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

)
~
(
~

It comes anytime,
like a blowing breeze,
tenderly caressing,
but.....invading;
it creeps in, and
softens the toughened,
this breeze of fragility
makes ****** tissues
indispensable.

some days,
a playful little girl
steers a paper boat
on a big basin of water,
plays with dogs...watching
spiders weaving webs, perching
birds and butterflies, pretending
they are dwarf friends...while
munching a red, crisp apple, like
snow white.....playful, sleepy,
and.....forgiving.

on an undaunted mood,
wonder woman determinedly
crosses her gauntlet-wrapped
forearms...to protect loved ones
and in so doing, makes possible
the impossible,
come hell or high water

some days, a blend of all three
occurs, but, the child and the brave,
try to rule over the fragile...me,
every day.....is an adventure...


Sally

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 26, 2020

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

A Dialogue....


I promised I would pray for her and her loved ones
Here I am, just starting to talk, in silence...
Instead, I find myself assailed by questions,
You are an understanding God, never exacting,
Never angry, I have never questioned You,
But today, I honestly ask You:
Why is this happening? How could this be?
How could You have allowed this? Why?
When will this stop? How much longer?
Have mercy!
Have mercy, please...please...
Heal their sorrow, this pain, make it end...
Make them stop, the leaving....
She has lost one, two already,
The tears may now be dry,
And yet, she, they still cry....
How hard it is, to cry without tears.....
What has been done cannot be undone...
So I beg You, please, make the hurting stop,
Let them be healed,
Give them Your miracle....
Now....


Forgive me, my Lord, for questioning Your decisions...
Forgive me for even thinking of questioning you...
I know I am silly most times, but,
Thank you, God, for always listening...


(For Maria )



Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

It springs voluntarily,
...it's like a small voice
An invisible separator, and
An unseen magnet...
Amidst overwhelming crowds in your life
You step back.....you analyze.....
Pleasantries...short or long, are flowery
Nonstop gratitude is inebriating
What could be better,
...than, all at once,
From out of the blue
...a rainbow will appear
A kind of force is born
...for both giver and receiver
An energy that draws eyes, attention
...it's like waking up from a long sleep,
Pulls like a magnet...an irresistible force,
That invites, with open arms
...it's like hearing a voice, saying:
"You belong here, with me, baby,
........stay!

Sally

Copyright October 22, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

An initial dose of Harriet Tecumsah Watt's poetry , and its...

    "AFTERMATH"


It is not at all absurd or unacceptable...
never impossible,
that an older lady like me,
could gain precious wisdom,
as well as freedom,
from our younger generation...
theirs is a mixture of the old and the new
drastic, maybe, but sincere and essentially true...
here are bits and pieces of ramblings, brief reflections,
exercises i gathered for my heart, my mind and my soul...
what i ended up with,
when i first visited Miss Watt's page
one Sunday morning:



"You know you are a poet when---"

during Sunday mass,
when gospel is being read and discussed,
and a string of ideas come rushing through your mind
you reach for your pen, in panic,
but your small notebook is not with you...
you thank God, endlessly,
your open palms always come in handy....



"You know you are a poet when---"

your hair gets thinner, fewer, because
while pressing yourself too hard,
your hand skillfully sorts out every strand of hair on your head
and in the process, having them fall on your shoulders,
just to find the right word, right lines, right rhyme...
just about everything right,  from start to end...



"Never feel ashamed about your poems...
— never stop loving your poem, even when faced with harsh criticism,
especially from those who won’t compose and only offer opinion."

from this moment onwards,
never again shall i be ashamed of my poems,
be nervous when i am about to post them
regardless of how simple and shallow they seem to some
"especially those who won't compose and only offer opinion."



i had always wondered then, why my thoughts, my interpretations
always differed from those of the rest...naturally followed by
personal evaluation... that mine were poorly thought of,
mine lacked the necessary depth...not worth listening to...
but...not anymore.....

"Do not let anyone tell you what a poem means...
  Let it show you itself, become your friend
  Share something secret only between you..."



there are ways we can help those souls in need:
lessen their pain and misery,
if not with alms,
then, with kind words or  soothing  deeds...

   " If you have something to give
     if there’s nothing in your pockets
    Maybe shrug your sorry shoulders
    and flash a meek little grin."



this made me reflect even more,
about myself, my faith, the time past
what i have done with this gift of life,
at this certain point in my life....

"Buddha may not like me"
For I've read so little about him...
one thing i know...his teachings,
his truths, agree with those i've grown up with,
those i learned from my elders,
those learned by my elders from their own elders...
"Jesus doesn't like you,"
i dread the day when He would ever dislike me...
i am aware of my own wrongdoings,
i know that He knows...
but i believe, He is not an exacting God,
He gave us choices, and a gift of free will
but then we created "in-betweens"
between those choices...still,
He understands, He forgives...
i am at peace now...
for i have made my choices
my path, i have chosen...



...for me, this is the best part, one that has moved me, touched me deeply,
   and in the days to come, will continue to touch my heart with each re read...
   it is like a place to come home to, when things don't work out the way we
   expect them to...
  


"Take me to a lone park bench
Take your arm around my
shoulder
Take the weight of my weary soul upon
Those shoulders where I belong
Take me out
walking
Take my hand with care
Take me as I am
Take me if you dare

But take me not for granted
That hurts most of all

Take me not for granted
And I will always remain fulfilled.."



I've been TAKEN...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(10w x 6)

Grass hurls back raindrops
as wet soil clings to feet

rain no longer pours
gray disappears
sky turns pale cerulean

eyes journey, to where soft
colors make a heavenly arch

telling of zephyr
a bit of sun
rains, on hold

i wind over...close my eyes
unicorn's music
is
soporific

"somewhere
    over
      the
      rainbow

         blue birds fly
                          
      ............................­........

      ....... why can't i.".......
                          

Sally

Copyright July 11, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Like a stab on my chest,
it leaves me breathless
for a moment or two.
dwelling on it ruins my day
and days ahead.

I struggle to break free, but
it haunts me even in my sleep,
bringing me nightmares...
I thought sleepless nights would be better....
But no....nothing is better.

You, being the source
makes it more painful,
more unbearable...
piercing.....shattering....
my whole being.

Like poison,
I refuse to swallow it.
I find it hard to accept
this feeling of rejection
.......from you..........


Sally



Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Dear Friend,
I care not if this doesn't trend....
I have to air these thoughts out,
I feel that I should, without a doubt.....

I came--with my baggage,
A bit fearful and without courage.
Though, at first, I hesitated,
I decided sooner, I should get started.

I saw--your concise comments,
Read them during my soulful moments.
Encouraging words you sincerely offered,
When some would not at all have bothered.

I conquered-- all my worries and fears....
With much support from YOU and the rest of our peers
Because of you, I write, unmindful of the throes,
Jotting down all my joys, my pain and my woes.

Lovely soul, dear friend,
You and your words, indeed, are heaven-sent...
A spring to nourish your parched lands,
Arid winds kept at bay, far away from your bushlands.

Suffice it to say....
You always make my day.

Elizabeth Squires, this one's for you....
My way of saying, "Thank you!"

Sally
              
    Copyright 2013    
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

<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

~>/~ * ~<~\
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

(the hours in between)

It is the morning after reuniting, wining and talking...the stirring of the curtains transparent, become slow moving hands and calming whispers of a hypnotist, blending perfectly with the gentle whiff of a breeze...and the soft sounds of one who has just woken...a hint of a breath of life...there is much gratitude.....these early morning whispers could still be heard...quietude is a swaying hammock, but sleepy eyes peep through the window, gazing far, enthralled by the horizon...red, orange, purple.....merging.....against green and brown of the mountains...and from all these mix of colors, finally emerges a sky so blue...a new day is born, the Almighty is most kind...but something else unsettles the mind of one who has gone through many arduous journeys...asking:
 "How did I fare"?   Can I still...?  Will I...?" 

Now shining bright is a list of
Things yet to happen...intentions---
Disguised as questions.
Though this has long been conceptualized,
There's this pressing feeling, they must now be prioritized
Pray they soon be realized
Before exit from this world has materialized.

Can I still -
Be brave enough to swim? drive a car? ride a bike?
Meet with distant friends? learn new languages?
Write with more depth, even when I turn 80... and older?
Fly in a plane with my son as the pilot in command?
See my granddaughters finish college?

Will I still be able -
To satisfy this wanderlust endlessly stirring within me?
To ride a camel in the deserts of Morocco?
To feel the sun, the air, even the rain, while walking the cobbled streets in Tuscany?
To spend an evening in Florence?
To visit Greece, Spain, Ireland, Wales, and relive stories read?
To feel and breathe the air there, brimming with adventure?

We walk through various labyrinths in life, so absorbed in our own worlds...hours, days, become prosy, they move oh,  so slowly.......still, when the dark is upon us, we sit and reflect...wondering:
 
Will we see another day unfold before us?
Do we get to witness
The Blue Hours of another sunrise and sunset,
And further be enchanted by the day's breath-taking
A L P E N G L O W ?

How many more
A L P E N G L O W S ?


Sally

Copyright August 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

() 

I am always there.......never cold, or still...
i float...i roam with you in your journeys,
a torch for your dimmest alleys and
corners...i may flicker, but i never waver
.......i make sure you don't fall
into hidden abysses, or black holes...
my red-yellow flame has been
burning bright, since you were born,
i will fizzle out.....the moment you die...
........I am your God-sent candle,
i bring you clarity...and enlightenment,
everpresent......in your soul.......I am
always there with you.........in your
darkest hours........day or night...


Sally
Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 24, 2019

(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

(a tribute to all mothers)


When loved ones go ahead of us,
people say, "They're home,
in a better place, safe from harm...."

When a child's life is cut short,
it is most often said, he, or she is "...better off that way
better dead... saved from hovering perils..."
and  more comforting words
spoken softly......repeatedly
to help us cope with loss, with sorrow.

But, a mother in pain...bereft...defiant.. still asks:
"Who are we to say, a child is safer,
away from his, or her mother's loving care?"
a mother's love knows no bounds,
she would keep watch, with a vulture's eyes
until her sick child makes it through the night
she would climb any mountain
brave all that would stand in her way
just to keep her child safe, happy and contented

The life of her child is all that matters to her.

A mother feels a stab on her chest      
when her child refuses her love and care
and chooses to stay away from home
how could a mother be inflicted with such immeasurable pain?    
she dies a thousand times
her suffering heart is soaked in tears
it comes to a point when she cries without tears,
because, she loves without questions asked
she loves without complaining
because,
a mother's love is unconditional
a mother's love is an ocean...unfathomable

A mother's grieving heart could sometimes be blind,
in denial...cold...stubborn, in her non-acceptance,
though weary, she appears to be indefatigable,
never surrenders
even as she tries to walk on the water
even as she tries to walk, amidst the crowd...

(December 24, 2014)



Sally


Copyright December 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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








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

(10 w x 9)


A glass of wine waits
beside a tureen,
..............where soup
......................

~~~~~

with twisted noodles
of choices
and reluctance
is
slowly simmering.

~~~

there's no fire,
yet,
ladle goes on,
stirring within
........amidst

~

quivers...
rivers of fear
..........of paths
circumstances may lead to...

~~~

to stagnate?
or rise from inner swamp?
::::: a recurring
dilemma

::::::::::

losing
people...things
most loved,
derails intentions,
w
  e
a
  k
    e  n
           s
     existing wall...

~~~

faces...voices,
wisdom gained,
all reside in
one's comfort zone

****
to move on,
or stall?
when?
tomorrow?

no!

not...yet...

****

doi­ng    n o t h i n g,
this humid evening
just swimming
~
~~~
~~~~~
in dark
waters.

~~~~~
~~~
~



Sally

Copyright May 31, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

...when today,
we wake up, feeling everything has gone astray...
ask ourselves questions, not readily answerable,
at times, are unanswerable...

...rest assured that...

...a moment comes...we reflect on changes,
and then before us, a new path emerges....

there's this ever growing community,
where lyrical outbursts are a variety...
new faceless names we meet,
minds and pens, together we co exist...
from our muses, enchanting ideas, so to speak,
where every dash and dot, poetic...
every poem of I, Myself, Me,
slowly but surely become Thy, Thee, We.......

come...
be in this corner,
be one of those minds from various nations,
with diverse thoughts and convictions...
where every poem is written with passion,
life's lessons, learned and shared...

come...
restless souls.
seek refuge in this haven,
be eased, calmed, be healed, here,
where every poet is part and parcel
of a world within a world,
a microcosm we call
...Hello Poetry...


Sally

Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Anticipation

<~> <~> <~>

I feel, it's taking longer
before the monthly
tearing-off
of the calendar

close to one hundred
and fifty days now,
...and counting on,
trying to foreknow;
September is about
to come in.....and
i still hear
anticipated mass
via live streaming;

we worship, we trust,
we pray for our family
for the whole world,
it is just normal, that
we worry, we envision,  
and with a strong faith,
we get ready, for
whatever fate
befalls us...as a nation
and...as individuals...

within restrictive spaces
all we can do is pray,
do some wishful thinking
and yes....anticipate...


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 29, 2020

Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 29, 2020

::::::::for SPT::::::::
(10w x 5)



...reading  you,
i see, feel
a huge anvil,
overwhelming
possessing


.........i'd fly
lift the anvil
swoop you
and loved ones


i'd free you all
from what's been
weighing you down


then, relift the anvil
drop it
where it really belongs:


...upon free, delusional souls,
who must be controlled,
[maimed]
[permanently]


  


Sally


Copyright October14, 2016
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

<~>

People become
prisoners
in diff'rent ways,
lucky ones
free themselves,

exhaling lumps
from their throats,
getting out
of their prisons

sharing their
life experiences
via prose and poetry,
metamorphosing
into,

diverse poets,
ranting...narrating,
gathered in one
common space...like,

Hello Poetry,
a Home
to a huge
republic of letters...

<~>

Sally

© 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


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

"...from dust thou art..."

It was one peaceful evening we were having,
ruined by a message; distasteful and disturbing,
a misunderstanding? no, never had been..
.but it had always been the easy way out...
it was an overflow of misunderstood courage...
someone  shouldn't have had the face,
but really had the chutzpah to reach out...
one that stood up to the last moment
to gird, to break, to wreck.....and won...
to be...to feel they belong,
this, could be allowed no longer...
this must...has got to stop...

here comes the CLOAK of non-acceptance,
it quickly spreads overhead,
but repugnance PERFORATES!

to be duped anew,
ah, brings back to life old hatred,
for those who think they know better,
but never again, to swim in bad blood...
feelings to be repeatedly exploited,
this, can no longer be allowed....
this...has got to stop...

ashes that were hidden,
ashes that were forbidden,
ashes i didn't feel like seeing
an urn of ashes i firmly refused to hold,
ashes i firmly refused to be anywhere near me.
and now, they suddenly ask,
where to take the forsaken urn?
they can just pollute the river
let the ashes flow with the current...
or, be indifferently blown by the wind
atop a mountain...
for God's sake, why not just buy a vault for the urn?
give the ashes the much-needed peace it longed for..
and let those who were once denied and deprived,
have their own share of much needed peace...

ashes may be carried away
by the sea or the wind---
but there's only one known place:
to the ground we all go,
cremated or otherwise...
so, why fuss on where the ashes should go?
"From dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return."


   Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan


Biblical quote, from Genesis 3:19*'
"Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return."

As if,
...wrapped in strands of golden thread,
shining...atop his spotless white steed
this knight came right to my front scape
as i stood by the garden...wind blew his cape
even as sun shone bright that moment,
sun, gold and white almost had me blinded.

his blue-greenish eyes stared long
as if he already knew me
as if he was to swoop me
as if i needed rescuing,

but, in a swish of wind blowing,
his golden cape flapped...shielding
him...he and his steed's muffled neighing,
were swallowed by the leaves' rustling

he vanished...in a few second's whiff
as if, gobbled by the wind...t'was so brief
something i forgot...a thought made me stiff
oh...what a waste, what a shame,
i didn't get to know my knight's name...

Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 20, 2020

It's like a habit, done unconsciously
Do we even know, it is reactionary?
This breathing out with varying intensities
Could itself, be a tendency
Says a lot---it could mean anything, 
It could mean everything...
Speaking becomes a choice,
To hear, or not to hear one's voice. 

There's a sigh of admission
Or agreement...a signal of an ensuing confession,
Rarely comes with a nod or a smile...
We admire with a sigh
Our eyes, a sparkle it could never hide,
We give out a sigh of despair
When hopelessness permeates the air.
From disappointment, we frown
Our shoulders are down,
And when one is anxious, and wait-less
Limbs are so restless
Mind is unruly, followed usually 
By a sigh of anxiety.
When heart and mind have conceded
A sigh of surrender has succeeded
When what we see is beyond comprehension
And we.....have run out of options...

When the air is laced with sorrow
We sigh, and then tears follow
Because words refuse to flow
A sigh is all that we can let go.

We sense disrespect
A snort, we usually expect
As things, people, sometimes stray
And we sigh in dismay.

When what we feel we cannot utter
We exhale...it feels so much better
Sometimes, it is gentle...other times, violent
Could be like a shout...or one so fervent...

I ventured...thought of a lot more sighs,
They could fill my page...I could run out of rhymes
So I'm ending this poem with one...prolonged and high
Acknowledging...that a sigh is not just a sigh,
it holds words, actions suppressed, even ****** expressions,
Confusing....at times, giving wrong impressions,
Because...the true reason for the sigh 
Is known, only to the one who sighs.


Sally

Copyright March 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


When emerging from a dialogue,
a communion.....with God, taking in
all the good and bad we've poured,
a reassuring calm rests upon us, through
a peaceful silence...a lilt flows in every
word and move...a smile graces all
<<<~>>>

In the midst of chi kung mornings
all energies combine...no one speaks,
a silence enfolds participants...a time
to receive energy, and share...a time
to be strengthened...to strengthen others
<<<~>>>

alone, by the deck of a ferryboat,
with no bouts of mal de mer...a vista
of the limitless horizon, and the flowing
sea, mutes the human voice...gives way
to quiet moments, to mull over things, and
discover one's self......senses are made
aware, by a mist of sea water,
and a swooshing wind that brings
a scent of salt
......a peaceful silence calms the soul
<<<~>>>

a moment comes,
when cacophony heightens.
drums, gongs, church bells and cell
phones ringing, dominate the airs.
in our own found silence, we listen
closely...'til a pleasant beat finally
waves...rhythm is found...and heard,
until music is born....like a dream.
tunes agree, there's nothing left to do
but sing "la-di-das and la-la-las..."
<<<~>>>

late nights, before and beyond midnight
when the night radio rhythmically plays
a crescendo and diminuendo of snores,
i seek for my muse that teases and hides,
there's fun....in the silence of creation...
<<<~>>>
inspiration, suddenly becomes incipient,
it resonates, at times, stubbornly torments,
no sound could ever distract the flow.
<<<~>>>
Schubert's Serenade, or Beethoven's Silence
can only enhance......not crumble, nor ruin
the attempt to create......especially when
silence is most eloquent.....i am rendered
..................impassioned
<<<~>>>



Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    September 3, 2018

Content........settled here
thankful........I'm no longer there
yet...glad........I'd been there...

^^^
I Am Filled With Gratitude...
^^^


Sally

Copyright June 12, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

For The Masked Sleepyz
"What are you to do when you are stuck between the end of the world and the rest of it?"  



standing in a haze
lost in  a maze
put on a spot
left in a big risky blot
at a loss for words?
feeling behind a threat of swords?
no right actions conceived?
careful, lest we be deceived...
there's this tiny beam of light
it is nowhere in sight
shyly shining inside our mind
not to be shoved behind
a soft warning, a small voice
possibly, our best choice...
a teacher once talked about,
of this... an exit, a way out,
of that...a  dreaded spot,
and this... a circled blot...
From paths with haze
amidst an enormous maze
to get us through life's perils, puzzles, so real
glad we were given, this gift of gut feel...


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosaliai Rosario A. Bayan

It is not only on her birthday, and the day she left
i remember her everyday...without fail
her thoughts visit me when i rise in the morning
she hints to me what she'd do if she were in my shoes
at night, i whisper, "talk to me...in my sleep..."

in my dreams, our eyes seldom meet...she's younger now,  lovelier
always busy pruning her bougainvillas and dama de noche,
the usual scene....maybe, she's telling me this is how it's going to be
that everything would be okay, even when i, too, am gone.

it's like, she's just outside, tending her garden
it's like she's absent, just traveling, for a while.

in the minds of my children and grandchildren
my siblings and their families
her memories play on and on, like a record spinning on a turntable
she's a serenade...a classical piano piece that won't fade
my late mother...she's a song that will not die.



Sally
Copyright May 7, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(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

Every death
I have felt, or known,
In silence, i mourn,
Within my breath...

No words come upfront
Just thoughts, preponderant...

I'd feel the freezing cold of an empty space
Feel the absence...clearly imagine a lost face
No smiles, spanning from cheek to cheek
Eyes, seek answers...
suddenly, I'm there by the shallow water of the creek
While some nearby creatures quietly chirp...and squeak
While I......... I could not even speak...

Living,
Is realizing...and accepting
At the right time, they turn brown, the weeds...and reeds,
But, under the water...waiting, growing...are their seeds
Brown ferns...are almost detached from a mossy concrete wall
With a strong current, and wind, they'd be carried...ready to fall

The driftwood lying by the shore...is always wet, but petrified
Brown fallen leaves, on the green grass...no more hold...crisp and dried,
The dead bark of a tree...in pieces...are crumbling...
Merging with the wet earth...in a process of fertilizing
Deep down under ....a fresh spark of life is starting.
All these, remind,
Life and death stand side by side,
That in the midst of death-
Something new is birthed...
When faced with death,
there is always someone's living breath
And, as long as the heart wills to beat
Then, life.....will still exist.

Hundreds, or a thousand times,  
We all have died
In the high and low of life's tides,
Physically,
Emotionally.

We remember
Those who have left
Those who have survived..are still around
We think of those who are next to leave,
Waiting for their chests' final heave

---And then, we think of ourselves---

Worry not of our own time
Make each of our remaining days
Be golden, beaming, and bright
With good deeds, and straight pathways

The earth is a moving circle
It makes a round.......as it spins
We try to live outwards....and then, within
Any way we live it...life is an endless cycle.


Sally



Copyright March 23, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

A Thousand Times...

         Seasons came........and passed me by,
   i lived...and i died
       a thousand times     
 maybe even more
   They come, and they go,
    amidst celebrations
cold winds
smiles
   fires and ice
quivers, and shivers
   joys, storms  
droughts,
dreary hours,
leaving
        cramped hearts.  
   
     Still, i breathe      
...i look up...
inhale fresh hopes
new beginnings
and from these fresh starts
again shall arise
cold winds
smiles
   fires and ice
quivers, and shivers
   joys, storms  
droughts,
dreary hours,
while i, again
silently
 die  
   a thousand times
   even more
---
-
Sally


Copyright 2014
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.”

(FOR WEEPING WILLOW)

Inch by inch,
I reached the steep end
Of the ravine,
Struggling not to fall,
But each time, I almost did...
Remembering,
How I walked past my deadlines
With fear day after day.
Impatience gnawed on me
For my efforts were in vain
There’s this cloak,
So great, it dwarfs me
It suffocates me.
I need air, I need space,
A shaft of light maybe,
To lead me to a way out.

Sally

Copyright 2014
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

you are the great, gray sky above me...

between us,

           the deadly smoke rising...

soon,

     your gray clouds
            
         would be too heavy...

          you drop your black rain...

       ~~~~~i, am the sea~~~~~
        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
            ~~~~~~~~~­~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       S a l l y

         Copyright 2013
            Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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

. . . /\ . . .
_______


Every ticking of the clock
there occurs some bad or good acts
they could be organized, or unkempt,
yet, nothing, or no one could pre-empt
our thoughts.....there's not a hint of rage
just questions on being there on a big stage,
called life, like a puppet...or pulling your own
strings...fighting abuse when that moment is born,
the fear to err...in making a vital decision
to reel, when marked as  a failed person,

who wants to be censured......or judged,
be disheartened by an ugly smudge?

it's almost unwelcome, to hear scrutiny
wary of doors shutting on you, with finality

it's hard not to hear people's words
when they hit the ears
and the chest.............like swords,
a hostile wind.....a strange silence...are felt,
loud in their echoes,
........no human heart is ever made of pelt.

faith and hope
........embolden the spirit to persist,
to rise from all storms in life
...............to still exist...

when the winds blow nonstop,
............................is, i believe,
God's way of fanning the fires,
........................of our will, to live,
we  go on breathing
...................we survive......

Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 26, 2019

(10w)

.....all my cysts
  ................of brokenness
..............................i'm glad,
             ........................................they're all benign...


Sally

Copyright February 14, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

0
~
~~~
~~~~~

You're inside...alone in your hiding place
yet, the limited sphere of your space
grumbles with voices...repeating words and
scenes...from failed, denied expectations

be still now.....remember
not to ponder long on hurtful moments
cry, if you must,
but, when sun sets and moon is up
let twilight's soothing silence
ease your overworked heart and mind
dwell not on sad departures...take a deep sigh,
there's hope......look up to the sky

be still.............surrender
to a silent Presence...that
makes the wind move creation
listen to the music of nature
its peaceful murmurs
hear the wind hum its many songs
hissing..swishing, whistling
listen to the trees,
hear the leaves softly rustle,
the water....running....flowing from
a waterfall.......down to the river
take time...hear a hawk or an eagle cry
see them soar and descend with grace,
while a wine-red dragonfly, and a
purple-yellow butterfly....flutter
atop pink Vanda blooms...
search with your eyes, ears, mind, and heart
be captivated!  explore!
nature, always leaves us in awe...

be still,
let sand escape from your palms
release cold, indifferent hands
let go of anyone all set to leave...or
anything that always seems awry...
open your doors, let fresh air bring in
new chances...new challenges, and
new beginnings...let them all in!
remember to build new dreams
welcome new friends, new faces
remember to smile!

soon...the hurting will wane

remember the cycle:
sunrise, sunset...live, die...weep, laugh
remember the Words:
"there is a right time for everything."
~~~~~
...have faith....be still...
~~~~~
~~~
~


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 6, 2018

Orange and pink hues of sunset
are nowhere...rain pours
trees are talking, leaves are fighting
the violent wind...the shutting of doors
and windows startle...and disturb

no more candle lights on the altar...prayers
have been said, tinged with whispers and
hushed giggles...the tingling of china and
silverware float in the air...the radio is off,
no more worrisome news.....what's left is,

a soothing feeling....the cool wind
makes the curtains dance...a sweet
silence breathes outside my room...both feet are
flexing...relaxing on the bed....waiting for

midnight...to end another virus-stamped day,
the rainy dark comes with a sacred stillness,
we're not over the woods, yet...but, it would be
nice to hear about less, and more:  a decline
in cases, a flat curve...a rise in recoveries...a cure,
a vaccine would disable the claws of the
evil virus......meanwhile, we keep the faith,  
as we wait...and look forward
to........better days...
>-<
tomorrow is another day.
>-<


Sally

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 15, 2020