Life is a paradox,
a sweet disposition.

There's a sanctuary of sweet scented sorrows,
flowering vines and blowing chimes and soft symphonic tunes.

There's a wild radius of plants, some of which rarely seen,
he shows you around his paradise with eyes that only gleam.



It's a place full of life because a man lost his wife.

All of a sudden, I too
Must go, to the unforgiving place
Where judgmental eyes burn
Where wicked tongues lash
Where blasphemy screams
All of a sudden, I too
Must go, to the unforgiving place
My words breadcrumbs to Peace

The soles of my sandaled feet
maneuver lumps of brick as if by rote
and I am compelled to face the square.

Almost noon on Sunday,
I seek the impromptu mall
of Tarot readers and caricaturists
where palmists merchant to St. Peter,
each an homilist to the choir of steel drums
tinkling near the alley.
Alternate drummers motion bills and coins
into the walled cache of a tattered suitcase.

Tall arched doors spill into
the welcoming flicker and scent of melting wax
as an older woman enters,
the heft of her rosary bending her
near genuflection.

Familiar passages resonate;
memories lead to Sacraments.
Questions filter through me like confessions,
and I note what lingers of my faith.

Still.

I feel too guilty for Communion.

Bless me Father, for I have sinned.
Even as I turn to You,
my right toe numbs
and my ear begins to itch.
My ******* constrict
and my throat presses into the wet.
Inject me, Father, with Noah's syringe –
the one that jazzed him
to build that floating zoo –
that I may track my path before the Rise.
Or, let me don Your priestly robes,
and turn some wine to Corpuscles
divined to see beyond my own plank
or preach the Beatitudes to yawning zealots.

Is there a mirror on that altar?

As the cathedral entrance closes,
I am who I am
—and I am not worthy—
standing my shadow's length
from the shallow steps.

Azaleas blooming at my back,
I remember when religion grew within my mind
fed weekly by carvings on a chalice
in a chapel on Esplanade left to nature post Katrina.

Spanish moss greys the white beard of God
where the dome of the fresco fractures.

Phalangeal hues of sun
eclipse the floating dust
from breaks in stained glass stations.

Masses of blackberry and kudzu
drape a pregnant mass
over the sculpted marble of the cross.

The chiseled palms of Christ extend as
ropes of growth unravel from His Torso

like a figment of my reconciliation.

Vines fall to form a brambled crown
atop a broken stone
between the great doors
where the Bible swells open.

A version of this poem has been previously published in the anthology Louisiana Inklings: A Literary Sampler (29 October 2013).

*"Sanctuary" was featured as Poem of the Day and  added to the Poetry Club on Scriggler.com

read my body like a bible,
let your tongue be the bookmark
that browses my pages,
and embeds between my spine
right where it shouldn't;
say my name like a prayer,
and i'll worship the shrine
under your stomach
like a god— my god!
let me lick the statuette

Lost in the footsteps
That brought me back
To the quiet field which
Still bares my impression

From days when the grass
Powerful and green, wrapped
Me tightly in its embrace
As day and night passed
Through the clouds above

I remember the blank expression
As raindrops navigated down my face
Sometimes I'd even shed a tear
For only the Wind would know

Seeing it now, brown and lifeless
I wonder how I was maintained
After all, I was the one who,
Abdandoned such sweet sanctuary

I pay my respects,
Get down and *****
Laying in the past
Dry eyed, wishing
It would rain.

One.
Two..
Three...
Four....

....Almost fourteen days in a row
I got to see your kind face.

Almost every hour
we would spend together-
and you should know
that I never grow tired of your face.
In your company
is my favorite place to be.

Five.....
Six......
Seven.......
Eight........

....­....Almost eighteen hours have passed now
and I miss being with you.
It is a pain I cannot recount
and a coldness I cannot weather.

In a world I can no longer trust,
I have found my sanctuary
in your longing embrace.
Your kiss is something my body craves
and I have no desire to be free
from this drug-like craze.

The way your lips shape into a genuine smile
is something even angels would praise,
only to be outdone by
the song in my heart that accompanies
the sound of your name.

Merely the thought of you conjures up
fantasies of love
and dreams come true.
I hear your knock upon my door
and I know it is you.

My heart dances and I leap from my seat with joy!

Come to me, my love!
Come to me!
Soon you will be in my arms again.

Come to me, love

in three...
two..
one.

:::::::::When head wears a crown
of cumbersome thoughts... confused, in a crowd...
and heaven and earth drop clouds that shroud
followed by roaring thunder and flashes of lightning
God, they are  overwhelming---
we take moments to reflect...try hard not to panic
it won't help, to think we're depressive, or manic,
we know ourselves well...yet, when we feel the end is nigh
gasp, for precious air...try to give out a long sigh,
an Energy leads us, to persist...walk on, head up high...
there's a quiet, sacred place, our heart and soul know,
visible, or imagined quiet space, where we're heard, where blows
a whisp'ring breeze...ripples softly hum, rivers peacefully flow...
our sanctuary waits, a Voice leads us, what to do, where to go:::::
:::::::::::::::::::


Sally

Copyright July 31, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

The time period between being awake and being asleep
This mystical place that so little beings remember:

It's the place that I could live in for the rest of my life
For it is neither reality or a dream
A time that is neither dark nor light
Neither good or bad
The world of in between
Everything is neutral
It is the world of calmness
Nothing to worry
Nothing to be afraid of

It's the only place I can find solace
The place without sadness and loneliness
But also free of the nightmares
Undisturbed by the morbid images my mind creates
And untouched by the anxiety, loneliness, and pain of this cruel world
A place where no person can take me away from
A place where no creature can lay a claw on me
Gates between consciousness and unconsciousness
Guard this place of sanctuary

I would like to stay here,
This, I would want to make my home
But waking is too demanding
And sleeping is too necessary

I wish my home would be Hypnagogia
A place where you never sleep
You never wake
And you never dream

We all need
A sanctuary.

Admittedly, I've got
My own
Maybe most of us
Do.

But mine has cracks in
The walls and dirt
On the glass and too
Many memories.

But we all need
A sanctuary.

Admittedly, sometimes I
Borrow someone else's
Lie on the floor and stare
Up at my anxieties.

Watch the yellow light flicker
Under the dim wooden
Pews, the lines where the
Walls meet.

We all need
A sanctuary.