(Haiku x 5)



This dark shines so bright
Blinding, unacceptable
Eyes hide from its light.

Truths are bad, sad, grim,
Taunting, stinging, destroying,
Slashing-poor heart bleeds.

Pain, shame, we cover,
Heart, shoulders, pulled down lower,
Unbearable...for,

Murmurs are like smoke,
Wind-blown...spreading...absorbed.....but,
Wise minds understand.

So, breathe....part curtains
Sun, wind, shall take charge...believe!
The truth sets us free!


Sally

Copyright 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

I
felt
maybe
I had lost
you, the very
same  time  your
messages vanished.
T'was like an O M E N,
that very same time...you
d i s a p p e a r e d,  without
a word. .........How do i tell you,
better i lost you, now...f o r e v e r 
how do i tell you...............never come
back to me----now, later, just stay away 
FOREVER.......Stop these  sLOw   moving 
moments.........I don't need more tormenting 
thoughts................no more strain, no more pain 
for my bleeding....broken heart..........pinned down
lower, by your COLD SILENCE, and INDIFFERENCE.
How do I tell you...............................I'll be fine without you?

Sally

Copyright  2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

The world...nowadays, is in a lot of mess
Men, especially leaders, are restless
In most ways...in most places
Time....efforts.....battles fought....
All went down the drain
Our precious veterans' lives,
Have gone to waste
All seem wasted.

The world is truly
Not at peace these days
Sleep used to be so peaceful
They say rain is conducive to sleep,
Yet, even when it rains,
Some remain awake, open-eyed in the dark
They still could not sleep in peace,
.....for discord never aims to cease...

Rain used to be so lucid and pristine
Thanksgiving....used to be a sacred thing...


Sally

Copyright November 22, 2017
rrab

The WORLD is a poem...

Upon waking up on each new day,
you face a variety of views, of people,
animals, things, events or scenes...
They start to unfold before you,
they capture your eyes and
stimulate your imagination.
It could be a spectacle, a tearjerker,
sometimes, an eyesore...
from the nearest place,
right there in your garden,
reaching out to the farthest in sight...

A rose is a poem in itself,
from its leaves, down to its roots,
to the colors that adorn its whole being
even the thorns on its tough stem
have messages to relay
they are loud verses themselves...

The birds by the trees that greet you
early in the morning,
the geese, always in a huddle,
chatting, honking with the others,
near or far from the water,
those who stray further,
waddle by the nearest puddle,
seemingly interested at first sight of a human being...

The lonely eyed cats and dogs on the streets,
with no roofs on their heads, rain or shine,
just like the homeless people, the street children,
there's a lot to read from their faces..

An after breakfast walk
could take you to the streams ...
walk further and you see the bigger seas,
roam your eyes, to reach those hills and plateaus
all have hidden stories to tell...

The seasons of the year,
slowly shifting from one to the next,
they make themselves known to you
through the changing colors of the leaves,
the hibernation of some animals, the naked trees,
much more of God's miracles are revealed,
abounding,
amidst your surroundings,
just open your eyes...

The sun, the moon and the stars
the comets and meteors flashing across
a firmament of blue or charcoal black,
give you so much to wonder about...
they, too, are sources of rhymes,
they are a flowing spring
of vital informations
Teeming with inspirations...

Morbid, scary thoughts accompany
a cold coffin, but
maybe a chest of drawers,
an overloaded bag, a blender,
a faded and dilapidated chair, a table,
or the old but firm toothbrush
could generate a lot of positive thoughts...
Even a whole kitchen
would speak if it could,
you just have to pause and see,
feel, listen to what they express
in their silence...

Those bridges you cross
sometimes by car, other times, by foot,
they connect you to distant friends, relatives
or people you've never met, never seen
people who are deprived, abused,
hungry, even killed...
bridges take you to places where a battle is
about to start, or already raging,
where help is needed...but never given...
bridges are brimming with events to share,
they would have spoken...
but they could not,
it is up to you to be sensitive enough
you must be aware, you must know...

Every thing, every one on earth
has a message to impart
All of you are to be their voices...

You should be most grateful,
and love this WORLD you live in
it is a most precious gift from GOD,
You should all be one in saving the source,
a great volume of verses:
this universe....

Save me, now...
I am your poem,
I am the WORLD.



Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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

for, no man is an island,

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

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

for, what is life, without love?

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

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

for, our faith always teaches us,

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

(1 Corinthians 13: 4-8)



Sally

Copyright February 14, 2017

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

...

I say, it's a blending of many colors, pale and bold
not all beginnings are really green and gold
others begin with hazelwood...grayish, almost pale
freshens up, when the winds are in one's sails
things turn green with aspirations...
golden.....when ripe with expectations
going brighter, like red-yellow flames, in a live kiln,
fueled, fiery confidence...burning within.

Middle parts are the most illuminated ones
the brightest hours...of afternoon sun...
could be radiant yellow...perchance, tangerine,
shifting to burnt orange...a bronzed sky...when
perspectives change..and feisty fellows start to mellow
blaring red turns coffee brown...fading colors follow,
we don't want it, but gloom visits ...trailed by fears
all become pale, when days get doused with tears.

Endings are often called, night...or dusk
horizons could be stilled, shaded gray, or black,
darkened even more by impatience and waiting...tedium
dehydrates the body and soul....ending up consumed,
others look up to a starry sky, denim, or indigo blue,
anxious with a coming.....twilight? or gray morning?
that day, when some go to a blood red sea...seething,
where unforgiving, indifferent winds are the ones blowing
where many voices bellow...begging, but in vain.
for some, dark magically turns to a blinding sun,
when it's time for them...to cross over,
the other side beckons...waiting, is finally over.



Sally

Copyright July 9, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

We worked hard for these plans for so long
these dreams, we feel, could never go wrong
we have given them our all...they are nearly done,
but, "nearly" doesn't mean it's been won
deep inside, we keep alive their  essence
and we choose to stretch our patience...

We wait...

Notes have yet to be written on the bars
the tunes seem to be playing among the stars
lyrics are springing back and forth
"pen-rubber-pen," is a cycle that can't be fought
they are songs taking too long to be sung
in the air, they fly, like arrows being slung
in spaces too far flung...

We sit on the edge, while waiting...

They are verses that falter
have yet to make it on white paper
altered thoughts, words displaced
lines, here and there...disorganized
hanging...
with unknown endings
work is pending
we desperately seek for the missing element
to come up with meaty, meaningful contents...

We console ourselves, and say, "maybe later..."

They are faces that hide
there, at the back of our minds
smiling at us in our darkest hours
they make us cry, laugh, turn our moods so dour
keeping us company twenty-four/seven,
we fervently wish, the odds would become even
yes...we long for their physical presence
but....it can't...it just doesn't...happen!
they keep stalling
courage could be waning...

It is hard to comprehend why...we're still willing to wait.

When most days of life have passed
and while waiting, we breathe our last,
our songs, our meandering loves, our dreams,
our long written poems with scattered themes,
like shredded paper, shall go with the final heave of our chests
fly away, flee to the open spaces...to find rest,
and, after wandering all over...they would then settle down
to finally become the color of the ground.

One day,  things would fit into their proper places,
people will wear smiles on their faces
nothing would seem to be wrong
the air would be filled with songs
from new lives, new loves...risen from the fall
from life's cycle....these unknowing souls
their palms, with lines and colors, much brighter
they could be luckier
they have better chances...they show more courage
the wind brings good fortune, they now have the edge...

How are they to know, their most desired aspirations
used to be other people's inspirations
in the past generations?
their dreams realized had once been,
Things that were not meant to be.


Sally


Copyright JUNE 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Think of me...
Not
As a splinter of wood stuck deep in your flesh,
No...not  a thorn,
In your life, never a disruption...
Think of me as something extraordinary, like,
A special kind of food,
A beautiful, brilliant light,
A helping hand, an INSPIRATION...

Never mind if the reverse happens...
You can
Think of me, as, SALT...
That washes away the bitterness in your tongue
That enhances the flavor of your every taste
That clears the gray clouds in your worry-filled sky
To make the sun shine during the dullest hours in your days...

When you're  weary,
When moments have become so dreary,
Pulled lower still by melancholy...
I boost your mind, your spirit, to wonder once more, 
I fill you with jumping beans, so you'd dance on the floor...
I make your droopy eyes stare back, alive with wonder
I resurrect the excitement, the spark in your sagging spirit...
I bring MAGIC...

Think of me as, SALT...

I preserve your life,
I enrich your wit, your wisdom,
I brighten your days, I heal your pain, your woes...
I am just within your reach...

Others say, I melt,
I disappear...
In truth, most ignore my presence
Yet, I am always there, always around, 
Just neglected...
Taken for granted...
But, when thought of, nurtured again, and cared for,
I take shape in your mind, I solidify,
Once again, I become Hard as  Rock...
I could be permanent,
Stay with you,
If you'd only let me...

ThInk of me....


Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan




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

Here in our imperfect world
our lives are influenced by the wind
and the rain, the sun and the moon,
the stars, and thunderous skies.

we live...we love, we get to taste
bitter and sweet, brought upon us
by people dear to us...we opt to
endure a bittersweet life...and love.

inside a room...various thoughts
of a person, or two...occupy and
float in its limited atmosphere,
there're no words...just lumps in
the throat...as a deafening silence
enfolds the room.

that life and love are never fair,
is widely accepted...that both are
painfully beautiful, is a known reality,

"tis better to have loved and lost,
than never to have loved at all," these
are old words...that still reverberate.
to be hurt, to be sad, are much better,
than losing a loved one...to part with
one's beloved is "such sweet sorrow,"
yet, we live through the pain.
what could be more exciting than
a sweet reuniting?

we choose to live, and to love.
and so to heartbreaks...we succumb.
for, amidst the madness,
we find beauty....we find wisdom.

despite its ugly sides and borderlines
we can't just let go of this mad, mad
world...without losing our only world.
no matter how imperfect it is,  
or how injured it has become,
it's still worth saving...worth praising.
:::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::
::::::::
(Friday morning reflections)


sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   May 21, 2021

(a group of 10 words)


Vast surfaces of blue-green
oceans still capture eyes,
create sighs...

its salt-scented sea breeze,
and salty waters...offer
natural healing...

less chemicals, meant
fresh air
less dreaded diseases,
safer lives...

nobody expected...that one day,
malevolent winds and rains
would

grow seeds of
discontent....animosity
on fertile soil and minds...

a peace-loving, compassionate,
world......turned paranoid,
people learned...became wary,

of feigned smiles and handshakes,
inanimate...and spiritless,
like plastic...
..................



Sally

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 21, 2019

<:)>

It is most endearing,
and heart-warming,
it pleasantly stuns the heart
to know how loved ones,
friends, show they care,
by bridging the gap,
spanning lands, oceans
that separate....finding
ways to defy distance,
to make you smile during
rough times......through
sincere and thoughtful
messages......saying:

"You are always in the
    forefront of my mind."

suddenly,  joy enfolds,
and overwhelms.....and
then comes a most elated,
...but shy  whisper:

"i know, i know......because,
you always...and in all ways
............dwell in mine..."

thoughtfulness...is a bunch of
white and bright yellow mums,
it heals and soothes the soul...


<:)>

Sally

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 13, 2020

morning sun is brightly shining, but,
in the dark, is where i am,
protesting,
there is a war going on.
changes are seen, felt,
happening to me and around me.
they are unacceptable this very moment
i am bound by something that rebels in my innermost.
this questions my faith in myself,
my capabilities.
am i languishing?
deteriorating?
is this just a respite?
could i have been blinded?
is something being painted before my very eyes
that fails to penetrate this weary mind of mine?

why is it that, at the same time,

A passive countenance,
a vacuum...accosts me...
there's this sting,
a biting feeling,
it goes on pricking,
puncturing my chest,
because it has been
realized and accepted:
i haven't strayed that far from
I, Me, Myself,
so obvious, in this written piece...

no thoughts
except those of inadequacy...
dwell in my mind
they dry up my throat
as I leaf through trivial pages,
going through each phase of life,
where I find myself surrounded
by things I've taken for granted
people I've thought of as uncelebrated...
thoughts are shallow,
the mind is narrow...

compunction floats in the air
merges with the winds of sensitivity
that blows against my reeling body.
then I come across a well of words
that further stir my already troubled mind
thoughts that pierce my eyes, and
my heart to the core,
shattering my complacency
into pieces,
my numbed awareness,
is now more awakened...

this vessel doesn't offer much,
it is wanting, asking
for more compassion
it is just half-filled...
ineptitude is admitted
and acknowledged...
a cloak is thrown over my head,
a last-ditch effort,
to shroud my now enlightened mind...

but, these awakenings make me quiver...

i need another kind of mantle,
light and transparent,
to hide myself from shame
to shield my poor threadbare soul...


Sally

Copyright 2014
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

She is a rose...
of course,
It is but natural
she was born
with those thorns...
but thorned or otherwise
she rises in splendour
beauteous in every colour...
her petals, oh so fragrant
When dried, they are more redolent
especially when kept in a sachet...

She brightens our days with
the many colors and tones of her poetry.
some may be sad  outbursts,
reactions that could have been stirred
by daily circumstances...
others are gentle reflections,
it doesn't matter...
they are roses arranged in a vase,
or scattered
among a garden of flowers...
she  showers us with a variety
of her chosen thoughts for the day...
it is always a mystery,
she keeps us in suspense!

Thorns are an accepted part of her body
even when she tries to spare her fingers,
she gets pricked, just the same,
she  deals with the wound
as she would always do,
just as tests of life, like thorns,
are part and parcel of our daily lives...
she knows very well those roads to be taken
and those to be avoided...

On a stressful or gloomy day
when our spirits are clouded,
almost sagging towards the ground,
when under the weather
when restless or anxious, or
when needing solace,
the rose-y colors of her poetry
do their best to comfort us
some days they are red
other times, pinkish
other days they are yellow
or immaculately white,
peach-y, at times, seeming delicious
one may be tempted to have a bite...

Don't know how or why...but we
must not question these miracles of God...
time comes for a rose to be dormant...
during these winter moments in her life
she  lives, she exists in silence...but
underneath, her mind is so alive....

From deep inside, she writes,
she hears, she reads,
gathering pictures, words,
anything important in sight
wherever, whatever the source
her cloth-bound journal is always ready
to  record her new-found discovery
all pages would soon be consumed...
a new one to take its place, is presumed.

Petals may fall or pinched one by one,
her stem, may be left to stand on the ground
but strength is like second skin to this rose
she has risen above past thorny episodes
surely, she will rise above future ones,
if they come...
these days, she is in  some kind
of a wonderful state...
i pray she will always be that way.

she is a sturdy wall to lean on,
she is indomitable...
her stem may sway,
she may bend, but
she rarely snaps
she is a rose...and
will always be
a rose...

Her name is KELLY ROSE...


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A, Bayan

Last night,
my thoughts were  of the coming days
i got up even before dawn
preparing to face tomorrow.

everything about tomorrow
is on the table...like a briefing on what to
expect...souls awaiting...sunny, stormy days
newly sprouted worries, and old ones that
refuse to go...food talks...pride...errands,
the good and the bad...everything,
all arranged on a platter.
it's like reading a big book...filled with
nows...yesterdays...and tomorrows..
thick with pages that turn fast, or slow,
pages that are bright, unwrinkled,
others are flapping...twisted, crumpled,
even torn......depending on the wind,
which could be breezy...or gusty.

some pages bring long-lasting smiles
some are too wet with tears
some cause a blink...once, twice, or thrice;
a brief way of escaping...yet,
truths are there when eyes open again.

we ponder over the pages skipped,
for clarity...for closure...not for turning back
there's no other way.......but ahead...
....like the wide and endless freeway,
painted lines divide lanes...define direction
...explaining continuity...moving forward,
no matter what.......because,
tomorrow
always comes

>>>>> ::: >>>>> ::: >>>>> ::: >>>>>



Sally

Copyright January 8, 2018
rrab

Sunday night, past eleven,
signs and sounds of life start to wane,
all have gone to their corners,
tucked in their own sleeping spaces,
another night...another week ends...
from this dark silence,
shall emerge..........tomorrow.

i am not alone...yet, i seem alone,
i seek You again...

in my lamp-lit room, i worry about
tomorrows, laden with difficult tasks.
i don't know how...or, where to start,
how to go about them....yet, i must.
they are upon my aging shoulders,
they feel really heavy...

"why me?" some nights, i ask..."take
these tasks away," i say..........when mind
clears, i take back my wish...my question,
i am reminded: some have boulders to
carry........mine are just pebbles.
here i am....complaining at this late
hour......instead of giving thanks...

forgive my worrying, my selfish whining...
if i do wake up to see another  tomorrow,
i ask for hope and strength.....there's still
much to do.....my weary mind and eyelids
surrender....God, i need Your Light.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::­::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::::::
(Good night, everyone!)


Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 16, 2019

(14 lines)


S C A R R E D .
F O R E V E R
it seems I am
Striving hard
f o r e v e r
s c a r e d
it seems I am
struggling
healing,
staggering
braving it all
So afraid, i'd been
I cringe at your touch,
Touch me not!




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


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

****


When the boulder was lifted,
Pandemonium started.
Everyone, in a flurry-
The usually slow flow
Of movements.
Now done in haste:
Moving out
Moving in
Resettling
Reorganizing
Moving shelter
Moving food supply
Everyone has to hurry
Confusion
shouts in every corner.
Still, peace is kept
In their lined activities
Though, getting hurt is inevitable.
How could there be so much
Hope and patience,
When soon enough,
Another boulder would be lifted?
Demolition is nearing,
Construction would soon be starting,
Desolation, all is expecting,
Still, they move on,
They live on.
****
****
We, could learn so much from
These industrious, persevering living beings.
They are brimming with wisdom,
These tiny,
Slow-moving, fellow creatures,
Called
Ants.


Sally

Copyright November 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

When the boulder was lifted,
Pandemonium started.
Everyone, in a flurry-
The usually slow flow
Of movements.
Now done in haste:
Moving out
Moving in
Resettling
Reorganizing
Moving shelter
Moving food supply
Everyone has to hurry.
In my eyes, I see that
Confusion shouts in every corner.
Still, there is peace
In their lined activities.
How could there be so much
Hope and patience,
When soon enough,
Another boulder would be lifted...
Demolition is nearing,
Construction would soon be starting,
Desolation, all is expecting,
Still, they move on,
They live on.
We, could gain so much from
These industrious, persevering living beings.
They are brimming with wisdom,
These tiny,
Slow-moving, fellow creatures,
Called
Ants.


Sally

Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

I can't breathe well
For I have been wrapped
Now, I am trapped...

I am usually sweet,
But sometimes I come sour,
Most often crunchy, though now
I've been sliced,
Sprinkled profusely
With sugar and spices.
Occasionally, I am latticed,
But today, I've been topped,
Adorned with slits
Which doesn't help one bit,
For I could hardly vent.

What goes on next
I can't stand any longer.

There's hot air escaping,
Still, I can't very well breathe,
For I have been wrapped,
I am inevitably trapped...

I am now a perfect circle,
Steaming hot...smelling good...
Soon to be sliced, served, eaten...
I am a plate of freshly baked
Apple Pie...




Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Treasure

I have seen  shades of jade
i've felt kinds of agate
Green, red garnet
round pyrites
steel cold
frozen
dead
ice
...
I
t o o,
touched,
and got so
enchanted by
red rubies, purple
amethyst, red and pink
bamboo corals, emeralds as
green as the meadow, sparkling
crystals, shimmering, like diamonds.
...
But, these gems are a pale comparison
to what I keep and cherish deep inside...
...
I
have
this  o n e,
very  precious,
unparalleled treasure,
I could never live without...
the LIGHT of my life, HIS PRESENCE,
MY CREATOR,  MY  LORD,  MY G O D~
the LIGHT of my life, HIS PRESENCE,
I could never live without
unparalleled treasure,
very  precious,
this  o n e
have
I
......


Sally


Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

This was unprecedented:
After so many years,
The three of us,
Spending time with each other,
The second time, actually,
But the first time in reality...
Doing things together
Whatever the weather
Amidst the flu epidemic
Only in our house endemic...

Diving through albums uncovered
Old cards and photographs, discovered
Events recalled with each page
Of those still alive but have aged
Even those in this world now gone
No more tears now, just pure fun...

Amazing!
My sisters and I,
All in our senior years.
The times have been kind to us,
The gravity of our burdens
Never capitalized on our appearances.
In all modesty,
In all honesty,
in the eyes of many,
And in my own eyes...
We have become lovelier,
In our own ways...
Wealthy in experiences,
With each line and wrinkle
Bearing witness to the wisdom
We carry
In our minds and in our hearts,
Adding more precious gemstones
To each of our invisible jeweled crowns.

Still very much honed, our senses...
Still clear, our memories,
Olden times in our lives,
Oftentimes, recounted...
Clear as glass,
Every detail,
Every date,
Specified,
Verified,
All true.

We faced, dealt with
The acid tests of life, we
Emerged triumphant.
There weren't dull moments,
For we learned to smile,
Come what may...

In and out we dined,
Laughed, and wined,
Sang our songs,
Told our stories,
Tried on our old outfits,
Gigglings of our youth
All relived,
All resurrected.
The three of us,
Up to having more wrinkles soon,
Laughing at the most trivial things.
The "Tres Hermanas,"
As we were fondly called,
Then, even now,
My two sisters,
Oblivious of their nearing departure,
For we were having unequaled fun,
From sunrise to sunset,
Even beyond bedtime hours,
Here, in our family house,
After a long, long time.


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A, Bayan

It is eight o'clock, after dinner...
Only distant stars adorn a blue-black moonless sky
Quiet evening, no voices screaming,
No vendors calling...
Not one nocturnal sound, to prove the night's existence
I hear numbered footfalls above, 
A slightly, heavy weight, presses on the fiberglass roofing
Silently informing, 
Very careful not to startle me with the roof creaking
I am not scared of its presence, for it knows...
This is me...I do not fuss, I do not bellow
There is no one else, it is only me it always follows,
Hidden in the dark, on me it never lurks...
A welcome cloaked friend, this stray cat in the shadows...


}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}­}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

🌄

From the kitchen door, i watch
orange and pink layers of a
fading sun, pale and quickly vanish.
sky gets dimmer by the minute.

On this fragrant twilight,
"Queen of the Night" blossoms,
infuse the dark atmosphere
with their long lasting scent,
still appearing white,
even in the darkest of night.

Somewhere, in the garden blocks
a resident bull frog hides and croaks.

A brush of cold breeze blends
with tonight's scenes, sounds and scents,
easing...relaxing stiff, tensed muscles,
untangling this busy day's knotted tassels.

A bowl of peanuts is tempting me,
while feet are repeatedly flexing.
tiny sweats on glass touch my skin,
Pinot Grigio is cold as evening dew,
and...as if on cue,
Harry Connick easily sings,
......"It Had To Be You."

I hope for a new day without sorrow,
for another fragrant twilight, tomorrow.




sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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

(1)

I bring two tiny hands
to my lips
both so tender
a smell of new life
just released from within
soft pinkish hands
that make mine look like giants
raring to grasp some warmth
for that sense of security
while i, too,
await that tight grasp on my finger
and that first sweet smile, for
they bring new beginnings
and countless dreams to be dreamt.

(2)

I bring two tiny hands
to my lips
like those of an angel's
pinkish
soft
tender
light as a soft feather's touch
it is a trip to the clouds
overwhelming
feeling so much joy
unexplainable tears
f a l l i n g
feels like
H e a v e n.


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

I Think That I Shall Never See
A Poem Lovely As The Banyan Tree....

It stands tall and sturdy
Telling us of unwavering strength
Evidenced by its toughened body.
It speaks with its huge trunk
As it holds itself firmly on the ground.

Its new-grown twigs
Otherwise known as sprigs
And branches, crowded with leaves,
Are shades and shields, replete with stories to weave,
The rings etched inside its trunks are proofs to show
Their age, their truths and tales from long ago.

Roots are both big and small... resembling us, our lives,
They are crisscrossed, entwined...they wrap the tree alive.
They spread deeper down and sideways, like an anchor
Giving extra hold that could last a hundred years or more.

One could dance and create verses on a windy summer day,
The same pace, as its branches bow, wave and sway.
It is a spacious tree house,
There is love, there is freedom, way above our brows,
Where sleepy, weary souls, are promised restful hours,
Like only a steady hammock could offer.
There is always shelter and warmth on cold days
Shade from the heat, when sun is ablaze.

It is too wide, our arms are too small a circle
To hold the thoughts, the countless words, like a cradle
To describe images of what's inside, above and underneath,
As we tell the story of the Banyan tree.

Underneath this tree are two lovers,
Fleeing... feeling light, like two soft feathers,
Flying, as if they could reach the heavens
But they always return to this tree, their haven,
Where their worries they disown.
Somewhere else lay, the problems they bemoan.
Here, they find the privacy they've always sought
In the outside world, it is a dream, or just a thought.
This is where their long poems start to unfold...
Their lives are rich with stories to be written, to be told.
.
For these two lovers
And other creatures,
Two feet or four, it doesn't really matter,
Those that fly, crawl or slither,
Through the night, there are those that wander,
Amongst the branches and crowding leaves they stick together
Before the spreading dark, they come, even those with tethers.
Sometimes they get wet when the rain seems forever,
And yet, they squeeze themselves in, they all gather,
Here, where they find peace...through all kinds of weather...

It is their refuge, their home,
It is like an over-sized dome,
A giant  U M B R E L L A
They fondly call,
THE  BANYAN  TREE...

I can never be swayed:

I Think That I Shall Never See
A Poem Lovely As The Banyan Tree.....



Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Listen...feel closely
there's freedom in the atmosphere

the wind is
unrestrained...unbridled
it doesn't choose,
it touches anything it comes across
the trees, the roofs
the mountains and hills...the sea
takes even the humble dust, anywhere it blows...

it touches my skin...my soul,
it dries the sweat of my being, my whole
to my skin...it is cold...

nothing...no one
slows it down
except,
One, who tames the wind...
~~~
There is freedom moving in circles
inside...outside the waters

through the ocean, or the  smallest stream
even through the rain pouring,
water falls
flows freely by itself
unrestrained...unbridled,
transforms the humble dust,
into mud...

it touches my skin...my soul,
it dries the sweat of my being, my whole
to my skin...it is cold...

it finds its own path,
nothing...no one
slows it down,
except,
One, who stills all waters...
~~~

Sally
~~~

Copyright August 15, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(a cluster of 10W)


T'was on a stroll
one cold and windy
autumn morning
:::::

palettes of colors
emerged...felt like
straying to another realm
:::::

roaming,
reluctantly
stepping on
leaves of brown
orange, yellow ochre.
:::::

t'was pure
conscience
that gave voice,
made plaintive cries
heard.
:::::

"cruel feet, ended
my fractured existence
i'm silenced,
i'm powerless.
:::::

my
brittle body,
broke into pieces,
like shredded
paper dreams.
:::::
:::::

come, strong
gusty winds,
fly me
to soft moist beds.
:::::

o, set me free
let me rest
peacefully,
permanently,
undisturbed.
:::::

in my absence
new
life
emerges,
light
heralds
new existence."
:::::
:::::

sun...rain
night............day
birth...­...........death
the    earth    is
  round.


Sally

Copyright September 22, 2017
rrab

(10WX2)

While I live,
~~~~~~~~~
a muffled
~~~~~~~
unforgotten
~~~~~~~
fragrance
~~~~~~~
breathes
~~~~~
wit­hin
~~~
me.
~~~
~~
~
~~
~~~
It'll
~~~
fade
~~~~~
with me
~~~~~~~
when i soar
~~~~~~~~~
to the Heavens.
~~~~~~~~~~~


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Unicorn Moments


It was Maundy Thursday, an afternoon so lazy
the words of the passion could sink hardly
for my eyes were on the beading tray
the unfinished bracelet was now  awry
off and on, i kept stringing  
the garnet rounds and pearls kept falling
no more tiny brass rings to string in between
i had to think of other ways...something
also had to wash away the gray feeling.

Searched inside my bedroom drawers
and found silver flower spacers!
i gloried at the thought of finishing two bracelets
three, more, maybe even an anklet!

Three, four hours had passed, i was so exhausted
i had already showered
the whole bathroom was spotless,
smelling of ^Pandan leaves^ and flowers,
i was so delighted!

Outside the bathroom door, i stopped
spotted the shiny silver spacers! on the bed, i almost dropped
the silence was too loud, i couldn't stand the spacers' glare,
nothing to say, nothing to offer... just a stare...

"No! no way!
i'm fine, i'm okay!"
was that my voice that gave me away?
moment of truth could never be held at bay...

I held the cable wire to start beading
but body and mind were one...refusing
my fingers were limp...a bit trembling
tired, from too much scrubbing.

My finger traces the head of my unicorn figurine
God knows, i have loved this magical creature ever since
but, i'm not sure i even like these new visitors, these
unicorn moments,
they don't come often,
yet, they're bound to happen.
oh, well....i guess i have to be a bit bolder
accept these changes that come with growing older...

when this happens, i try to joke and laugh,
and then people say......."you're tough!"
i answer them with a smile...and a gruff!



Sally
Copyright April 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

On starry nights,
i think of the comets and meteors
that graced the starlit skies of past nights,
of falling stars i chased, as i uttered my wishes
before they disappeared at the far end
and somewhere out there....exploded

all these...were mine...they used to be mine
to hear you say, i was your rainbow...was divine
i was your sun, your source of light,
your moon...your accompanying glow at night...

.............you said..................

day or night, it wouldn't matter...
nothing could shield my glitter
we were bound by long strings of glowers,
ties.....that could never be severed

for, i.....was your universe.

yet....the moon, the sea and the tides,
the wind and the rain.....all connived,
all decided: for now, things musn't jibe
all worked together...to create space
all made the earth move, on a different pace.

we used to be rich with all the things,
.....suddenly, we ran out of everything.

our world...slowly crumbled
our paths followed suit, and swerved
yes, we were clearly breathing
but, WE....had stopped existing,

promises, declarations, then uttered,
became platitudes...stale, and dead.

i am now,
my own Universe.



Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 3, 2016

?????????

Time is not flying
the evening hours are so slow, inching by
and spent tossing and turning
my restless mind roams dark avenues
my restless feet roam the bed,
left...right...then back, over and over.
the bed, that was my hammock....no longer sways
a promise of peaceful slumber, flies away,
???????
new and strange images
start to trail me...they're heavy tassels,
tagging on the  hemlines of my mind,
seeking to connect...to be known
???????
this late hour, i recall
a forked road, not far from a winding road,
from afar, a child admires a white castle
high as the clouds, its windows, foggy,
its high fence, mossy...on its front lawn
is a treehouse, perched...resting like a bird
inside a very old tree, leaning to its left side,
with a long set of steps...all painted white.
just below the white steps are gathered,
doyens of poetry...seated in their own chosen
corners...tacit, yet, empowered by their brilliant minds
the tips of their feathered pens, smoothly sliding on
paper......strange, that they're waving at me,
why, they could be dead!
???????
i must be dreaming...my muse is showing
me paths, i would think twice of treading
???????
a quartered moon selfishly glows
unsettles even more, my murky thoughts...
yet....my pressing thumb is on my journals
i must heed.........the need.
???????
"o' my elusive unknown poem,
kindly show me...lead me to your home
let my pen give light to your dim path
give second wind to my weary mind and heart,
deny, even a bit of a space......for wrath,

help me, push me...my efforts musn't cease
show me your face...we'll both have peace."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~
~
Sally  

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 21, 2018

(Early Mornings)


It is 4:10 AM
Here i am, facing you...
Haven't showered...haven't brushed...haven't gurgled
Too early to look...but, i could not resist seeing
This person with disheveled hair
Eyes are not too willing to open
Avoiding the uncertainty surfacing...slowly but surely
Making itself known, this morning so early...
An empty shell, is what i could see
A looming nonentity...

No coffee yet, but, the eyes already speak
You don't answer, your looks are so bleak
That is how you tell me i am  stubborn
But i've been this way since birth...so torn
You tell me, i am just in denial
In front of you, it is like, i am on trial
But, i am just a mortal
Maybe we are both tired
How can we ever go back to being inspired?
Maybe you'd rather shatter into pieces...like i would,
I'd carefully gather your shards...would you gather mine, if you could?

Now, later, tonight, tomorrow...we always face each other
There are days, when i look at you, you make me smile, i feel better!
But, most times, i hate the reflections, they make me glare
And i so despise the thoughts that ensue...i counter your stare
..... I close my eyes, with a plea,
A blink could not erase, the images that i see..

I have never wanted separation
And yet, Fate brought me here, in isolation
You're my silent pal...my silent witness
You say nothing when i become senseless
I leave you in the morning
I come home from work in the evening
And i find you still here... on this wall
Welcoming me home...where i just sit, or stall
Faint jazzy sounds comfort me
A few hours rest...late at night...i sleep...i am free
Then, again, the alarm ruins the stillness of the moment
Robs the dawn of its precious silence
And i rise...to drown anew in despondency...in self pity,
Or is this lunacy?
All i see is gray...and black
Be it dawn...or dusk.

If  ever i surrender
I'd be swamped with the stark truth, the reflections you offer
...this can't be a facade,
...in front of you, it's just too bad

I am

U n m a s k e d...

....I am weak, powerless...i crawl
Over and over, i struggle not to fall,
Over and over, i  look at you... but, just the same..i fall.

         (January 22, 2015)


Sally

Copyright May 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Unspoken Narratives

<  >..........<  >..........<  >

A late glum afternoon takes place;
two stilled shadows occupy space,
seated on warmth-less corners,
sipping cold, stale coffee...it alters
not, a pricking, awkward quietness,
both alternate, share flitting glances.

Timid, uncertain thoughts
enslave, and sway to and fro,
none wants to be uttered
they block the throats,
trapped...nowhere to go.
into lumps, they've turned.

Two restless shadows inhale
and take time to exhale
unspoken narratives are set free,
all spewed in one long, deep sigh.
a love that's gone awry,
meanders...and takes flight,
suddenly, their verses they can't write
why can't they do things right?
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
They're couplets, no longer spliced
::::::::::::::::::::
no cadence left, just estranged rhymes
hesitating...dangling on in their minds.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
A soured silence lingers,
bearing a scene in faded watercolors
their spirits, so shaded with pallor.
:::::::::::::
:::::::::::

              

sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 11, 2019

valentines? me? nah...
saturday...no two red hearts
dim thoughts, on soft lights.

i'm swimming in red
burgundy dress...red wine...but
pretty...much...alone.

valentines? nah...just
Michael Franks, Kenny Rankin
my shadow....and me.


Sally

Copyright February 2015
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

☁️☁️☁️


There's need for a break
days have been so chaotic

see, the door is ajar,
like a chance, given this hour

a way out...to breathe fresh
time to expel the toxic mess

meeting the air out the door
looking upwards, with pains to pour

welcomed by the splendifirous sky,
to its open-armed clouds i want to fly

and on the clear blue firmament
God, i must capture this moment

ton visage lointain*...smiles at me
i'm eased, unburdened suddenly.


sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 27, 2024