind back the track.....

after the tall glass of wine, i was rapt,
i am now much aware, i must avoid being trapped...

Sally


Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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.”

/ //| \ \ \
/ / /  | | | \  \ \
/ / / /|/||| \ \ \
/ / /   / / / /   |||\\\

I am underneath,
My eyes closed
Its warmth cascading,
Refreshing,
Alleviating,
My soul, reflecting,
Its touch, soothing,
Cooling
Calming
So relaxing
I am extending,
For my blues, I'm chasing,
Away~~~with the water flowing
My pain...disappearing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~­~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SHOWER  THERAPY

   by

  Sally

      Copyright 2013
     Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

He is the buddha in their household.

When he arrives from work,
his two elder daughters run to his sides
already holding their guitars,
wanting to start jamming with him
right there and then.

The two younger ones
stand close to his feet,
waiting to be swung with his arms
as soon as he puts down
his heavy black bag.

His third daughter just hugs him tight,
his tummy choking within her tiny arms.

Right now, he is walking on air,
smiling widely, as his five girls
give him their  gifts of homemade
loom bands and paper robots,
as they all  greet him loudly---
"happy father's day, daddy!"

He is my son, Norman,
he is the father of my five
granddaughters...

He is the buddha in their
household....


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

By the bay window, I sit.....
I turn to look around,
With a sigh......

This silence that surrounds me
Is not silence at all...no, it doesn't help a bit...
Even the low-lighted lamp
Couldn't still this agitated heart of mine...
My body is being pulled from up,
Something else is pulling it downwards.
I feel I have to go outside
And chase a flying balloon in the dark,
While I hesitate to even leave this room....

I always fall victim to this restiveness
That nightly prevails upon me......
Nights when I am stripped of my usual aplomb.
Back and forth I walk,
Several times I look out the window
As I go through long tormenting moments
That don't seem to end.
Still, I am awake at this late, late hour,
.........waiting for you............
.........wanting you................
.........longing for you............

I keep tossing and turning,
The whole bed is awry
Pillows are almost torn in two
Sheets are crumpled,  and
Almost peeled away from the mattress....
.........all lie in disarray...........

The bedroom is a mess,
Even my mind, I confess.

With a sigh,
I turn to look around,
By the bay window, I sit.


Sally


   Copyright 2013
    Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(haiku x 5)

Sharp teeth of winter
Punctured flesh, body, and soul,
Statues squeezed amongst

Cold doves, deer...standing
In an iced menagerie,
Crystalled, unmoving.

Eyes, mind.....blazed, like sun,
Thawing stilled life...frozen love,
Til pulse IS revived,

Til warm mem'ries roll
Til warm blood, through my veins flow
Til warm teardrops.....fall.

And I...must now leave.
This stolid, indiff'rent stage,
I can stand no more.


Sally

Copyright 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Moon glows o'er night blooms
strings play "Misty,"...soft voice hums,
......serene, fragrant dusk...


Sally

-© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 28, 2019

<<<>>>

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

Under a shady Banyan tree,
i am a unicorn, my lone horn is shining,
front hooves raised, set to gallop, to help
dreams and desires to materialize...
:::::
on another day, i'm a silver-haired erudite,
amidst scrolls and volumes of  tomes,
pondering on THAT, which ruffles my waters,
and defies what i've known, what i believe in;
i'm challenged, i pursue the topic.....i write,
and when pleasance rules.....verses swell...
:::::
however, when my mind is drought-driven,
and my days fail me, i become a banshee,
wailing my ineptitude...my inadequacy,
warning myself...of worst days coming...
there's nary a line, or a verse to celebrate
when exists, this poverty, in poetry......
:::::
i see a poet sailing on either one of two rivers
one always moves on...wind tiptoes on its
surface, its ripples are soldiers marching on...
the other river is snagged...flows off and on;
but, water always finds, creates new paths,
eventually, it flows....at times, it overflows...
::::::
the urge to write is water to the poet,
touching his/her toes...always reminding,
there's plenty to write, out there...in here...
you suddenly hear rain hitting roof like nails
or, the neighbor's car revving up, the smoke
and noise ruin your morning air...it irks you,
giving way to an angry 10-word....or haiku...

in poetry...bad and good days occur, whether
near, far, or under a shady Banyan tree....


Sally

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 4, 2019

I was swimming in a stream of sounds:
Voices, motors, cars honking, whistles,
But all faded as soon as the trip was over.
Alighting from the back,
I followed with hurried steps.

While walking,
A kaleidoscope of your daily activities
Played through my mind, over and over...
Today, I didn't hear the sound of your yawning,
Also, you missed your garden visit
This early morning.....
.............you couldn't, because.............
You lay there, snoring,
So calm in your sleep.
The small bed, in a room
With that familiar smell of disinfectants....
The crumpled sheets that wrapped your body,
No fresh flowers on your bedside..
You wouldn’t have approved of all these....
But you were seemingly uncaring.
There was only the deep sound of your breathing.
I saw your chest rise and fall rhythmically.
It was cold in the room......
Your feet were getting cold, too...
I held my beads tighter.

Suddenly,
The deafening silence was disrupted.
Words I could hardly understand
Were softly uttered, the voices unrecognizable.
I rushed out of the room, down to the garden.....
But the whispers became more audible,
Blown towards my face by a gentle breeze.
Even as I sat on a secluded bench,
I heard the same things over and over,
Like a broken record.

I fled back to the room and covered my ears,
To shut out the voices.
Then I noticed, you were ominously still,
Snoring no more...............
………......breathing no more.

**** these murmurs of death!
Like a swarm of bees, they followed me,
Buzzing monotonously what  I refused to hear.
They were in their highest note....
In unison, they were
Celebrating victory......
In  cacophony...
--------------
Sally


Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

My Fingers Touch...
(an offshoot of an older poem...)

It happens  any minute of any day...the empty feeling...the sadness, the grief visit...all are put on hold...yet, they make me realize all the more,  grieving isn't over yet...
i think of the ones gone...but, there are people around me, with pressing needs...faces that get bored, but can't be ignored, needing my say and my care.

Mornings, i work around visible reminders...i touch them, i feel them...they take me back, while dusting old furniture,
window sills, and curtain frills.

My fingers touch the old bookshelf, i see Tortilla Flat, Perry Mason,
The  Raven, The Virginian
i find myself in a different era.

My fingers touch old framed pictures and photo albums, and i am slowly unburdened, sighing out unwanted energy.

My fingers touch the old bed, the old seal, the old vases...i am saddened, but comforted, by tangible souvenirs.

My fingers touch my temples, and the old memories, old dreams come back... it's the same face with the smile that never fades,
the same one that still shyly reassures me.

Never saw my father, yet he always smiled at me in my dreams.
perhaps, it was his way of telling me, he wasn't physically with me,
yet, he never left me.
despite his absence, he knows me, us, and we know him well.
i felt him closest when going through a dilemma, or when i was ill.
there was this loving presence,
only i can know...i was sure it was him
i miss the comforting warmth of those moments.

My mother had told us more than enough---their love story, dreams and plans cut short
where I got the shape of my face, my nose, my legs...my fingers
even my allergies,
the funny names he called my siblings and I, his funny tales,
his rocking chair
the events when he died...how he died
where he died...what time he died.

We knew him well
through those stories my late mother told us
through those accounts passed down to us by my late aunts
through my dreams that never have faded.

I realized
he was with us, all the way
silently...invisibly

...we never lost him at all...


Sally

Copyright March 28, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(When The Rains Come)

Our house stands on a valley
early summer evenings find people strolling
specially when the sky is arrayed with countless stars,
and a full moon cooperates with a glow

Who wouldn't want a rain-less evening?
no rush...walking easy on a Friday or Saturday night
finding ways to unwind....glasses tingle in toasting
conversation and laughter fill the air...

In parts of the valley shielded by bridges and walls
there live the troubled, homeless souls
they, too, want to breathe the evening air
they leave their improvised homes
find dark spaces, where they turn bolder
some toughened...almost numbed
their litanies, held within
their eyes, beyond shedding tears
their faces stained with sadness and frustration
due to failed expectations

Around these dark spaces
are where callous eyes meet wary looks
where angels mingle with demons
where, most times, indifference wins
against compassion.

Twice,
i met the dauntless, black eyes of an old woman
i almost dropped mine, to avoid the stare
but she tapped my elbow...i looked up again.

Both of my shoulders would not suffice
to ease the burden this old woman carried
how do we deal with a problem that always starts but doesn't end?
how? when most turn their faces, their backs, their thoughts away,
because, there's nothing spectacular to see, or be expected
just more unpleasant things to come up.

The rains have finally come...our valley
most often, turns into a gully
where it seems to be raining forever.
i think of the old woman with black eyes
if she's still around, could she be hungry? wet again?
shivering from the cold rain?
where could she be seeking shelter
now that summer
is finally over?


Sally

Copyright May 23, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

~~~~~
two hands,
reach and hold,
entwine, reassure...

the eyes meet,
speak without words...

hearts beat
in one rhythm...
beating faster,
breath upon breath
as...
two lips
press upon each other,
intense kisses ensuing...

feet...
in a huddled language,
toes, touching...

two bodies,
sharing warmth,
sharing love,
sharing moments sublime...
immeasurable bliss,
undeniably
~~~d i v i n e~~~


(October 21, 2013 ...3:30 AM)

~~~~~~~

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

one late afternoon,
the dark was setting in...
the veranda was inviting,
for some moments alone
where shell chimes rang and flung
noisily
with the blowing  wind...
seated my self on the rocking chair,
sipping
from my big mug of hot coffee,
nibbling on some vanilla wafers...
a lone bat swung from above the roof
and swooshed through the sweetsop tree,
leaving but a few leaves
falling down the ground.
there was this strange feeling
of not being alone...
that someone was watching me.
i searched, raised my head,
looked at both sides, then
saw two brilliant, glowing *****...
i
stared back...and
swam through those blue-green eyes,
now focused on my hot, hot drink...
we were eye to eye,
like, it was telling me, begging me,
"please, just run your
soft fingers slowly through my fur
i am so cold, i need some warmth,
care to share your hot drink with
me?
I need  some cuddling, too..."
her round tummy told me
all that i needed to
know...
it was hard, deciding, whether or not
to have her on my lap...

but then, i heard some ringing,
i had to
answer the phone.
upon returning,
i sat back on the rocking chair
very near the table,
nothing changed,
but wait...
a few coffee drops?
almost inconspicuous,
nothing there, no one there,
just my big, wide mug, now empty...
my vanilla wafers, all gone...
no longer hungry
no longer thirsty,
the roundly, pregnant cat,
the wise and intelligent
heavy, purring creature
was nowhere in sight...
still, i felt her presence,
near, and strong,
watching me,
watching herself...
somewhere in my garden
in a hidden corner,
slowed down by her heavy tummy,
waiting,
for her kittens to be born...



Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Black Trees haikus
  
The lamp post leans...light,
is dim...the wind blows...rain, falls
black trees...sway on wall

loud pitter-patters
drop...pound heav'ly on the roof
black trees...droop on wall

ceding...accepting...
floods rush...spreads all over...the
black trees... sway no more

roots have lost their grip
too much water...inundates
black trees...surrender

life...is like a tree
there are many elements
water is just one

nothing's permanent
floods recede...sun returns...then
black trees sway once more.


Sally

Copyright October 18, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Remembering, when...
occasions, weekends were eagerly celebrated
even weekdays...any day was met with enthusiasm
but, how did all these special days become so ordinary?
how...why, did these red-marked dates become unimportant?

why are we here now, in this phase? at this point?
existing...standing on a plateau...where,
life offers no changes...no alternatives...
it's like...a storm decides to stop at midstream
chooses to stay...not just passing through
no swerving, no immediate changes in its direction.

the adventurous soul in us, hides...its spark, dies
sunlight looks dim...the moon is without a glow
clear sea water seems muddy...wading, becomes
so tiresome...legs and feet hurt so much,
from swimming...day by day
...away...from cacophony...

it gets to be weary,
to be reminded of a wrong choice,
or a wrong decision made,
to always rise...from a restless sea
most times, we taste impure water
contaminated...and adulterated
where acerbic, detrimental  words float,
further aggravating
existing emotional sores,
creating more lesions in the mind.
what's worse,
the ears that choose to be deaf, are further pierced
the already wounded heart and dashed ego, are further stabbed    
they all could one day, be numbed
.......by more of these ordinary days....

I wonder if it's better...to linger on a plateau
or to be on the cusp...of a fall...


Sally


Copyright April 17, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Consciences disallow,

Morals dictate,

:::::::::::::::::::
Crossing of

Paths,
:::::::::::::::::::

Must

Never

Be...

:::::::

Sally

Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

it
bears all the signs of sharing...
yours,
mine, all our stuffs combined...
the
dresser and side tables,
in
the closet, and bookshelves, too.

the
walls are painted white.
somehow,
i see them now as dull gray...
my
side of the bed is warm and wrinkled,
while
yours is neat and cold.

the
glum atmosphere within
merges
with  my somber mood.
i
sigh, in need of fresh air, but
far
greater is my need for you to come back.

our
room cries for space...
yes,
it suffocates in silence...
but
in its crowdedness,
emptiness,
creeps through.....

(Published 1997)

Sally
       Copyright 2013
      Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

The evening news goes on
anchorman's hurrying words and frenetic voice trail on
could there be another storm brewing?
is his hysterical voice a sign, a warning?
a spray of the evening shower lightly wets face and arm...
it is not enough, though,
to wash away the uneasiness of the moment,
the evening news goes on...

It doesn't want to end, this long evening,
for one confused soul..mind is wandering
through the night, it is aimlessly exploring
it doesn't want to end, this long evening...

A record plays...she quietly listens
crystal drops from her eyes glisten
she hums along, with Eydie Gorme's
"As a Love To You From Me"
blending, with the cool wind that whirs softly
while looking at a distant moon so creamy
recalling past yearnings that have grown intense
alone in her house, she can not pretend
while...
a record plays...she quietly listens

Repeatedly, she inhales...and exhales
for, breath smells of coffee gone stale...
this sleepless soul, with a mind still straying
will roam further, til sun comes out tomorrow morning,
when her whole being, finally would be surrendering...
but until then, she still would be trying
repeatedly, she inhales...and exhales

The evening news goes on
it doesn't want to end... this long evening
to some tunes, she quietly listens
repeatedly, she inhales...and exhales
the evening news goes on...

(an old, unposted poem)

  
Sally


Copyright September 21, 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(10 w x 6)

I'm losing hold,
reflexes...relaxed,
...in a cradle,
..........swayed....by---
O
strong summer-y wind
................pushing
........pulling.....
......c a d e n c e... is
..........h y p n o t i z i n g...
.............playing music,
O
a sleepy tune
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~lulling the mind
~ ~ ~ and the eyes ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ while
O
~ ~ ~birds flitting about
~ ~ ~ ~dull the senses, and
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ quieten the soul...
O
i cannot...
i don't want
to ~ ~ fight ~  ~ it
~ ~ any ~ ~ longer
O
~ ~ to the gentle afternoon breeze
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ blowing ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~  i finally ~ ~ ~ ~ willingly
~ ~ ~ succumb ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
O


Sally

Copyright January 26, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

It is one in the morning,
My eyes open,
It never fails.
No amount of cotton clouds
Or sheep to count
Can send me back to dreams
Yet to be dreamed.
Nothing else can make me drift,
For I am now wide awake.

Down the stairs I quietly walk
Careful not to waken the others,
Lest they stir from their ongoing snore-y visions.
Straight to the kitchen, I tiptoe,
Make myself a mug of hot, hot coffee,
So I could start
reading,

Taking in a mixture of
Glorious, mad,
Magical, loving,
Happy, groping,
Sad, vengeful moments....
But internalizing all these emotions
Takes its toll...
I stop: it is time to write of
My own moments of glory...
Which incidentally,
Rhymes with...momentary,
Poetry, dignity,
Love-ly, friend-ly,
Complexity, celebrity,
I could go on and on...and
There is only one...
One exceptional moment
That comes to my mind:
One unforgettable, bittersweet autumn...

My mouth, my lips now parted,
My stare, undirected,
Dreaming~~~drifting...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just arrived in Neverlandia!
Swimming through its endless,
Imaginary, intangible seas
Where I am alone
Where I am free
Free, to be with
My intangible one true love
Only there can we hold hands
Only there can our eyes meet
There, where we can stand,
Or sit so close
Breath against breath
Flesh against flesh
No words spoken,
Just eyes talking
No moment wasted,
For no one dare ask or tell the time
In Neverlandia.
~~~~~~~~~~
In such a wondrous journey
I also have acceped:
At the start and even in its midst,
Comes twinges of apprehension
And sadness
That unsettles my heart, my mind,
Thinking outrightly of the
Inevitable end of said journey.
Fleeting, the moments seem,
I must travel back.
~~~~~~~~~~
I ***** for that imaginary switch, and
With a heavy heart,
I turn it off.
~~~~~~~~~~

It is suddenly so cold...
I stretch an arm to reach for
My hot, steaming drink...
Oh, but it has become
A mug of cold, cold coffee!
I border on "mad,"
Lost thoughts now swimming in anger.
Have to chase back my muse,
Refresh my memory
Poem is almost done.
Have to regain
My mind's composure,
Have to ensure
My life's composure.
I need, I need my Panacea
This early morning... yet, I'm
Afraid of that same old question:
"But....where are you?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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.



Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 2019
(Posted October 26, 2020)

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

Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    September 4, 2017

(Morning Poetry with Lola)

Wednesday started with a cold, cold morning.
i wrapped myself with a thick blanket,
hid my "popsicle toes,".....seeking warmth
from recollections that played in my mind
like pleasant, joyful summer, music.

when my kids were toddlers,
i started them off with, "all things bright and
beautiful, all creatures great and small..."
but, as they grew a little older, my mother,
she woke them up each morning with,
"o captain, my captain,
our fearful trip is done..."
and then, tomorrow, we would hear,
" i shot an arrow into the air
it fell to earth...i knew not where,"
the next morning, my mother's feature could be,
"of course, i love my country,
the land in which i live,"
some days we would hear reruns....but,
the week would never be complete, without
her most favored one....which, she delivered
with a valiant voice, while pounding her chest:
"...i am  the  master  of  my  fate;
  i am  the  captain  of  my  soul!"

my kids rubbed-open their eyes in awe,
as they listened to their lola..'til they were done
with their morning rituals.

their lola kept a copy of longfellow's evangeline
but she didn't live long enough
to share it with her five great-granddaughters.
God knows...my late mother knows, i did my part,
to open the eyes...and minds of these girls,
to waken THAT awareness in them, that would
make them see, and feel...the beauty of poetry.
not everyone realizes the importance,
the necessity.....of poetry,
that life itself...........is poetry,
that, when you're a poet,
and when you're deep into it,
........you cannot just let go
for, it clings to your heart and soul,
it is like,
your second skin
...................
it's a hard habit
to break.
..................
............
the older girls read poetry...and mythology, as well,
a mix of classic and contemporary,
......but they and i, have added thoreau,
dylan thomas, teasedale, and many more
names to their lola's most favored
longfellow, henney, and whitman.
.................
.......
Sally

Copyright December 7, 2017
rrab

She is all set for her walk under the sun, there, in her own private spot, where she is free to
ponder on the past and the coming days....but, this morning, rain pours steadily, in fine drops...
thin drops falling obliquely, like bits and pieces of torn pages...stubborn, insistent, bouncing
back to the present...

...torn pages of pleasant days and summer fun, many nights of summer moons...when on one
warm evening, she stood by the window, and gazed at a distant blue star, glittering, hanging from a dark sky...
it easily came back to her, how the sun and wind touched her young, carefree heart...and sweet moments of spring bloomed, and throbbed upon her...and those precious moments had taken life and space...
and she seemed to have soared in a balloon....lost...
confused...floating above and below....in endless lonely hours...

The lined mirror on the wall gives an image of two...she turns to the right, to see her side view,
towards the left, she sees the same...knows there's no one to blame.
with hands on waist, she stares at the swelling...she puts her hands underneath, then her two hands connect, like a cradle...as if to lighten the weight, the heavy feeling...

In her mind dwells tons of worries, fears...growing uncertainties on upcoming responsibilities...thinking of lost summer days...regretting...asking herself unfinished questions:
"what? when?  after summer? until when?  what if ? will he? will we?

there goes a light kick...her anxiety triggers a stir...

If only she could turn back the hands of time...bring about a long series of counter-clockwise spins and whirls... fight the waves back, right the
wrong decisions made, without hurting....but, she is not SUPERMAN, she has no powers, just prudent choices, soaring high, inside her confused mind, dictated by a strong force deep inside.. '

Like the lined mirror, she is divided in two...she knows the answers to her questions, yet, she rebels, disputing the truth that lies before her...still in denial...a part of her refuses to accept...
"Should i consider, or forget that one choice left?" she sighs, then cradles her rounded tummy, gives it a few gentle pats...the way one comforts and reassures a confused soul...

Suddenly, some movements again, from within...a reaction to the warm touch...

Tomorrow, when the sun comes out, she would walk and explore the promise of new beginnings every sunrise brings...she gets bigger...more sluggish now...not so eager to face each new day...
slowly emerging above her fears...

Her birthday nears, but
before it comes, her tummy would be small again...
and then, she won't be on her own
and then, things would never be the same again...


Sally


Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan








~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(fourteen lines)

Their faces and tiny fingers filled my cupped hands
but, they're all grown now...on their own, they strive to stand
and hold shape...further from my warm hands...
still, they're shielded from whatever is harmful out there
rain or shine, they're raised high, safe from  murky water
somehow, it seems, i can't contain them much longer
but...they don't have to know
carefully, quietly, i will have to let go
here...today... i open my palms wide
my fears, my reservations, i put aside
and  from my cupped hands, down...they glide
like toddlers, shrieking while they slide
spilling continuously...like sand
leaving me...with empty hands.

Sally


*****

Copyright June 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(one of the many dances in life)
    10w x 6

If i have in my palms
what i've long wanted

If it slowly disappears
from my grasp
against my will

If i try to catch it
but
still falls down

If i lose it
despite my struggles,
my efforts...and

If...deep inside
i feel
a sense of finality...then

Maybe,
it's not mine to hold
...have to let go.


Sally

Copyright October 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

I once passed by an old lady's garden,
Lined with colored rose bushes, it was like Heaven!
I stopped...I stood, admiring.
The roses were in full bloom that morning.
They were quite tall, like small trees side by side.
Then I noticed other walkers also stopped by.
Beside me, behind me, they were standing,
Sighing, admiring.

Any place, anywhere it stands,
Attention, it instantly commands
Its petals speak of beauty, of fragrance,
To some, they symbolize unspoken devotion.
Its different colors are known to represent
Feelings, specifically, lovers' emotions.

Underneath its hard spiked body, it still is soft.
Its thorns have sharp perfect points
A protective threat, so
inherent,
A powerful deterrent
For those with evil intent.

Its sweet-smelling petals become softer
When held by hands so tender,
To the birds and the bees, they are a teaser,
Butterflies, even dragonflies,
They cannot resist to perch...
We human beings
Can never resist a sniff, a touch,
Love is the stem of a rose, we still dare hold
We disregard the thorns so bold.
In life, there are pricking scares known, yet ignored.
Like the leaves of a rose, we have hidden spikes, our own stories untold,
Our hearts, our feelings are very delicate,
When the arrows hit, ...they're easy to captivate.

But you see,
A rose stands tall
Proud as a concrete wall,
It bows a bit, it gives way
When blooms bear too much weight,
When things seem to always be a prelude
And, we wait for trying moments to conclude.
But when a morning so new
Greets a rose with its cold, fresh dew
Miraculously, it again stands tall,
Proud as a concrete wall.
It survives through the seasons,
"Sleepy" in winter, not at all dying,
Just patiently waiting.
It speaks beyond words, beyond reasons,
For underneath,
It lives.
In its silence,
It survives.

A
rose will
never be a
rose, without its
rough surfaced
leaves and
tho
r
n
......s......
::::::::
:::::
:::

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan


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