Glamour, health and politics,
are ideal morning topics
blending well with hot coffee,
and, these early risers...share openly
their impassioned accounts, simultaneously
seething, with a dark and strong bubbling sea,
making the most, out of a few hours of bonding,
breakfasting, after morning chi kung
(sometimes, with family, reuniting...)
they have moved with the times and days,
subscribing to both old and acceptable new ways...
anger and dislike are voiced gently
no despair hidden...i believe, not a tad of ennui,
.......surely...

these ladies have no fancy hats,
flowered, feathered, or with colored tats
no jewels crown their heads...........just
plain hair: black, brown, long or bobbed,
no pearls grace their necks.....or gloves
that are trimmed, to hide overworked
hands, or wrinkled knuckles......they're
past their golden years, prim and proper,
their own sets of rules are flames burning,
steam rising, like those of coffee brewing
deep in their minds...their values, churning,
their inner beauty, transcending...

their mornings are like a coffee maker,
brimming with bubbles and dark swirls,
tamed, paled in mugs, when cream is added in twirls...
complex issues considered taboo,
sometimes, even plain tattoos
are discussed in hushed tones
voices agree or disagree...until froth is gone
and bubbles have simmered down...

the hours are fleeting, time passes so swiftly
one has gone...but these enterprising ladies
excitedly plan ahead, for their next assembly...

Sally

Copyright November 2, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

A sea of buttery happiness
Is home to the roundest of islets
Side by side they wallow.

Quite naturally, the islands,
Are covered in ham.
Ham? Ham!
And lazily perched
On the hams highest point
Sits an avian sphere
Perfectly poached.

Straining against its
White little straight jacket.
Pop.

I woke up to go to work
To make my boss rich,
To make him make his boss rich,
To have the biggest boss making government rich,
To help the government train soldiers,
To have them fight with other soldiers,
To collect all the tears their families drop,
I thought, eating my breakfast.
Sipping my tea that I made,
From tears.

The breaking day,
The cracking light,
The sun, a yolk,
in egg-shell white.

A morning haiku
About my food for breakfast:
Scrambled eggs with toast.

with the break of dawn
     i feel hunger following my sleep
arrives the warmth of the sun
     and the warmth of fresh breakfast
beside me is an indentation in the bed
     following its scent i linger on sugar
your scent still lingers in the blankets
     its irresistable; i'm hooked on this flavor
i hear your footsteps like shy murmurs
     sweet blueberries and soft muffin bread
lifting my eyes to meet yours finally
     i find solace in its simple beauties
you are my sunrise my dear
     the day is not complete without you