of all the words issued forth from scholars
noted pens  front pages of the New York Times
all the tabloids
any of Hemingway's novels the best
I heard was her petite pretty
mouth say
I am Coming

it ends in tonalities of spliced ends
some woven together others
jutting into nowhere dangling
like a Dylan song you love but don't
quite know all the metaphorical meanings to
of nowheres and space probes
sent to tickle you
on your own you must believe in
something more
special spacious
put meanings into amorous
trysts space gods
mystiques
unadorned with the accepted norms
a late night sobbing alone
cats and dogs your companions now
but knowing some outer space
visciously beautiful being
is gonna haunt you soon
and fly you off to the moon making passion
without touch a beam a laser like on your ******
tickles    get it doll

a smart-*** I comfort myself with beef burritos and
Rocky Road ice cream
Sabbath
on Friday
Blue Oyster Cult occasionally
the farthest furthers
of blood echoing in my head
a tinge of Led
love Bonham's drumming
more tame things in the week like
nightmares sung
to out of this world guitar chords and wild costumes
of Marilyn Manson
the dredge  the insults to  oneself
from Creep
I sing it in my head
know every verse
my Radiohead antennas
tense *****
get to church as I know it every now and then
the temple of the Natural
Light Deliverance Tabernacle
where
I preach to myself

******* bred and whoremonger still
I guess it is in the jeans
where I can say it is not my fault
****** blame my parents again
for my transgressions
my peccadillos
my weaknesses

Cné
I believe in love...
In a blink of an eye, a life goes by
extinguished in the end.
And all that's done returns to dust.
No omen can portend.
Yet love lives on, infecting all
and never really dies
It goes beyond the realm of man
to live in fragrant skies.
And on the spacious sea of clouds,
it waits to find a port.
And then it anchors in a soul
to caper and cavort.

Traveler
Perhaps
In the emotional beginning
When head was yet held high
Stumbling through clouds
Of bright blurry skies
Love was a foolish quest
Of paralyzing highs
And now you're telling me
Love can never die?

Cné
Translucent,
the clouds we've sailed
and golden sunsets made
Kisses that we could have had
while watching rainbows fade.
Alas, a life's too short to spend
in fathomless regret.
Perhaps the wheel will turn again
another lifetime yet.
And so, my love
the voyage goes on,
to "golden years"?
We'll see.
Until
the other side reveals
what shall become of "we".

Traveler
Indeed
A dangerous theory
I can't imagine
Love roaming free
The source of all misery
Another invisible ghost
Possessing unaware host
Surely
Love is the blood we bleed
All across time and history
Love is more than a mere key
More than a want
Love is a need...


Cné  
Traveler Tim

I religion in the forest
I worship what I see
the majesty of mountains
the purity of the sea

I am the deity
along with four legged creatures
and night owls
the serpentine slither

I claim no following
for all is known is
my memory

my sight my empathy my love my being
and I sit on a log
and worship this orb

like a true believer
that I am the creation
the superstar the reason
the prejudice

the forbearing

all I see all I hear is inside
so inside must be god
the visions
are but tricks

and I sit on that log and watch
the river flow and the storms grow
and sunrises

and get it
I am the screen
to a movie

and what I make of it
is all

Colors, have ways of making us soar,
or fall.......they make us buoy...
they, too, can divide and isolate...
long ago,  a magazine
was colored and identified for a reason.....
also,
a kind of blue-sy music, upon which i groove,
...was named for the same reason...
.............a magazine..... a music genre,
became instruments...and parts of
dark and golden moments.......recalled
and enjoyed, every now and then...they're
painted.......registered in people's minds....

life is a magazine of stories, of  poetry...
life is a jukebox...filled with soundtracks
life is an album...a collection of smiles
...of colorful images and emotions
reddish brown at first...turning yellow brown,
with tinges of taupe.......mottled through the years,
turning...into fading shades  of sepia...

i refuse my late summer moments on earth
............to be done in Grisaille,
painted, only in tones of grey and dark green...
...it is written...one day, life would be hued with
subdued colors...the blues, silvers and grays,
...........will be cold as winter...

but, until then,
i'd rather be consumed with liveliness
i would adorn my days with peach and lilac
blossoms, hang fuschia pink pennants
on my wall....to brighten my disposition,
i'd practice...play the guitar once again,
i'll wear my ruffled, dappled-purple skirt,
and yellow converse sneakers when i walk on
the pavement....under blue skies that enhance
greens, and gold...colors that breathe existence
transforming weariness to courage...

wherever...whenever, however possible,
i speak, whisper to  God words of gratitude,
and endless thanksgiving...i  pray for strength.    
and acceptance........prepare myself...when,
.....i, too...would face my own moments,
...............of fading sepia.

Sally

Copyright August 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan