Box

Shared visions and promises
Written on yellow papers
Invisibly marked....faded, broken promises
Endearing terms...endearing moments,
Old postcards...old photos and letters
Time-colored...marked souvenirs,
I kept them inside....all stored in a case....
Unexpectedly, the Heavens cried in anger, one day
I rushed, to hold tiny currents at bay...to save
The memories...but the box was no longer there
Those gifts, letters, souvenirs were nowhere
Almost a lifetime...stored in there
But...monsoon rains took them all away...forever
::::::::::::::::::::::::
Got to find myself, a new box....


Sally

Copyright October 15, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Later...

Arriving by dark...at the house...
I am nearer the closed front door,

but, i wait....'til my nose.....almost levels your arm
we both stop..........you  look me in the eye

suddenly..... you plant a kiss on my forehead
you're a bit taller, still...we look at each other,

eyes glow...they do best, to communicate...faster

..................."later," ..............

i got the message.....without the voice

warm breaths    intensify...fingers   touch   lightly
exploring possibilities.........expecting,
the  affirmation....of a promise....for more:

.................................. "now!" .......................

you open the door....for me..........................


Sally

Copyright October 14, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Upon a huge, lush garden,
on a cold autumn day...
various leaves fall, in sweet surrender...
some still rise and go with the forceful wind
floating...along with dreams, wishes and prayers
murmured in the air...uttered fervently
...from near......or faraway places
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

papers, leaves, souls, sighs, and whispers
all circulate, dance in the air...blending with nature
like drifters...and seekers, far from their homes
their habitats...their comfort zones,
suspended, in the atmosphere of every season
...yielding...to the will of the wind,
...while the wind obeys...the will of God
they swirl...land, on new destinations
face new dimensions...
friendlier seas...no more running, just waiting,
while winds of change settle down
touching new base, new grass,
hoping, for a peaceful existence,
for some....the end of life's turbulent journey
..........on safe...tranquil grounds...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

somewhere near, or far...huge gardens exist
where leaves fall, where some rise again,
where new beginnngs, new lives are offered...
havens that welcome and accommodate
...refugees...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Sally


Co­pyright August 27, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

in surrealisms  or reality
whether drunk ****** sober tripping out
grounded or high
addicted we all are

well, poetry begins by suspending reason,

unnaming and renaming everything ,

taking apart the small parts and making one big metaphor.

calling a flower your lover,

or pain as a roses thorn,

a smile as the sun,

a frown as a crescent moon,

and of course stars ,

they have to be included,

as sparkling,

butterflies are forbidden in modern poems,

as are roses, to which I alluded,

my bad , though,

I see poetry as anything

you feel deep enough to

try to write a poem about

and makes you feel

round plentiful satisfyingly rotund
Peggy was almost two at once
she didn't intend that
just happened
a hormone thing
she was pleasing and still a world of big beautiful
and happy acting
she had hair like Rapunzel flowing like a golden river
down her back mountainside
to her log like legs
and when she hugged you
it was like a polar bear
so warm
she had spares
spare love to give , was grateful
innocent
as a dove
experienced as a *****
made me almost fall deep into love
I am glad
I wore a parachute