Sun is setting.....the dark rushes in,
from its bright orange glow,  a pale
tint of  orange turns fast to  bronze
gray, like metal.....suddenly, there's
that powerful whistle!.......suddenly
what matters, is to count the hours
'til whistle sounds its leaving, on its
way into the open sea...as a million
stars...graciously take over the sky

grip relaxes........hand lets go of old photos
candle light flickers, moth dances in circles
"no rain, please," a whisper, like  soft wind
blowing.....the heart leaps each time a boat
arrives, heart breaks when the whistle tells
of departure....the whistle...haunts this sad
soul...swaying trees, wooden walls, in their
own ways, listen....lizards rarely knock, the
cicadas stop their night songs......as dweller
withdraws from an old self, from an old life.
hushed wailings melt bits of pain...it's hard
to forget a life lived solely....for one's selfish
interests....a family abandoned...a lost voice
talks to God....of repentance....and of regret,
for years of straying, for precious time lost
an errant human being, longs to be  within
family circle again....the hugs....the giggles
baby's cheeks......the warmth of loved ones
they're a thousand reasons.....to reconsider
babies have grown up....people are weaker.
wind whispers their names under the fiery
sun...but, mostly.......in the still of the night.

"God, who would want me back?....why didn't
you let me? there at the gorge, or the stream?"

how many futile attempts had there been?
how many more boats must come and go?
how many more sunrises....sunsets to see?
one cannot.....could never escape from life
how does one learn to accept....to forgive?
when?...how....does one forgive one's self?

sleep didn't come.......faint dawn light peeps
through clearing clouds...the owner, the old
man is back, brought a daily.....with a photo
of the dweller...reportedly missing for years
a contact number, and a reward...offered for
precious information...the old man knew, he
too, was lost once.....he understood the need
offered the old cottage....to help another lost
soul, find himself again.....took long, but this
new, overwhelming courage has taken over!
dweller hurried.....then, hugged the old man
a God-given friend...in his darkest moments
the boat arrives by noon......sails before dark,
..........finally, to take the dweller...back...........
.............................. H O M E ..............................

Sally


Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 28, 2018  (Pacific time)

Not many people know
where the old road goes
I’m older now and it seems
there are more and more
       paved roads
that lead to nowhere —
   most of the time

As a kid, living miles up
  a rough potholed,
country road — a hike away
from the edge a small town
  out in the sticks,..
you come to know onliness,
blind to a journey alone

   I never stepped on
cracks in a town sidewalk —
  never learned what
  "superstitious" was,
    like the other kids
        from town

It wasn't the cracks
  in the sidewalk
I feared to tread;
steppin' on 'em breaks nothing
  already broken —

It was just all so different
than the long walk home
where that old road goes —
grandma always said:
"follow the creek upstream;
it'll always lead you back
  where you belong"

   The washboards
in the steep narrow road
up the hill, were like
  muddy stair steps
in the rainy season

Sometimes I followed
on up the creek below
to the upper log bridge
     swimmin' hole,..
where I learned to listen
to the sweet melody
of unclouded days;
and for a moment
I thought I belonged

     I still haven't
found my way out
  of this memory
I’m holding onto —
because life is just
an unstoppable
season, passing by
    on its own;
   like the way
     rainwater
  in the swollen
creek bed flows:

   And I'm just
another passing September
no one will remember —

   most of the time


Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018

On that bright day his mind was unusually calm
He stopped by the beggar to offer him some alms
Feeling at peace with himself without a trace of qualm
He took a deep breath, with life he was coming to term.

Goodness he pondered was quite an achievable feat
A small spark that made him offer the old man a seat
Each familiar face he smiled at such easy was to greet
Inside him he grew healthier being good was great benefit.

Why men suffer jealousy fight for one-upmanship
Instead of trading for goodness most precious human keep
Just not burn to earn his food comfort and restful sleep
But live in shining goodness make life a rewarding trip.

Being good with one’s own kind he felt wouldn’t do
Other lives around him must kindly be treated too
A crumb of bread for the street dog on its head a little pat
Pints of milk and a little care for the weak and ailing cat.

As he walked the road thoughts like these lighted up his face
He found waiting on wayside many things begging goodness
Determined he would reach them all do them a little good
He sprinted along in a sprightly gait his mind in deep brood.

Back home when she opened the door he gave her a broad smile
She glowered a little askance for he hadn’t done it a while

*What brings you this sheepish smile what for the elation?
Don’t even think you can ever make on me a good impression!

I am all about thoughts and words
Have been so all my life
Words ,being a recent find

A promise to my thoughts, I will word them all
To keep or break it , am yet to decide

The thoughts featherweight, upwards they fly
Words earth bound , gravity they can’t defy

The thoughts ,In silence they live
In words they die , To live another life