Nurture your strength and let it freely grow
Gather your spirit, paddle your own canoe
The  darkest storms and all the wildest waves
Spiralling winds,  the strongest gales
All these torments, disillusions and dismays
Easy and strong paddles keep you adrift and unafraid

Mas vueno pa enterrar
Contra perde
Mas vueno mira mi cuerpo abajo
Contra mira mi cuerpo perdido
Si, iyo ya cavar con el tierra,
Iyo ya entera complaciente
Iyo ya entera na mi cuerpo
Pero tu ya dale patada pa adrento
Ya basha tierra mas manada na suficiente
Ellos ya poner cinco grande piedra ariba
Seguro ya yo subir
Seguro hinde ya yo vivir
Hinde pa campante, ya pone pa colebra
Ya entra, yan camang, ya porsa
Yan junto comigo, ya besa
Ya bira na cabeza y pescuezo
No hay iyo luchar y defenderse
Hasta cuando kamo mata con el muerto?
Hasta cuando kam derramar sangre con el tierra mojado?
Hasta cuando yo muri?


**Svelte Rogue, ACS

(Love letter 3)


Letters are piling up, my dearest,
See, here's another one..

Today is not a busy day, the hours are slow
I'm giving my thoughts a go
Whether the sun smiles brightly
Or when overcast clouds would speak, "gloomy,"
I shall breathe deeply... enjoy my hours free...
Let my eyes and mind wander---
Here, there,
Places upon places
Faces upon faces
The present times and the old
Events that tomorrow may hold...

This...now...is my holiday moment,
I think of ripples, puddles and currents,
Cool breeze...and blue waves,
With them, I suddenly am brave
Thinking of past journeys, on beaten, as well as paved,roads
I am confident...Somebody watches me, through every stream I ford...

My holidays are moments
A blend of joy and torments,
I alone, hold my chin
When a smile becomes a grin
That turns to a soft sounding laugh
Because, the air I breathe becomes perfumed with hope,
And tap water tastes like some sweet tasting stuff.

In my heart, there is no room for wrath
Even when anxiety is the tar that stains my path
When I am black as coal, from despair...and I go down
Lower...surrendering to the ground
...without giving a sound
When the aching,
...the hurting,
Becomes too much
To bear for my stomach
When it takes a big effort, my breath, I catch,
To straighten...from a body so crouched.

Behind every smile, there hide my fears
But there is always the sun, the wind, to help dry my tears

I may be alone....or with friends,
Having drinks in the garden,
Or simply enjoying the starlit Heaven
They're bits and pieces of hours so precious
Coming through summer breezes
When leaves fall, like fading kisses
When feeling the rain touch my skin,
When times are tough, or smooth sailin'
When I shiver from the cold
Filled with the blue, and I can't be that bold
But....I am never alone, or without you
For, you are my air,  my every sigh
.....I think of you
With every breath I take....

Now, I must ask...
Do you have holiday moments, too?
Am I your holiday moment?
(December 14, 2014)

Me---
Sally

Copyright December 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

There isn't that much ''new'' left. Poems, songs, paintings, sonnets etc. It's all the same idea. They're all about the one that got away or the hurricane of emotions left behind. Or maybe that childhood kiss that was sweeter than the strawberry jam mom would pack for lunch. Maybe it's about those days you'd run out in the storm in rainboots, waiting to feel those droplets on our face because there was nothing that a little rain couldn't wash away...right? Those tormented nights when the big bad wolf known as life, reminded you that not everyone thought you were a "superstar".
And in those moments, mom or dad, aunt or uncle would say "Life happens, honey". Those words never felt like comfort. They were more of a reminder that they had already experienced it and more was coming. Which brings me back to: there isn't that much new left. Although the canvas might be different or the medium could be thicker, there is still the same picture.

Everything has already been done before. Someone already felt it.

Threatening to shut out all memories, my wounds threatening to open again..
When I was a young girl of ten, my heart was heavy, my skin was thin
I was born a regular child, never to know why i was wild....

Roaming here and there, feeling the fire as the torments roam....

Though it keeps me here and I pray that it burns, but i know not
to scream....it will **** me in the end ...

As I roam, not knowing where I go
I keep asking where have I really been???

Debbie Brooks 2015

There is an old blue man in my mind
Rocking his rocking chair.
Outside on the deck with leaves
Swaying by, it's cold but it's a cycle.
His heart is always dry.

Just looking down to the ground
As the dark sky torments above.
The sun sets down to leave sight,
Just like the feeling of love.