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Laid aside a precept
Better for the bet
Barter and a letter
For there to so
Then yet

Leave at last
The measures
At cook and bake
A meal then a send
An echo at a call
For not to feel

Best the bargain
For what's left at
A right to leave alone
Loose the grip
At steady for
The door a frame
Then home

Back to long
And never for
A con that's
Just a fess
Lay the lore
And listen
In the all for no
Then yes

Best at leave
A longing
For a wink
A care to there
Last and how
And heavy
For a wring
A wrong to share

Barter at a fare
The ride then
A ticket just to see
Better at a letter
There the tides
The cares to be

silence…
because I hate myself

as ardent

as you could never

make me love.
I found this morning a grocery list on the floor:

1. Bread
2. Milk
3. Political common sense
4. Wake up and repeat the same thing
~

preamble

in this vividly colorless frame
the artist leaves the coloring to us,
and to imagination's meandering waters.


~

a most picturesque
canyon in the dead
of winter's grip;
white contrast of
new fallen snow on
a red rugged rock;
her river’s pacing slowly
a choreographed flowing
yet a minder still
that she is his
ancient sculptor,
her ever changing moods
etched in centuries deep;
carved together,
she rests her head
on his broad shoulder,
as with soothing voice
she lulls his weary
soul to wintery sleep...
she, his crooked river,
winding through his
smithed rocks.

~

post script.

*(nuances of Oregon abound in this.) Central Oregon’s Crooked River flows through Smith Rock State Park... with its easy “river trail” and arduous “misery ridge” hike, they are compellingly reminiscent of a relationship’s lows and highs; a favorite of rock climbers, hikers, and photographers, their views together provide the sweetest hiking companions for my love and i.
the photo and the artist that inspired this... you'll find his photo as my new HP cover photo, his artist's astounding collection on FB, or here: http://www.matthewnewmanphotography.com
In one's lifetime, comes a moment or two,
when a sunny day's sky of powder-blue
turns to an utterly gloomy black night
not at all a beautiful twilight
:::just a dark firmament...no homing birds in sight

When in a flurry,
it comes naturally,
to want to sit...on the ground,
on the floor...just somewhere down
with both palms cupping jaws
resting on knees are angled elbows
discontent and stagnation
nag one's  imagination
heartbeats
............are drumbeats
glances are fleeting
unfocused:::::escaping
such are vain attempts, to dismiss
avoided thoughts and scenes:::to release
::::and decide...all must eventually cease
yet.........it's never easy to find peace
can't just forget sounds of voices...and sweet laughter
jokes and conversations that came, before and after...
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
they are tattooed in the mind
::::::::: they are ::::::::::
::: i n d e l i b l e ::::::::::
:::: e s p e c i a l l y ::::
:::on:::moments:::when:::
:::we struggle the most:::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::only:::­to:::realize::::::
::::::::::::::::::[[[]]]::::::::::::::::
:::::­:::[[ memories ]]::::::::::
::::are:::a::::[[metal cage]]
::::::::::::: and we :::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::::: are :::::::::::::::::
:::::::[[captured birds]]:::::::
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
it usually takes long:::::::::::
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::to be freed:::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::;;;;
::::::from being:::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::held:::::::::­::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::[[ c a p t i v e ]]:::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
(November 2015)


Sally

Copyright January 13, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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