#sb
🕊🕊🕊🕊🕊🌹💐🌷
Doves and roses are sought
when hurtful, tempestuous thoughts
flood and create lumps in the throat,
the urge...the surge grow stronger,
much to write...we grab pen...paper,
suddenly......we are "there,"
in that comfortable nook...where,
We create fictional love scenes,
or...relive tremulous experiences
of blazing lava flows, souls despondent
driven by disastrous rains, by discontent,
or, of souls cherishing rare times, serene,
a lake, warm sun...calm coffee moments;
all these become messages conveyed
they're the carbon dioxide we exhale;
Verses are afloat above our heads
until they're written.....and read.
Both old poets and newcomers
come up with stuff...funny or bizarre,
some readers relate...epiphanies occur.
isn't that what really matters?
No kings or queens in prose or poetry.
some came first, others came later.
surely, both want to write...to share.
in God's eyes, no one is above the other.
::::::::::::::
Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
November 27, 2023
Nov 27, 2023
Nov 27, 2023 at 4:47 PM UTC
the wisdom of your eyesight
*begins with you legs that turn the body’s odyssey
away, sort of, in the general right direction
but thou stiff neck person, yet still turns away
from what the eyesight will see when the eye shadows lift
thine eyes cast down still seek escape, with last minute haste,
but my pointer finger rests easygoing beneath thy chin
where the finger meets, lifts, thy softened chin tissue,
to look directly at your proffered savior, an electric election circuitry
this head-on-collision of two pair, beat by a full house,
when the combined wisdom of caring lifts two up,
ah, the best writ we ever scripted,
the best hand we ever played
if your eyes should cloud,
upon reading this,
this is too, a kind of wisdom,
wisdomkind*
for S.B.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 11:40 AM UTC
It's football night America
no one, took a knee
the day is done, we know who won
Eagles, flying free
It's football night, America
no known controversies
the game is set, never fret
Patriots found, the key
We'll know, when the dust settles
just what, and who, will be
living in America
on football night
we'll see
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 10:13 PM UTC
Love can cause elation
or the greatest kind of pain.
It wrecks lives in the process
and evolves a "human stain."
It is the one fulfillment
but when unrequited stings.
And agony is just a tithe
when losing loved ones brings.
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 9:05 AM UTC
Going back
is a Fool's
Paradise
Its un-
truth is
its
Per
Fec
Tion
the delicate
bead
of your kiss
A tongue
enunciating
what the
present
Can Be
makes
it all
So Clear
Worth
while
Good
night
but not
Good
bye
to us
maybe
but
You and I
still stand
strong
think
clear-
ly
have twisting
desires
guns
in our backs
for some tattered
and tear-stained
piece of Truth
We cannot
be
Con
Tained
within the realm
of
Re
Collec
Tion
Let us bleed
out
into the
frightening
cold
of our stark
Day
Light
Dreams
Jesus, I own
thoughts that
align me
with you!
You are
a confusing cup
of cigarette tea
And we
are working
to let
our meat
be malleable
our minds
supple and
our tongues
agile
in the warm
embrace of
the other's
Mouth
Heart
Eyes
Another
universe
of dangerous
Pos
Si
Bi
Lity
To hell
with Duality!
The past
is Simplicity!
**** what is
wrong
Know what is
Right
and live to see
the probability
of Tonight
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
You are the pleasing smell of Chinese grease
I am the invisible motivation to frolic in the fountain
You are a stranger's giggle &
an invitation to dance
I am a Cabaret Voltaire 12"
& half a clove cigarette
You are the diaphanous nature
of auburn clouds at twilight
I am the woman who raised you
but never dared speak your name
You are that familiar left shoe
abandoned on the roadway
never finding its twin
I am an expectant evening
after an expectant morning
spent talking on the phone
You are the receiver
the near-silent listener
the breather of shared truths
I am the walker the watcher
the faint scent of prawns
near the dumpsters at work
You are a newborn angel
a pageant of colors & functions
I am a poet, no matter
where you find me
lost on a street corner
that I'll never own
You are a plane ticket, yes
only one way to answer
I am a handstamp still worn
but only as a reminder
You are the fairy lights
strung between broken
promises only barely remembered
after a night washed in ***
I am a cluster of strangers, drunk & excited
We are the gift of mystery, alone at the table
We are mutual, the future
the last to be opened
We are the mission completed
the present grown tall
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
at the bottom of a stagnant lake
lived a dead forest
black trunks standing
knuckle deep in muck
branches simply armature
for a fluttering array
of gray scarves
blowing in the watery wind
molds and aquatic plant life
growing quieter in near darkness
the forest laid down years ago
gave up the sun and the breezes
the same arguments from the same birds
slid back toward the sandy edge
then gradually leaned over
one after another they followed
under the forgiving cover
of progressively longer nights
a very slow migration
the stars really weren’t watching
eventual full immersion
nothing left uncovered
but the land around the lake
the gray water always present
became all any tree could remember
oxygenating the murk for a while
the contradictions grew
in place of leaves
instead of hopeful young twigs
stanchions indicating nothing
huddled together under the surface
standing sunken in an air more dense
a different kind of time passing
light arriving but
only in soft whispers
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
I always end up singing you to sleep even though you'll never be mine to keep
At least I put a smile on your face even if I never get to know your embrace
You're my favorite girl in the world but I'll never be able to call you my girl
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 1:42 PM UTC