I never got to meet my father...
He died when I was nine months old,
But his presence, I always felt
While I was growing up,
Even up to this day...

He would often visit me in my dreams,
Told me not to worry or despair,
Took my hand,
Told me I could go with him..
Which I almost did...

A few times, in high school
I felt a light push on my back
When my Home Economics teacher
Almost caught me nodding...I was
Too bored, to focus on her sewing lessons...

I was always saved from falling
Each time I climbed the guava tree...
I feel some kind of force stopping me,
Standing ahead of me,
Whenever I cross the street, even now...

My late aunt said she found me
Looking up and giggling
When at three or five years old,
I played by myself beside
My father's tall and sturdy book case...

I see his face when I go through
His dwindling collection of
Edgar Allan Poe books, including his
Law books, and a few western pocketbooks left,
All, with mottled pages now...

The matrimonial bed he shared
With my late mother is still in use...
His portrait is hung on our wall...
Today, the fifteenth of June, his birthday,
I look through his eyes, and-----

In silence, I greet him,
"Happy birthday, papa,
Happy Father's Day, as well."
In my mind, my father lives,
And my own stories of him therein dwells...

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

He is the buddha in their household.

When he arrives from work,
his two elder daughters run to his sides
already holding their guitars,
wanting to start jamming with him
right there and then.

The two younger ones
stand close to his feet,
waiting to be swung with his arms
as soon as he puts down
his heavy black bag.

His third daughter just hugs him tight,
his tummy choking within her tiny arms.

Right now, he is walking on air,
smiling widely, as his five girls
give him their  gifts of homemade
loom bands and paper robots,
as they all  greet him loudly---
"happy father's day, daddy!"

He is my son, Norman,
he is the father of my five
granddaughters...

He is the buddha in their
household....


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

The Ending Of The World

I was sure the world would end today
It was the beginning of the fall
That others would tell the story
And pass it on to all

Not sure that I would hear the news
I'd  see others on their phones
As they talked about the days events
And wonder if I know

I was sure that this would happen
For the day it started wrong
Realizing as I drove to work
I almost turned to go back home

There was an emptiness inside me
And a panic not the norm
Yet I did not exit on the ramp
For my half way point was gone

So I spent my day just waiting
No connection, all alone
I know that you can feel my pain
For I left my phone at home

The world it did not end today
Was not the beginning of the fall
I realized this when I rushed home
And saw I missed no calls

I am so so not important...lol

*Carl Joseph Roberts