~o~o~o~
Skin is the one that gets wrinkled,
it deals with the heat and the cold
of one's existence...not the mind,
the heart, or feelings...character
and determination mellow with the
passing years...brain is hidden,
but has always been gray...hair
gets visibly gray with age.
~o~o~o~
Seasons, and life's lessons
help broaden and wizen
narrow minds...a much awaited
solitude, that silent dialogue with
the soul, gives light and sense to
questions...it pays to be in touch.
~o~o~o~
Late summers have come...a face
that once youthfully beamed
with smiles...still smiles,
the grayed crown sparkles under
the sun...making it known that,
lightning still flashes in the mind,
thunder still roars through the veins.
~o~o~o~
Underneath wrinkled skin and gray,
thinning hair, there still breathes
within, a little girl or a boy...a once
young lady, or young man, now
aging men and women...more
introspective and ruminative...but,
it's still you, him, her, me...it's still US!
~o~o~o~
Not much changes, just numbers, gray
hair...lined skin, and plenty of wisdom.
~o~o~o~


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  February 6, 2022

the night is silver
air, her dark ink
flowing like a pen, her
aches and sinews, water-
born, melted out of sky.
there is no cage

to hold the bird, page-like,
built out of river and
dream, it is free to fly,
carry the green of
the trickling leaves to the
rain-heavy cloud.

february builds her palaces
of love, a pretty rose,
a sentimental card,
a rain-sweetened kiss.

we are as full of the night
as a poem, our lips glazed
red, our hearts glowing
golden gathering petals
and sky.

From the day of birth
you may live to a hundred-plus
become the rustic
trust the anvil negate hate
all that time you were dying

we continue with new white paint
and orange too

bought on my first solo day out by bus
this year

remembering not to touch anything.

What has become of me?
I've turned into such
a reprobate.
Watching ****, and
neglecting writing.
I think of Nin and
Henry Miller, turning
lust and clitoral
stimulation into
****** literature.
And here I am...
*** stains on my
laptop, and looking
sadly at the miniature
bust of Shakespeare on
my writing desk.
Even he looks disgusted.