Colors, have ways of making us soar,
or fall.......they make us buoy...
they, too, can divide and isolate...
long ago,  a magazine
was colored and identified for a reason.....
also,
a kind of blue-sy music, upon which i groove,
...was named for the same reason...
.............a magazine..... a music genre,
became instruments...and parts of
dark and golden moments.......recalled
and enjoyed, every now and then...they're
painted.......registered in people's minds....

life is a magazine of stories, of  poetry...
life is a jukebox...filled with soundtracks
life is an album...a collection of smiles
...of colorful images and emotions
reddish brown at first...turning yellow brown,
with tinges of taupe.......mottled through the years,
turning...into fading shades  of sepia...

i refuse my late summer moments on earth
............to be done in Grisaille,
painted, only in tones of grey and dark green...
...it is written...one day, life would be hued with
subdued colors...the blues, silvers and grays,
...........will be cold as winter...

but, until then,
i'd rather be consumed with liveliness
i would adorn my days with peach and lilac
blossoms, hang fuschia pink pennants
on my wall....to brighten my disposition,
i'd practice...play the guitar once again,
i'll wear my ruffled, dappled-purple skirt,
and yellow converse sneakers when i walk on
the pavement....under blue skies that enhance
greens, and gold...colors that breathe existence
transforming weariness to courage...

wherever...whenever, however possible,
i speak, whisper to  God words of gratitude,
and endless thanksgiving...i  pray for strength.    
and acceptance........prepare myself...when,
.....i, too...would face my own moments,
...............of fading sepia.

Sally

Copyright August 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

In the topic of magazines.
I sat on the cover, close to the reflection of her eyes.
Relaxed in the greeting of open arms.

She paused, sitting upright. 
The gap between us now closer.
Allowing the invitation of smiles.
Our upright becoming a corner staple in the edge of anticipation.

We both sat.

Allowing ourselves to do what came natural.
My reflection seen clear in the middle of her eyes.
Her personality pasted all around me.

No currency was exchanged in the beauty of two souls flipping to page 42.
Reading the full article.
Taking our time not to wrinkle the pages.
Moving from the cover to emotional commitment.
The exchange of excitement
Where she was free to be herself just as I.

Ideally, I reread every paragraph.
Falling in love with everything represented to be pharmaceutical to deep need.
Constantly reading then rereading the same passages over and over.
Hiding myself behind the cover.
Wanting to know more

PRINCE WILLIAM AND KATE
ARE SUING A MAGAZINE
THEIR PRIVATE LIVES ARE PRIVATE
AND NEVER TO BE SEEN


HERE IN AUSTRALIA JUST RELAXING
IN THE SUN AND TO REST
THE PAPARAZZI ARE TOO POUNCE
AND SHOW OF KATE'S BREAST


THIS INTRUSION INTO THERE LIFE
IS VERY QUESTIONABLE INDEED
THEY DEFINITELY HAVE THE RIGHT
TO SUE FOR MEDIA GREED

we will pay for everything
in the future
we will pray for nothing
     I had dreamt a silver, shining  dream
once, but now that dream
is a mocking commercial
broadcast from dingy screens
beneath ozone depleting
lies
     we will pay
for living our lies
     we will pay increasingly growing prices
for increasingly decreasing substance
     I had dreamt a green leaf, blue sky
lie once, but now
that dream
is just chemicals in the water
     now trees are just a dream
now deer, now birds
now fish, and now
now there are no more words
no sounds of life, no thoughts
no lips to tremble
and nothing new for "God's" blundering
sons, nor for Her daughters
     now there are no forests, now no cities
     now there are no oceans, no airports
no drive-throughs, no "losers" to date
no lovers, , no families
no malls, bridges, or buildings
     now there are no could-bes
no factories, or flowers
     now there are no smiles, or tears
     now there are no old folks, or youngsters
     now there are no cars, no buses
no night clubs, parties, nor restaurants
classes, passes, nor tickets
no pillows, no blankets
no warm beds for sleep
     now there is no now whatsoever
nor is there a future
because all that remains
is a past that has passed
and some once weres
that cannot be remembered
     yes
we will pay for everything in the future
and then we will pray
for nothing

THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA
THE BLUE SEA PAR EXCELLENCE
THE MARE NOSTRUM OF THE ROMANS
THE TURQUOISE BLUE OF US GREEKS.

IT SOOTHES ME AND CARESSES ME
WITH ITS GENTLE BREEZE,
WAFTING MY MIND’S FOG
THROUGH THE MYRTLE FIELDS.

You are like my
favourite advisory column
among all of my
favourite magazines.

I long for the life I've only seen,
In picture books and magazines.