#sallyb
(reposting an old poem)
Next to my cup of hot bitter coffee
my bowl has a cone
an avalanche of heartache cereals;
~ a plate of ~
peppered uncertainties omelet
beckons, to be gulped and wiped out,
but, alas,
i feel already stuffed
i can no longer swallow;
-----------
------
----
i decided to skip breakfast.
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 12:03 AM UTC
Some people aren't open to talks
others don't even entertain jokes,
because their daily moments are
a chaos, of sadness, pain, of anger,
of rising from varying rejections.
We.....are the heroes,
or the villains...or the sacrificed,
characters...in glorious times,
struggles, described in verses;
we know...for we are those writers,
our poems are colored with our lives.
We create our own rhythms, from
calm or tempestuous days and nights,
we hear ourselves
in gentle or loud voices
we hide...among our limited choices,
we turn numb
we become blind, due to despair,
yet, with a little love,
we get by, and...in time,
our poems become our lifetime hymns,
bringing us back to those days,
how we tried, and
learned our lessons.
sally b
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 2, 2025
Mar 2, 2025
Mar 2, 2025 at 1:32 PM UTC
East...and west, are we?
north, and south?.....maybe...
we were nurtured with love,
our eyes and our minds opened
to different isms that helped shape our
values...we were brought up, bearing our
folks' customs, traditions. principles...
we have different faiths...some practice...some
don't...some, don't even subscribe, yet, survive.
we have dry and monsoon season...in
other parts, pleasant weather, cold winds,
and in some parts, snow.....turning to ice
we are a mix of white skin, seeking for a tan,
and brown-skin, hiding from the sun;
one's night, is the other's day,
there are surfers among us, playing with the waves,
there at the cusp...gambling...daring fate...
there are those who hide from silent freezing winters,
finding warmth and comfort in long hot summers...
countless points of comparison,
yet, we've something beautiful in common,
a connection of feelings, of words...our poetry,
flowing like blood, through our veins...endlessly
feeding, fueling our hearts and minds, with classy,
themes....sometimes bold, mushy, or....sassy...
no set skeds...we do it even through adversity...
we write......
we tell about our escape from life's banalities,
mindscapes, landscapes immersed in frivolities
yet, we await the marvels of each morning we wake,
remembering gratitude, in every breath we take...
years have passed us by,
still, plays this soft music that mollifies
and inspires......heard only by you and i
prodding us, through hours, of day or night
while you exist in your own part of the world,
as i, in my hot, humid cosmos, long for cold.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May, 19, 2019
Jan 12, 2025
Jan 12, 2025 at 5:49 AM UTC
5/7/5
A kind of darkness
is rich with a silence, where
pleasant thoughts prevail.
A sweet dark soothes...calms,
its fragrance melts restlessness
it brings a cool breeze.
Yet, there's this darkness,
moist with fear...body and mind
do quiver from dread.
Some find calm and peace,
shun light...heal amongst shadows
amidst.....silhouettes.
Some aren't aware
of others' feelings and needs,
they need to live... let them live!
I'm curious, tell me,
which darkness do you prefer?
might i see you there?
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 29th, 2024
May 29, 2024
May 29, 2024 at 9:42 PM UTC
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
I cannot not remember my mother,
whatever time...whatever day,
during work or while viewing sunsets
while relaxing...or while too stressed,
her face...smiling or wearing a frown,
or a tune of a song she used to sing,
all these hover over everything
around me, they dangle like tassels
of memories,
they make me recall more.
I cannot not remember the scents
of flowers in my mother's garden
that she used to grow and love,
for they all still exist in my garden,
dishes she used to cook for us,
I now cook for my own family.
When a breeze brushes over me,
i cannot not remember, how in the
early mornings of her life, my mother
had rushed to the church, to hear
mass...to serve God 'til the last days
of her life...she did, in every way.
I cannot not remember my own mother,
for i saw in her how to be a mother
and a grandmother
with love, extreme effort and care.
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 24, 2024
Feb 29, 2024
Feb 29, 2024 at 8:50 PM UTC
<>
In the soft early morning light
of a quiet, peaceful kitchen,
some of us
make coffee, or tea,
while air is still cold,
the house,
still devoid of human noise.
<>
Fingers are slow and gentle
while stirring.
the careful touch of teaspoon
to cup is the only sound heard,
no voices, just the breathing
of a silenced heart...could be,
<>
A heart filled with hope...or a
broken heart, courageously
trying... to forgive...to forget;
it may be a heart quivering
from unnamed fears...on its own,
in an unidentified darkness.
<>
Maybe, it's the heart of one
who seeks something meaningful
to say, or write, but, often end up
with mediocre stuff...
<>
These sleepless hearts are always
up early…savoring quiet air,
avoiding human conversation,
finding a perfect ally in cups of
coffee, or tea that provide warm
tolerance...silent witnesses to
sagging spirits...the first ones to
hear our contented or heavy sighs,
because,
once in a while, life makes us
seek the calm, the peace
emitted by the steam, rising
from a cup of hot coffee, or tea.
<>
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 22, 2023
Apr 20, 2023
Apr 20, 2023 at 9:54 PM UTC
~>/~ * ~<~\
In the middle of my chaos,
in moments of despondency,
a lone bright star shines,
and holds every piece of me,
together,
~~~~~~~
always "there,"
from a distance,
but ever near
to catch me
if i fall.
~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~
::::::::::::::::::
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 7, 2022
#God #deadfamilyfriend #lovedone #lonestar #sallyb
Jun 7, 2022
Jun 7, 2022 at 12:15 PM UTC
It's a space within a space, where
all are transparent...i am myself.
On two layers of shelves on a wall,
a dictionary and a thesaurus,
share space with what seems like
an heirloom of books, old and new:
Gibran, Dylan Thomas, Dickinson,
Bronte, P. B. Shelley, Jane Eyre,
Hosseini, few Ludlum oldies, etc...
Here, a blending of the tangible and
the intangible is present, like habits
and thoughts that don't, and can't die,
stuffs that've endured the years: old
unposted poems with scribbled notes,
faded photos in sepia...faded jeans;
a bed that awaits fatigued body and
mind on toxic days, and becomes a
desk to write on...when needed.
It's not as though nothing's awry,
imperfections are seen by the eyes,
some details may not be precise
in this accepted clutter of daily goings-
on...of feelings...of some undoings
that interrupt and are mingling
with enigmas flashing up the ceiling;
lost shoe-laces wander, and go hiding
among indispensable habits and things,
kept...retained, like a hanging purse,
grabbed, when a sudden trip occurs.
It's hot and cold in this ***** place,
it's cozy, my neatly-cluttered space.
sally b
Rosalia Rosrio A. Bayan
March 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022
Mar 24, 2022 at 7:27 AM UTC
*
/ *
* * \
| \ * *
* * \ *
Fresh snowflakes continue to fall,
in case there'd be no squalls at all,
Let's make slow soundless paces,
and with our well wrapped limbs
we'll tread on vast white spaces
while humming joyful hymns.
Our eyes, we'll let them wander
through sun and serene blue skies.
our feet definitely will go yonder
on grounds soft, immaculate white,
like freezing fields of white cotton.
our shrieks and laughter won't be loud,
we'll go forward with much caution,
as a stillness gobbles up the sounds.
We calculate our steps...we reflect,
overwhelmed by a calming presence,
a break from life's noise...we accept
the peace of a reigning white silence.
sally b
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
December 26, 2021
#peace #snow #reflection #whitesilence #sallyb
Jan 17, 2022
Jan 17, 2022 at 8:57 PM UTC
(This was inspired by Pradip's comments on
an old poem of mine, "Anticipation."
It's been a year since...and i still
go back to that poem, to read
his words.....to recall the
countless waitings i
went through in
my life.)
Pradip Chattopadhyay › Anticipation
Anticipation is such a perfect word Sally for the hopeful wait.
Let's hope we come out of it more resilient more humane.
THE HOPEFUL WAIT
We wait for something to
take place...desperately,
we count the days, the hours,
for a wish to materialize,
a small voice whispers
encourages us to hang on,
to not think of the waiting
as a difficulty,
like, a cross to bear,
because.....it is not...
the waiting time, the passing
hours, are journeys where
epiphanies unfold, and clarify
our dimmed perspectives.
while we wait, while battling
adversity and weariness,
we must make sure to fortify
our faith, our determination,
our patience, and not go the
opposite way...
some may not agree...but, there is
wisdom in what could be, where
none is certain...we see its beauty
when recalling the waiting.....life
teaches us to welcome, to embrace
the uncertainty....to trust the wait.
............
.........
.....
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 27, 20
Nov 27, 2021
Nov 27, 2021 at 2:39 AM UTC
(A gloomy, rainy Sunday...4:50 pm)
Sundown comes, and takes with
it, the spirit, the lilt of the day.
it wearies, and wanes...restless
minds succumb to acquiescence
and introspection at day's end,
the dark calms the world...
we thank God, for saving us one
more long day...from misfortunes,
diseases, from the evils of humanity.
on lengthened gloomy days,
ashen hues of displeasure
ebb and flow, born from hushed
questions...dying unanswered,
it's hard at times, to keep on loving
all that we love...do everything we
love doing, with the same longing
and enthusiasm...as before.
to be, or not to be,
to do, or not to do,
to love, or not to love---
how do you practice continuance,
while reeling upon the murky
mid streams in life?
what if, we are suddenly,
summoned...to back off from
existence, take a final break?
do we carry resentment
wherever we may end up?
whatever second life awaits us?
our weary souls take rest, these
wonderings fade, as we close our
eyes at night...rising to a hopeful
sunrise, to wondrous chirpings of
birds...to rooster's calls...to water
flowing from the faucet...the sweet
smell of maple syrup and freshly
made pancakes, and sniffs of coffee
brewing...songs and scents of a new
morning, then, sun peeps through
slits and spaces, melting last night's
dark perspectives...a continuance
occurs...another day to tackle.
.:::::::.
:: ::
::
::
::
::
::
:::::::::::
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 25, 2021
#morning #continuance #sallyb
Sep 12, 2021
Sep 12, 2021 at 5:04 AM UTC
'/( '|/\'
) '/( / '\'
A gloomy feeling accompanies the rain.
harvest season sometimes reaps none,
the sun is weary, it rushes to descend
humid air wanes as darkness spreads.
sparrows and yellow warblers retreat
how do they stay dry in their nests?
newly-woken bats emerge at sunset
amidst the rain...they try their best.
in the waning light, trees start to play,
their shadows graciously sway,
they dance by the firewall
telling their stories by nightfall.
through a worsening weather
sounds, loud and clear,
the roaring thunder
July's long sunset showers
pour, to cool the dimming atmosphere.
then, darkness claims all the glow.
thunder, lightning, the heavy downpour,
and the warm shelter of our home
are like heaven and hell,
situated side by side.
monsoon season has come without delay
the mischievous puppies dare play
under July's cold pouring rain,
their eyes invite me...but in vain.
sally b
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 4, 2021
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 8:25 PM UTC
(one Tuesday morning)
Small circles of steam rise
from seething ground shiny beans
soaring just within
touching the glass surfaces
of the french windows,
celebrating mid morning blessings
sun is bright yellow, kindly shining,
simultaneously, it showers
touching...nourishing
hydrangeas, purplish wood sorrels
snake plants, lilies...and my soul.
there's laughing and hurrying to gather
near-dry clothes from the clothesline,
the rush adds fun to the day's delight,
forgetting for a while life's sad plights.
sun and rain, together,
influence my day, my life, my future
there's a small voice i always endure
i listen, though, with some pressure
to possible changes in my future
i ponder, but my eyes are captured
they stray further, as two yellow birds
perch and search for food
upon the sturdy pine tree.
eyes blink on, trying to recapture
earlier thoughts...i see, there are
no more circles of steam
to reflect on....they
have now vanished,
found their way
::::::
out--
::::::
of the
french
windows...
:::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 6:17 AM UTC
(10w x 4)
<3 <3 <3
Why do lovers
find coherence
in whispered
silly sweet nothings,
even just
the warm breath
of the one
who whispers,
every "ha?" and "hmm?
uttered
means the universe
to both...
there is more than
coherence
when gazes meet
and lock...
::::::::::::
::::::::
:::::
(who needs words?)
:::::
::::::::
::::::::::::
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 1:34 AM UTC
East...and west, are we?
north, and south?.....maybe...
we were nurtured with love,
our eyes and our minds opened
to different isms that helped shape our
values...we were brought up, bearing our
folks' customs, traditions and principles...
we have different faiths...some practice...some
don't...some, don't even subscribe, yet, survive.
we have dry and monsoon season...in
other parts, pleasant weather, cold winds,
and in some parts, snow.....turning to ice
we are a mix of white skin, seeking for a tan,
and brown-skin, hiding from the sun;
one's night, is the other's day,
there are surfers among us, playing with the waves,
there at the cusp...gambling...daring fate...
there are those who hide from silent freezing winters,
finding warmth and comfort in long hot summers...
countless points of comparison,
yet, we've something beautiful in common,
a connection of feelings, of words...our poetry,
flowing like blood, through our veins...endlessly
feeding, fueling our hearts and minds, with classy,
themes....sometimes bold, mushy, or....sassy...
no set skeds...we do it even through adversity...
we write......
we tell about our escape from life's banalities,
mindscapes, landscapes immersed in frivolities
yet, we await the marvels of each morning we wake,
remembering gratitude, in every breath we take...
years have passed us by,
still, plays this soft music that mollifies
and inspires......heard only by you and i
prodding us, through hours, of day or night
while you exist in your own part of the world,
as i, in my hot, humid cosmos, long for cold.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May, 19, 2019
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 8:54 AM UTC
(
)
In the silence of cold, quiet,
after midnight hours...wind
audibly pushes branches and
leaves...sends them swaying
and rustling....i hear the rain
falling...like small nails hitting
the neighbor's acrylic eave.
the peace of these unholy hours
empowers me...i feel, i rule the world,
my senses and my mind are sharpest..
while others are asleep and dreaming.
everyone's eyes are closed...mine, too,
yet, i am so awake, i see this cauldron,
where my life's goings-on are stirred by
an unknown force, spinning clockwise,
simmering, nothing burns, or breaks,
for, underneath, its fire burns slow...
good and bad issues mix and join
the stew of old stubborn ones;
daily rigors, wee triumphs blend in,
like a goulash of meat and veggies,
slowly cooking, as fire burns slow,
giving time...............taking time
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
the strong aroma of arabica jolts me
from my reverie...it matters not if i
haven't slept......6 am, i'm back to
reality.....lots of work await me
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
five-pm past, arabica again stands by
me as i watch the orange fires of sunset,
hear the crickets sing, or a frog's croak,
while my rocking thoughts are cradled,
while i enjoy some peace and quiet,
exuded by a fragrant twilight.....it's
that feel-good part of each day...saying
gratitude for every sunrise and sunset,
while my candle's fire burns slow....
........
......
...
Sally
©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 6, 2021
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 3:46 PM UTC