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

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

(good night, everyone!)


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
   June 10, 2023

In distance and in proximity...in despair
and joy...in existing and in dying...in the
bliss of love reciprocated, and in the pain
of love unrequitted...verses dance and call,
awaiting......

poetry has its own pulse, its own heartbeat,
it calls, taps the shoulders any moment,
awake, or adrift, it just can't be ignored...
even in a tangled, or weird circumstance,
it sparks like a bulb or a comet, curving
in a rainbow...riotous some days, teasing, fleeing,
then, turning up at unexpected times and places.

in every bit and breath of life, in every seed,
in every drop of dew, in every ember burning,
there is poetry birthing, growing...

deep within us flows green, purple, red,
glum gray, darkened inspirations...fleeting,
but, when time is ripe, they linger long,
giving us time to capture them all
.............................................
we sense them...we give space
we speak them, or we write them,
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::we are conduits:::::::


Sally

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 11, 2020

Visitors had flown back home
The much awaited respite
Finally, was at hand.
It felt good...to be on your own
Leaning on the bed, alone, though
Still nursing a cold from two weeks past.
To catch up with sleep
Was all that mattered.

Quietude was a blessing.
There was no noise at all
At 5:00 in the morning.

What?   5:00 AM?
No rushing footsteps?  No showering?
No flushing of the toilet?
On a school day?
This can't be!

Wondered why
Rising from the bed was a struggle,
Everything seemed light...floating,
Turning...spinning
Panic lurked in all corners of my room,
Loomed, it did, and spread all around,
In the midst of a widening cloak of fear.
The vacuum...in the right ear
Cleared those fuzzy thoughts.
The
Truth
Stood out
Transparently:
My right ear could no longer hear.

Whether lying cringed or curled,
Prostrate, or supine,
Grieving, worrying
Predominated in the days that followed
Diagnoses and prognoses, all were bleak
The cruel, deadly virus did it all
The loss superceded, and
Displaced every strand of confidence
A downward pull was imminent.

No phone calls were accepted.
Unexpectedly, true colors surfaced,
Real friends came forward
Family, other voices kept whispering:
"Shibashi waits, tai chi helps,
Both can alleviate, heal the heart,
Heal the mind, to be able
To accept the unacceptable."

Fourteen days seemed a year already,
Moments spent in soul-searching
But...restlessness won.
With prayers and courage, gathered within,
I dared cross that busy street,
Though shaking, quivering from fear
And from the cold winds of February
Almost got hit by a car,
Cursed by its driver,
But reached the church grounds in one piece.
Practice started at 7:00 AM, sharp.

Movements were calming,
Healing,
Strengthening
Concentration was perfect!
It was sunny
Wind blew softly,
Carrying small things, floating, flying
Tiny strips that went with the wind
What I thought were garbage
Strips of thrash paper, from a shredder,
Thrown from a house I passed by
Blown even further, higher up
I walked back home,
With strips of paper on my head.

Two weeks were too short, I was still confused,
Unaccepting, mad, sad, felt cheated,
Still in denial, of what had occurred
Standing in front of a vanity mirror,
I pondered,
What could be God's message this time?
Those strips of thrash paper,
What if they were confetti from Heaven?
My situation wasn't a festive event!
Could I have overlooked something here?
Was God trying to call my attention?
I wasn't sure...all I knew was,
I was depressed
I lost equanimity, I lost my serenity
I was distraught, I was everything but happy.
But, those strips of paper
Falling on my head
Made me look up to the sky that morning.

There were no tears before, and even today
I am a bit afraid, but
There is a calmer me
There is solace in the fact that,
God gave me two ears
I could still hear with the other
I live quite an active life 'til now
I move briskly
I sit where the speaker's voice is clearest
To my left ear.
When something is difficult to hear, or understand,
I get so frustrated
Sometimes, I forget about it,
It has its good effects.

It would soon be seven years after
I have learned to
adjust to my limitations,
Still wanting to know how to overcome
Or resolve these limitations
One day, I might just
One day, I might just
Accept what should be accepted

I can get myself through this
I hope to be understood
And not pitied.


Early morning ,December 11, 2013
    (From journals of 2007-2008)

Sally

Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

...Kites, Roses and Apple Pie...

In life, in deeds,
You have been, still are, courageous
In your words, in your creeds,
I say you are all so sweet,
Infectious,
You all are contagious!
Just a single line of your words
Would surely, quickly be re-quoted.
You are exemplary in
Whatever you say or do...

Enlightened are those with furrowed brows
Upon reading your works,
Commendations,
And acclamations
Bothered by ideas and words
So foreign and difficult...
Clarifications,
simple explanations
Readily are provided...
One need not ask...

Like well respected, learned leaders,
Actions, words are emulated.
You are sweet...
You are infectious...
You are contagious!

If you were colorful kites,
Soaring up the blue skies
You would have so many tails
Hanging, trailing behind you...
Here in our world
Your followers  are like ants
Trailing your footsteps...
Never straying, not at all waning,
But multiplying.....

In a bed of roses,
Bees, birds and butterflies
Would never stop fussing
Endlessly buzzing
From up above, and all around you...
Taking all their needs,
Not forgetting themselves to feed,
To recreate, from your seeds
these, they are bound to heed...

If you were a plate of fresh,
Yummy and crusty apple pie,
With a scoop of ice cream on top..
Oh me, oh, my....I am bound to starve...
Pardon me, but...
This would be my call, my turn...
Surely, I would be oblivious
The first one to be ravenous
To the point of being outrageous
Can't stop...can't wait...
This is my moment:
As long as I have a mug of hot brewed coffee
I shall take my time...
I won't feel choked,
Won't even be thirsty...
Voraciously, I would finish the whole plate off...
Til crust and crumbs fill me with too much stuff...


For the Triumvirate of Bala, Nat and Pradip...

in alphabetical order, no one comes first or last... for these three are
      all soaring high in their respective styles of poetry...

there are many others worth mentioning, a plethora of names and styles, in fact...
     the right words, the right moment would present itself to yours truly, one day...


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

If you are so sad, mad, eager, anything,
but cannot say a word,
You dont want to hurt anyone,
Copy the cat, and
Just say "Meow,"
Make it "Meeeowww"
Or "Mew"
Or "MEOW!!!"
In whatever mood you are...
Copy the cat...


Sally

Copyright 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

I see a thin wafer cake, baked flat and fine
round, like a dime,
called the Body of Christ
i think of it as the bread of life

beside it, a cup...with red wine
known as... the Blood of Christ
quenches all thirsts in our earthly life.

one can't be without the other
never bread, without wine
never blood, without the flesh

i have gone this far in my life
i cannot be without both.


Sally

Copyright May 29, 2016

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Past midnight...
apart from a nocturne playing
i hear a symphony of peaceful breathing
and snoring...rhythmical, this quiet evening,
it sends me soaring up my own universe,
with eyes closed, it grows more immense
creates some kind of a calm, in the silence
surrounding me, and my muse's presence.
stardust and moon provide me a crown
while i float...and probe around,
seeking something i don't know about,

in this journey,
i feel the absence of souls, slumbering deeply,
dreaming their simple, or strange fairy tales.
the firmament, wears a navy blue veil
stars are dots, they glow and scintillate,
like a warmth in the cold....emancipates
my invisible wings flap and fold,
a door ****...my hands take hold,
my destination...bright, resplendent,
"Cosmic Coffee Shop," a place, transcendent,
brewing a blend
-the dark, the positive
-the sweet, and the negative
a sign says, "write....there's pen and paper
in every corner..."
an invite, for people to create prose and poetry
where coffee is free, smells...tastes heavenly
a place to share...with brethren, in poetry.
::::::::
(an old poem)
1:01 AM


☕️ Sally ☕️



Copyright November 21, 2016
rrab

1:00 am, 3:00 am ... most nights,
thirty minutes without warning,
restless air, chokes the pipes
when controlled, it explodes in bits
of yellow, orange , dark red and gray
skull seems to crack ... or , is it breaking now?
a darkness follows a wheezing,
desiring to spew all malaise  
expelling bad air, while chasing fresh air
praying a stillness soon rules .... . but , no,
the painful exertion persists
that  disturbing noise just goes on,
and racks one's whole being ... one's world
every rib quivers ... every fiber throbs  
eyes and veins start to bulge
as if to burst on their own...

,, ,, , for a while, a calm occurs ... yet ,
another dreaded episode lurks...

on a dark, restless night such as this,
one can only imagine
~ ~ ~ the undulating waves ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ and the blue waters ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ of the tranquil sea ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~
Sally
~ ~ ~

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 20, 2019

#dreaded episodes  #malaise  #severe cough

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

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

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



Sally


Copyright June 23, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

6X6

Here on earth, our lives began
Surviving daily, carrying our own crosses.
Some have lighter or easier ones,
Others are heavier than life itself
Too many, laden on their shoulders.
Is there ever life without crosses?


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

In early, or late spring
the daffodils appear, to enchant us
stems are firm, while
holding clusters of bloom.
they enhance our views...our spirits,
arraying our horizons, with fresh hope
fresh perspectives
never giving space to doom.
daffodils
are offered, not singly,
but in bunches,
just like the way a mother gives herself,
never just a piece,
she  reaches out with her hand
when in fact, she has offered her whole body
always...with open arms.

Most times, she wears lively colors
of white, yellow, gold, and green,
whatever the season,
whatever circumstances she may face
her smile, her warmth,
are the most colorful parts of her being

There is a lilt in her eyes,
in her actions...in her songs...in her words
in her dance...as she does her chores
such a miracle, all these graces, she offers

On a sunny and windy day
a mother is like
those dancing daffodils
on the hills and wayside
staying strong enough, while
swaying...to the winds of life
not to fall down...or be blown away,
she may be silenced by frustration and worries
but never surrenders to ensuing hardships
just choosing to be quiet...seeming dormant.

She is both a bulb...and an all-season root crop,
stuffed with needed energy
quiet underneath when the cold season comes
but never dead...never fallen
always gathering, saving strength,
for when a storm in life comes
not one to mope...but one to ease
...like a healing balm.

A mother is a rare kind of a daffodil
one that gleams with bright lights, and bold colors
all year round...through all kinds of weather.

Sally

Copyright May 8, 2016

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

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

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


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 11, 2023

Dance

The  neighbor's stereo was playing tango music
too loud, it made me look at my red painted toes.
I realized, my feet have not even swayed
for so long now,
they've grown timid and wary
of making the wrong step.

All i want is to dance,
to be safe, warm,
close to one, as close as
cheek to cheek,
go left, then right,
lean, cling, then hold hands,
be held on the waist,
dip, then circle gracefully,
and step, a stretched arm away,
be brought closer once again,
hearing clearly the sighs
as the music reaches a high.

But, it was a chicken dance i had joined then,
the shaking and jiggling were so
repulsive...convulsive
confusing.
it mattered not who fell out of the tempo.
the desire waned,
fires die,
fires died, alright.

My feet are raring to swing back
to be alive once more
on life's dance floor
no more falls, trips or missteps this time
i'd like to dance with a slower beat
with more grace now
who knows,
this could be my best dance
ever!

This has got to feed my jazzy mood
play my chosen music
maybe do the shimmy for a while,
then shift to the bossa nova,
swing to its cool, hip-py rhythm.

Whatever the beat may be,
my partner and i...
we shall blend in......be it mambo,
the rumba, cha-cha, even tap dance,
to celebrate this new chance on life.
Together,
we shall dance the samba on the wide floor,
let the hours fly by.

Then, with a waltz,  we'll take it easy
until we finally get weary,
until we decide
to slow drag
the night
away.

  ***

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

lovely Saturday morning....
      might we dance a bit today
         to ease off some sadness?*


DANCE
(A repost...some editing done)

The neighbor's stereo was playing tango music
      too loud, it made me  look at my red painted toes...
i realized, my feet hadn't even swayed
for so long now,
they've grown timid...and wary
  
All i want is to dance,
to be safe, warm,
close to one, as close as
cheek to cheek,
go left, then right,
lean, cling, then hold hands,
be held on the waist,
dip, then circle gracefully,
and step, a stretched arm away,
be brought closer once again,
hearing clearly the sighs
as the music reaches a high.

But, it was a chicken dance i had joined then,
the shaking and jiggling were so
repulsive...convulsive...confusing.
it mattered not who fell out of the beat
the desire waned,
fires die,
fires died, alright.

My feet are raring to swing back,
to be alive once more
on life's dance floor
no more falls, trips or missteps this time
just steps with a slower beat
with more grace now,
who knows,
this could be my best dance
ever!

This has got to feed my jazzy mood
play my chosen music
maybe do the shimmy for a while,
then shift to the bossa nova,
swing to its cool, hip-py rhythm.

Whatever the beat may be,
my partner and i,
we shall blend in while we do the mambo,
the rumba, cha-cha, even tap dance,
to celebrate this new chance on life.
I only  wish that on our first dance together,
we may dance the samba on the wide floor,
let the hours fly by.

Then, with a waltz,  we'll take it easy
until we finally get weary,
until we decide....to slow drag
the night away.

***

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

.................
        .........    

Remembering,
how fast April, May and June ended,
gone.......yet, their breezes,
still whistle their songs into July
brazenly...heard by conscious, sharp ears,
by the bedroom door, i see how they
blow and push...how they move everything
...................
like these dancers on the window
moving with such grace,
always obsequious
to the call of the wind,
  ....................
soft silky bodies...dancing freely
moving with a gentle sway...flowing
flinging, waving up, down....in floral,
fruity and rustic prints....flimsy,
like summer scarves, in yellows,
reds, greens, blues, and browns
...................
baring......sometimes, hiding
a rich tapestry of an arcadian scene:
wide open areas of lush green
beside gold-colored fields,
eyes of passersby are stunned even more
by the long, wide, swaying leaves
of the proud  tobacco plants.
.....................
tireless hanging dancers, graceful and lithe,
organza curtains, pierced by rays of sunlight,
dancing with much fire, as wind becomes wild,
...but, shy at nights, when stilled by drawn blinds...
.........................

........Dancers........
....­.................
   ..............


      Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  July 1, 2018

5/7/5

A kind of darkness
is rich with a silence, where
pleasant thoughts prevail.

A sweet dark soothes...calms,
its fragrance melts restlessness
it brings a cool breeze.

Yet, there's this darkness,
moist with fear...body and mind
do quiver from dread.

Some find calm and peace,
shun light...heal amongst shadows
amidst.....silhouettes.

Some aren't aware
of others' feelings and needs,
they need to live... let them live!

I'm curious, tell me,
which darkness do you prefer?
might i see you there?

sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    May 29th, 2024

Day's Work Is Done...

Sun is setting,
Feet are fueled up...with enthusiasm
Thoughts are filled with pictured expectations,
To be met at the door with warm hugs and kisses
A hot meal on the table...steaming coffee awaits
All these, comfort my fatigued limbs and minds.
A smile, in anticipation ...a sense of *****
Atmosphere tickle my mind...i hurry
To enter my safe ground...my comfort zone
My own White Picket Fences.
|| || || || |\ || \| // || ||
They may have  tiny fractures
Some boards missing, broken, or collapsed,
Its concrete floors and walls may be creviced
I can not shun........or hide from
Imperfect truths, about my family,
Our relationships, our health.....every truth
About my loved ones and me...

It is where i come home to...
After each struggle's end
My feet and mind take me back...to my own,
My known familial boundaries...

An inner force spurs me to make those broken boards
Upright...firm once again......like hardwood trees,
Be unshaken by water and wind....be unwavering
Then, i repaint them
...to bring back the glow.

Some broken fences could still be fixed
some are worthy of fixing; but,
There are those that seem to be, beyond repair
needing some kind of intervention.
/|  || || //  |/  \ ||

Sally


Copyright July 9, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥

(10w x 5)


Through discipline
we see the results
of harshness
and moderation

in exercising,
we lift weights
defying heaviness,
body is toned

we sometimes
defy instinct,
magnify our
T R U S T,
B E L I E V E,
we'll survive!

yet, there're
gravitational pulls
on earth that cannot
be fought

what's fated
is undefiable,
we're silenced
when our time's up.

Sally


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    May 28, 2018

(For Timothy)

Twas a short poem I was reading...
I had started writing my comments, when...
A very strange feeling rushed through me.
With very strange thoughts:

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

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

I was staring at myself!

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

( November 5, 2013/ 2:00PM)

Sally

Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

(a second time posting)


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

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

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

I was staring at myself!!!

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



Sally

Copyright November 5, 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

::::::

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


WILT

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


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

^  ^  ^
  ^   ^  ^   ^  ^
  ^ ^   ^^ ^ ^  ^
^. ^ ^^   ^ ^  ^
^  ^Diaspora ^  ^
^  ^^^  ^ ^ ^ ^  
^  ^   ^^^   ^   ^^^
  ^  ^^^  ^^   ^^^
        ^   ^


Tonight,
a jumble is taking place
in the small wilderness...outside my window
...cicadas...crickets...lizards...
all night creatures...even the trees
join in the dance.....to survive
they could never go against the swooshing rhythm
of the rushing kingly wind.

as i am tonight...lost in my own wilderness
i feel so limited...turning left to right...to and fro
as sparks of thoughts and images...come and go
scattered ***** bouncing here and there
from corners and walls of my room
now, they're here,
later, they'd disappear.

mind is a mess...bright ideas, scamper off
fleeing from their temple...their home
refusing to be captured...

simultaneously, some known sounds
the cries...the envisioned giggles and laughter
of familiar voices, are now hidden somewhere
have sought refuge some place else.
faces...names...smiles...words...good spirits,
one by one,
slowly, have gone...

...there is only the damp darkness
of a vacuum.....an emptiness...
created by an absence
of inspirations
of people who give inspirations....but, have left
some are about to leave
thank God for those who came back,
missing fellow poets...good friends...and their works
missing the placid waters
that once surrounded us

i miss reading...feeling the sweet music...the rhymes,
the free verse of good, wholesome friendships...
of kindred spirits in poetry
in poetry...where we all started...where, in one way
or another, we all have metamorphosed...
i believe, i know...our paths didn't cross for naught.

::: ours is a small world...existing within a bigger world :::
      ::::::::::::::::: there needn't be a diaspora ::::::::::::::::::
        ::::::::::::::::: i miss us ::::::::::::::::::
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥


Sa­lly

Copyright March 11, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Don’t be mad...hate not,
when works are badly thought of;
you have your own mind,

diff’rent...from the rest;
you think, you create diff’rent
as they......do diff’rent...

your style manifests
your values and opinions,
your words mirror them...

your free verses and
haikus...earn their own sparkle,
draw their own audience...

tinged with black humor,
or mild sarcasm...it's YOU!
your style defines.....YOU!

we’re a world of poets
diff’rent folks with diff’rent strokes
we sting......stoke..........we touch...


Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Decmber 12, 2019

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

This summer's heat was worse,
problems are at their extremes,
burning, like undying embers.

Murmurs in government, in
public and private communities,
create chaos.

Repetition, initiates a desire
to walk away from what upsets
even for a while...some just

Laugh things off, too tired of
useless smiles and handshakes,
some get fed up, walk away, and

Go to the waters, to the shores
filled with voices crying for peace,
seeking justice.

Throughout our struggles...the
battles we fight, we always must
maintain a dignified silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We deserve some respect
no matter
what.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monsoon season has come,
soon...rain will pour and
shall inundate.


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 8, 2024

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

Sally

Copyright November 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

/!|\^/?

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

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

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

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

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

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  December 23, 2023

On days, when time is going too fast,
I can't catch up, and there're things i can't get past,
I'd pull a chair at the verandah....just sit there
To witness, the gentler goings on in life...
See, how...why  all plants face towards the sun,
On a dimly lit corner, watch a spider patiently spin its web,
Underneath the gravel and green grass, somehow,
The earthworm, painstakingly, bravely emerges,
Finds its way out of the soil...to remind us,
"...soil is healthy....it's time to plant!"
:::::
I feel, the beetle knows me, as it inches on,
Carrying its own body, crawling down the pine tree,
I won't ever grasp it, nor tie a string on its body
To control its range of movement,
As we do to tethered beasts of burden...
:::::
While sitting there, i decide: by all means,
Towards the flower ***, i  lean
Take time to smell a rose, feel its rough leaf
Not just a quick touch and sniff
But hold its thorny body, without daring to blink
While deep within, i'd let its fragrance sink
:::::
Some early evenings
When the cicadas' music are echoing
And the moths have started flying
Circling round the light at the ceiling,
I am warned...soon, it will be raining
And.....when it starts to rain, i keep listening
Til i'm soothed by the sound of rain...falling,
From sky to treetops.....flowing...landing
Next to the leaves......cascading down
To the concrete ground
Spreading quickly, far and deep...and as fate,
As nature would have it....the soil, without fail, waits...
:::::
Long time ago, we were small,
Curious and brave, we tasted glory, and all,
Armed with a child's innocence
And an insatiable hunger for learning...
Our eyes, our minds dilated,
Our brains were like sponge...
Like the soil.....we absorbed
All, that we discovered...
:::::

Sally

Copyright December 1, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

~~~~~

Even at this point in my life, i still,
could never have my back to the door...
I always face the window
or the door itself...
When the opposite is inevitable,
there are no airs of safety,
or thoughts of peace.
What is it about doors, even windows?
They are supposed to be symbols
of new beginnings, new chances...
But why don't i trust them enough,
to have my back to them...
Like someone,  or something evil lurks,
waiting for me 'til i have relaxed my reflexes...

The door and window, i always seek,
always glad after I've gone out of each exit...

But then, behind you, no matter what,
there will always be another window,
another D O O R
                              O         O              
                   O         O    
                  R O O D...

I sometimes wonder:
is it the doors?
Or...is it me?



Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

~~~~~~~

Looking out the window, taking in the beauty of dusk,
Please...remind me not, of this ever tedious, cumbersome task
Sapping the energy within me, all bottled in a flask...
Free my soul, untangle my heart from this emotional mask,
Like a fresh coconut fruit, violently parted from its husk.
Free me from these endless questions I have to ask,
Release me from daily bouts of this game of masque.
Weariness now sets in, I hide behind a wine cask...
From the coolness of the stretching dark, I would bask,
Til tomorrow comes and finds me, here again at dusk...

~~~~~~~~

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan


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

@  @

They're very near the brain
they're on both sides of the face;
not too far below,  throbs the heart...
these vital gifts were given to us, so we
may hear...be able to grasp what's being
said......especially, when our children are
the ones talking, speaking about school,
their fears...their dreams and goals...what
interests them...we must encourage them...
and even when they scare us...when we can't,
don't understand their ways, because they
don't agree with ours.....kindly pay attention,
hear them out...their voices, their reasons,
not just what we want to hear from them...
we drive them away from us...by imposing
our own choices on them....let us be their
guides, their friends...give them space, to
find themselves...mold their own identities...

why force our children to be Einsteins,
when they're meant to be....Shakespeares?

Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 14, 2020

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

Sally

Copyright April 11, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Why do i think of us, in colors of flames so red....on a day so somber?
I see ***** of fire, they dance against a pool of blue,  tranquil water
The red now turns to a yellow tangerine, like smouldering ember
And flames are definitely reaching up, soaring, higher, higher
With hints of orange, then on to a deep yellow, like amber.
Bright lively orange could only be our burning desire
-----------------whether in the summer-------------------
-------or, in the cold days of December--------
---MAGICAL, every moment of fi-re ---
every coo, every whisper, so tender
day and night.....year after year
rain, sun, wind, any weather
we must try not to falter
let our fiery colors
N E V E R
end
up
a
dying
E M B E R.
-----------------------
----------------------------
---------­------------------------

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

/o\ __ /o\

The day's dry spell has ended...it's dark,
at last.......comes dusk
the hours are too slow in their flow
all else, is in slow mo
fatigue disrupts the peace...mind and body
silently complain......the regularity
of endless tasks and chores
gobbles one's lifetime...beard grays with ****
the enthusiasm that wakes the soul
before sunrise, has turned to ennui...
in the morning, the coffee urn,
brews with discontent...

a thirst for change,
twinned with fear...seems strange,
excitement and apprehension
cling to the mind...like an infection...

imagination is fecund
temptation fills every second...

this farm, is life striated with difficulties
acres of land, haunted by inherited responsibilities,
how can one be exempted from traditions
and family  expectations?
there's just no pleasure
in so much work pressure
impossible, to ignore the enemies of leisure!
it's tempting to surrender...to just loll,
to abandon all...
yet, body and mind struggle...must keep going
every morning...

an intrinsic energy within, dispels whispers at night
it is fiercest, when a candle is bright with light...
.........................................


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 11, 2019

Human beings are like trees,
given a time to exist, and a time to cease...
some easily give in to gusty winds
others are strong and determined...
some people are like the evergreens,
dancing with the music of every season,
enduring the penetrating cold,
standing tall in front...behind,
and amongst naked trees...
***** or leaning, their strength seems unwaning, endless,
unless downed for selfish, heartless purposes...
they breathe life proudly,
they exude energy
amidst dormancy...

We...are like the trees in a vast green woods
there're  skeleton trees that have surrendered,
and have leaned lower, further down;
people, like the evergreens,
bravely sway with the freezing wind,
while holding on to the ground...
but...everyone, everything has a time to give in...
the beautiful clashing of earthy brown and verdant green
gives notice to an imminent decadence,
the contrasting colors further enhance
the solemn shades of life's autumn.....then,
comes, white, gray and  silver hints of our winter...
when it's time, it can't be hidden, or deferred any longer...



Sally


Copyright December 18, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan