Tears drown my cheeks as the brisk air caresses my chin
The unerring coercion calls itself
home
This vice-ly steel; these foreign teeth
the man beside me asks
"who were you"
I answer
"I was a lot of things."

Coming home from the mass,
body stretches became endless
no hurried showers were done
some returned to bed, everything
was on a slow pace....but then,
kitchen aromas roused sluggish senses,
revealed garlic and onion sauteing,
beef stewing, stuffed fish grilling,
even the smell of parched soil, being
sprinkled with water...became fragrant...
all rushed to the table...for lunch...
..............................................

dessert,­ was a choice...nothing...or,
slices of pie..fresh strawberries dipped
in condensed milk...peanuts, sour
chips, or salty tortillas, with salsa,
all these, over loud talks...whispers,
wholesome family conversations,
where endings are ever unpredictable
...............................................

ea­ch Sunday carries a different mood
...with cups of tea, or coffee, when
discussions are serious, long, hushed...
most times, they're a tall glass of sundae,
with shaved ice, sago, sweetened yam,
or, beans, milk, and sugar........
decisions made, and agreed upon
are the multi colored toppings,
pretty much like syrup.....or ice cream...
...................................................

sev­en days.....with different names...
each family member brings in a new shade
we do our best, to start, and end each day
................with pleasant airs
.................especially on Sundays,
......when families gather together...
..................................................


­Sally


Copyright March 26, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

How horrible the plot
the hem, the haw
of the incessantly violent
torture ****
   How sad the politic
the row, the scorn
the media howl, the noise
the storm
           We are drifting in a sea
         of bobble head puppets
         backstabbing, mass murdering
         mask-faced tyrants
         and we are loosing the battle
         before it's even begun
            So go ahead now
         and trade in your votes
         sell off your rights
         buy a backfiring gun
            Because nothing is worse
         than trying to reverse evolution
         and you can't crawl back
         into the womb of your Mother
         once you've destroyed
         the primordial ooze
         of creation's lubrication
         for a dollar and a cheapened dream's
         inflation

Eat the womb of your daughters,
And drink the blood of your sons,
Drag your spouse into the woods,
And whip them with thorns;

Prepare the cauldron,
And play the requiem,
Be drunk thirsty fellows,
Gladly fill your cisterns,

We shall fill the streets tonight,
As the righteous falls,
Creep into their childrens bunks,
And wait for the master's call;

"Waaaaake uuuup, waaaaake uuuup",
Quietly we will whisper,
And afflict them with sorrow,
And sink them in despair",

Do not cry dear parents,
When your children go astray,
It is us who have done it,
Yes, we desire it this way,

We run the final lap,
So rejoice children of the sun,
It will be over soon,
Then will our battle be won.

Abide by the letters of jupitar,
Do not trespass,
Read out with boldness,
Happy Ex- Mass

What happens
When you are silenced
Ideas fight
Thoughts escape
Words stranded --
A broken one
On the tip of the tongue.
Only an opinion counts --
Not your own
Others, others talk
And you listen
Others, others argue
And you stiffen
What happens
When you are silenced
You hear everything
Your voice, stolen
All the questions
You cannot answer
Directed to you
But they will do it for you.

Whatever I choose to say
It would not have come out right anyway
I will make it worse
I will make it better
The words stuck --
A broken one
On the tip of the tongue.

What happens
When a writer is silenced
It is the best thing that can happen
I will not say a word
Because you listen to your own.
Words are my forte
My weapon of love
Of mass destruction
I will let the truth
That words cannot translate
Speak for me instead.

-from Venice: a tipsy gentleman
bursts into song for his escort girl

If I only could admire your feet, forever,
I would pray to live on
and live on - pray, forever.

     I know I am not the only one.
     So glad to follow this tranquil lot,
     these fine and happy admirers,
     who bow to pay your offertory.

To join this choir,
these humble connoisseurs
who yield to your glory.

     I stumbled, hit the bottom,
     today lost all that I possessed.
     My head, my mind, my soul -
     so incredibly clear now,
     ready to follow, eager to bow
     for the urge of my heart.

To join this song,
sung in eloquent silence,
turning to the mystery of your feet.

     This moment is eternity,
     far away my petty desires.
     It is perfect time, the only time,
     never started, never ends.

If I only could admire your feet, forever,
I would pray to live on
and live on - pray, forever.

     No sound, no sight, no smell, no taste -
     this channel opened in my heart.
     No boat, no lapping waves,
     no misty vapours shining in the night -
     just the clarity of clarity:
     a foothold for us all.