🎄🌲🎄
::::::::::::
From an uncertain time, i've since  
woken to truths each sunrise brought,
i was soothed by breathtaking sunsets,
and enthralled by full-mooned nights;

i have sung and bathed under
the falling rain...walked and waded
on streams of perilous heavy downpours,
'til i turned life's struggles into poetry.

like birds on my shoulders, seasons
have perched, flown away......and,
still, i exist,
still, i write,
still, i love,
0.9  years have slowly passed, and
still, ink flows through my pen,
still, i am dreaming.......thinking
still, of good souls i've never seen...
:::::::::::::
and though, every day,
this troubled planet
wobbles as it spins,
still......i hope.....and
still, with every breath, i cope.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
:::::::::::::::::­:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::🎄🌲🎄
(­ thoughts on a rainy after Christmas day)

sally b

©Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  posted December 26, 2021

Hey everyone, I was just
thinking about the
fact that poetry has
a long oral tradition.
Wouldn't it be fun to
get a youtube channel and
perform your poetry?
You are all so
great, I just wonder how it
sounds with the writer
reading it.
We could support each other
and promote our writing at
the same time.

Be so focused on your goals that you don't even have the time to compare yourself with others.

Spring's entry... ⛅🌿
From a nearby tea grove...
🌿🌿🌿
A lady's song fills my cup...

Glass plate,
With apple blossoms 🌼🍎
and rose hips...
Cranes fly south...
To my mother's palm trees...
🌴🌴🌴
snowy garden
full of wild apples🍏❄
bare branches...

Apple season, 🍎🌸
The slow ripening
of my womb...

Apple pie,
smells like Muhammad’s hands
cinnamon...
🌸🌸🌸

Second spring lockdown,
☀️🌿
Gazing at the daffodils
From the first one...
🌼🌼🌼
Open window,
Under the Silver mulberry tree,
The voice of a srange woman...

Red grains,
From magnolia cones,🌺
Grandmother's beads...

Among the water of 🌊
a fish bowl, 🐟
My first apple blossoms...
🌸🍏🌿 🌸🍎🌼🌸
Disappear into the stars...
⭐🐟⭐🌊🐟⭐🐟🐟 ⭐

A tenderhearted rage flows from my
pen, like the Mississippi river after six
months of a hard rain.  
Suffering released, I long
for peace, as I grab the pen like
a ****** grabs the syringe, like my
very life depends on it because it
probably does.

The passion that flows within
my veins give a voice to my
soul when the pen vomits
words on the paper, like a
drunk the morning after a
night on the town, trying to
drown the memory of her.

I'm bent on writing because the
world's dim lighting cast shadows on
everything that mattered to me.
I'm shattered you see by
circumstances beyond my control.
Life just seems to roll right over me,
but I take my plight with the fight of
a soldier, whose battle cry is:
furor scribendi, a rage to write; because
in the revealing comes the ultimate
healing and that ******* light will
never die.

Falling cotton dots from above
Kissing land
Blanket of clouds on earth
Making a white brand new world
Time stands still or so it seems
Proud trees, holding their breath waiting ,
no movement
Frozen leaves
When evening falls
All lights are on
Beautiful Christmas decorations, shining, sparkling
Wonder of colors
Creating this one of a kind holiday view
A classic Christmas card in the making.


Shell ✨🐚

That which once glistened
and glimmered
now digs into my skin
leaving me breathless.

The marks of you left behind on me
forming scars, bruises and blisters.

I used to be enamored with the shine of you,
when I first came to know you, to learn of you.

But all that glitters is not gold
and I knew that you had no value
just another cheap imitation.

Something so far from the real thing
but desperately trying its hardest to be.

l.v.s and IM

I was falling
for you

the feeling of
being weightless

the sky and
the ocean are
blue

like your eyes

your eyes and
Einstein’s brain

are the depths
I can never reach

but I will drown trying
to reach either or both