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high above the river, from the edge of the cliff, one can
see the rafters in their inflated crafts, in the blue and
red and yellow ovals, bright and iridescent and suspended
atop the furious strip of gray as they wend below, lifting,

twisting, careening as their vessels sprout sodden arms that
grip scarred paddles, paddles that swing quick and deep  
into the foam only to then be held still and wide to the water,
a thousand rudders to navigate the rocks and avoid the

hard realities that rise in the shallows and are revealed  
without warning, some only to scream haplessly like
funhouse monsters, while the others lie dangerously quiet,  
unseen under the surface, until at river's tail the rafters

lift their oars in triumph amid the mirror-like calm, life’s
vagaries conquered for the moment
Sally A Bayan Jun 2016
I have walked my paved and beaten roads
crossed my old and new bridges
and jumped my low and high hurdles,
unrelentingly... allowing nothing...or no one
to rise before me...and tell me : you are wrong,
when, i feel it so strong...that i am right!
no reason could be saner than what I've been taught
no voice, could be more reasonable...or gentler
than those voices of my folks...my childhood...my past,
nothing, or, no one...can ever destroy...or impede
this bursting...yet tempered love within...
i let it grow, the right way i know
i let it nourish my soul,
for, it saves me...from sunrise, to moon glow...


Sally

Copyright June 16, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
S R Mats Mar 2015
We shall be water, my love.  For water flows around or through
obstacles that seek to impede it's true course.

It seeks another way to flow in it's coursing desire to go onward,
an effort to reach the sea.

We shall be water, Love, you with me.
I absolutely loved this when I wrote it many years ago.  Now I feel it is just okay.  I know that happens to most poets.

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