"decors" poems
Hey Human! I am your Sibling.
Queen bee wings are Ripped,
bee niblings are Smoked
For Your Honey Sweet.
Hey human! Listen your Sibling’s Buzz.
Tiger lost bones for Medicine,
Fox lost fur for Fashion,
Sharks lost fins for Soup.
Hey human! Do Not Butcher Siblings.
Simba’s life is not your Trophy,
Jumbo’s tusks are not Decors,
Helmets of Hornbills are not jewels.
Hey human! Do Not Reap Siblings.
Emperors of ice continent lost land,
Economics is making Amazon less,
Logging makes Orangutans homeless.
Hey human! Do Not Invade Siblings.
Warm oceans bleach corals,
Water depleted in cities,
We ingest plastic regularly.
Hey human! Do Not Desert the Earth.
Overfishing is holocaust of aquatic life,
Livestock levitates toxic emissions.
Hey human! Do Not Prey on Siblings.
Lichens stunned by pollution,
Symbionts are disintegrating,
Biodiversity is declining.
Hey human! Be Together with Siblings.
Hey Human! We are Offsprings of Mother Nature.
Monera, Animalia, Fungi, Plantae, Protista
all have common roots.
We are branches of the one Phylogenetic Tree
rooting Common Ancestry unto LUCA.
Hey Human! We are Siblings.
Hey Human! Recall your Siblings.
Hey Human! Revive your Siblings.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 11:19 AM UTC
Alone with this desk,
And a notebook chock-fulled with paper;
Endless.. he chomp everything away.
Things truly aren’t easy,
The silence makes it harder.
Hey music, fill the air;
For not all truths,
But laughs of frauds may break out.
Just like the old days.
Just like the lady boss,
Just..maybe.
There should be dancing all around,
Where crowds should chip in
And take things in stern.
Errands were not decors –
Trespass! Like mini ciphers,
Digits, letters, they knock the drill out.
Only a couple more days left,
But in ignominy,
This generation may fall;
How pitiable..
With such marks and inkblots,
The source remains unrecognized.
They’re used to seize papers like that,
Although such are committing theft already.
Left were words,
Can’t spell it unerringly;
Yet the hearsays divulged its address,
So now, it’s time to slam this tome;
End the toil that has always been the crook!
Go outside,
For the sun’s rays are there!
Goodbye to this aged chair,
And to this notebook full of nicks,
With new freedom,
We shall embrace..
Everything.. “Ciao” to what’s new,
‘Coz this is the real world!
Oh college days!
(7/25/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
(a repost from 2014...edited)
I AM GRATEFUL---
for having my family
they are safe and healthy
we have roof over our heads and
clothes to keep us warm
there is always food on our table...
I AM GRATEFUL, THAT ---
on each new day, i am able to
get up, alone...without much effort
can wash my face, brush my teeth,
clean my bathroom regularly
take a shower on my own
cook what i want to eat,
eat alone...
change the curtains in my bedroom
change my bedsheets without help,
as often as i want to...
I AM GRATEFUL THAT I ---
still celebrated another birthday
will still be able to say THANK YOU!
with family and friends on Thanksgiving day
make scary decors for Halloween
deck our house with a tree and lanterns before December
hung stars, angels in corners and in between
am strong enough to put them all away when Christmas is over...
I AM GRATEFUL I AM STILL---
able to witness
how a night of fireworks and celebrations
easily segues into a day of new beginnings...
I AM GRATEFUL THAT I CAN WRITE---
share my thoughts, my moments,
look back to the past with a smile,
find contentment where i am now,
still look forward to my future,
wake up to each new day
and another.......and
another.....and
another...
and
A N O T H E R .
Thanksgiving must come with every breath
For we are showered with Blessings without end...
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
#blessings #gratitude #thanksgiving #celebrations
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 5:53 AM UTC
Once pink now tawny wallpaper peels inside a closet, ballerina
dreams shucking off like husk. Little cartooned princesses cling.
Last holders-on from a 1950's design scheme with all good
intention, twirling memories glueyness is backed seemingly
to astound or perhaps dishearten. In "the boy's room," you
find in the closet an equally petrified, yet opposite motif papered.
It's animated baseball. I remember how quotes such as, "Never
let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game,"
did don those walls back in the day. I think it was Babe Ruth
attributed to that one. He and I were supposed to have shared
the same birthday, but I must confess, it stopped right there.
Eventually, that was all figured out, and I have no lamented
grievances for what parent's wishes were for their children's
would-be assigned roles. It was and is still popular to choose
decided decors as such. Who is to know how Bobby may envy
tiny dancers chosen for his sister's room or how Sue might prefer
basketball or even hockey? Even more politically correct
consciousness is a confusing choice. Who gets the dinosaurs
and who gets the daisies? In any case, no one papers the
closets anymore. So, when the time comes for cleaning out
old spaces and memories, future grudges might be less frequent.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 1:28 PM UTC
It's almost mid-December
...no more november thrills,
....just colder winds that give me a chill
and, remind me of a kind of peace...a rural calm,
in the old country days...simple celebrations
and the natural beauty of hand-made stars
hanging outside windows of houses...
their low lights seem dots , yet....seen, from
farms, ricefields, and from the old chapel,
:::
the old chapel.....where people's most
ardent wishes, dreams and prayers, rest,
the old chapel, which sounds so heavenly,
when "silent night," and "o holy night" are sung
....in the cold hours of dawn masses...
no one feared the dark...people were guided
by lanterns.......star-shaped and lighted...
white-painted wooden Christmas trees
adorned the small living rooms...small, but
filled with that holiday warmth, shared with
family, neighbors and friends...
in lieu of those humble huts, rows of
pompous concrete structures now stand tall
over once vast pasture-lands and rice fields,
mostly gussied up with expensive decors...yet,
......bereft of the true Christmas spirit...
...silent nights, are not so silent anymore...
my chest goes high and low,
the late november winds have blown
farther away, taken over by the boldly cold,
yet, welcomed festive airs of december...
i'm always happy about Christ's arriving,
i am sad.......the old ways...they're vanishing...
Sally
Copytight November 27, 2017
rrab
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
(a repost...edited)
I AM GRATEFUL---
for having my family
my five granddaughters, especially
they are safe and healthy
we have roof over our heads and
clothes to keep us warm
there is always food on our table...
I AM GRATEFUL, THAT ---
on each new day, i am able to
get up, alone...without much effort
can wash my face, brush my teeth,
clean my bathroom regularly
take a shower on my own
cook what i want to eat,
eat alone...
change the curtains in our house,
change my bedsheets without help,
as often as i want to...
I AM GRATEFUL, THAT I ---
still celebrated another birthday
was able to say THANK YOU!
will be with family and friends on Thanksgiving day
made scary decors for Halloween
decked our house with a tree and lanterns before December
hang stars, angels in corners and in between
am strong enough to put them all away when Christmas is over...
I AM GRATEFUL I AM STILL ABLE TO WITNESS
how a night of fireworks and celebrations
easily segues into a day of new beginnings...
I AM GRATEFUL THAT I CAN ---
write, share my thoughts, my moments,
look back to the past with a smile,
find contentment where i am now,
be with good friends, old and new,
look forward to my future,
wake up to each new day
and another.......and
another.....and
another...
and
A N O T H E R .
Thanksgiving must come with every breath
For we are showered with Blessings without end...
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
(Never too late)
I AM GRATEFUL---
for having my family
they are safe and healthy
we have roof over our heads and
clothes to keep us warm
there is always food on our table...
I AM GRATEFUL, THAT ---
on each new day, i am able to
get up, alone...without much effort
can wash my face, brush my teeth,
clean my bathroom regularly
take a shower on my own
cook what i want to eat,
eat alone...
change the curtains in my bedroom
change my bedsheets without help,
as often as i want to...
I AM GRATEFUL, THAT I ---
still celebrated another birthday
was able to say THANK YOU!
with family and friends on Thanksgiving day
made scary decors for Halloween
decked our house with a tree and lanterns before December
hang stars, angels in corners and in between
am strong enough to put them all away when Christmas is over...
I AM GRATEFUL I AM STILL ABLE TO WITNESS
how a night of fireworks and celebrations
easily segues into a day of new beginnings...
I AM GRATEFUL THAT I CAN ---
write, share my thoughts, my moments,
look back to the past with a smile,
find contentment where i am now,
still look forward to my future,
wake up to each new day
and another.......and
another.....and
another...
and
A N O T H E R .
***Thanksgiving must come with every breath
For we are showered with Blessings without end...***
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 11:32 PM UTC
On a Sunday Morning, past midnight at 2
The curtains danced to the faint blowing of an open window,
Welcoming the soft serenade of a young born season.
Tenderly brushing against the moon-kissed concrete and cemented barriers,
Awake was a soul secluded yet only six inches laid between them.
Surrounded by a hedge of sturdy bookshelves and custom-made decors
The soul watched their towers dominate over their demons,
Certain of the security and what they had to offer.
Needless to say, this was their safest haven,
A place they can call their own.
But there was something reassuring
About the subtlety of the melody that played
On a Sunday, past midnight at 2 in the morning.
The air breathing in life into crisp pages
And knocking gently, elegantly on the tempered surfaces
Although life only played behind a curtain,
Hands that held only books and pens,
Eventually craved for the outside’s blessing
And awake was a soul patiently waiting for its turn.
(n.j.)
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
Down through the Alps, immortal, standing high
Whose feathers are the clouds of passing days
And whose sweet bosoms touch the milky sky
And whose faint breaths birth thick and gentle haze;
Upon the hills and valleys, laced with white
And brushed by bonnets of the passing clouds
There is beneath the mounts, a lovely sight:
Which please all mortal eyes: soft daisy crowds.
Of all unearthly, flowery June treasure
Of all the decors and bouquets of spring
Perchance, the fairest, by all equal measure
Yon daisies, in the moist glades, lingering
And there where such soft blossoms dance and play
Are you and I upon a summer day
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
Do the trees love the leaves,
Their worldly decors hanging so peacefully?
So beautifully do they fall into winter,
That sorrowful trees wail in the wind
Yearning for their beauty back,
Naked until spring.
Or do the leaves love the trees,
That house them in their brambles
And branches so bare when abandoned?
Mere twigs become friends,
Nourishing the green that gives them
Life and purpose among the greater things.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
I give my creation freely.
Sophistication..
sought by wisdom..
You give me silence.
void of thank you's.
Whats walking in dem shoes.
Of Yours!
I share with you holiday decors.
And You make me wonder do I bore.
So neglectful.
Down down fallin down goes my frown.
My smiles turning upside down.
You say all the things I like to hear..
But when its time for action..
You have such poor interaction.
Oh darling you.
What's walking in those shoes of yours.
I'm not gonna beg you to be complimentary.
be a gentleman in the way you handle me.
I will not make you..
I'll just choose to lose.
Don't wanna walk a mile in your shoes.
How is it walkin in Dem shoes.
By SelinaSharday s.a.m 2018
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
I'm leaving work much earlier today
My wife called and gave the grievous news
It's my little boy, my inquisitive lad
His curiosity had gotten too loose
It's the Christmas tree, most likely the new,
The one that took a year of savings to buy
Our son, she said, had altered the Christmas tree
My little angel of a boy, oh why?
Poor Christmas tree, I fear the sight
The Christmas ball switched to pieces of chess
The light modified to spaghetti strips
My savings worth had become a hideous mess
With shoes as hanging decors, and the branches cut,
And the yellow star tainted with black and white paint
No wonder my wife relayed in a calmly voice when,
She mentioned he had used every single kind of paint
In front of the house, I open the door
Time for me to see the turmoils of war
"Where is it?", I ask, with a tear dropping out.
What could a six year old boy do at his age so far?
"Oh honey, you came home early!", she exclaimed
Is she ready to see her grown husband faint?
"Our son, changed the Christmas tree, like I said."
"Well of course, I only let him use MS paint."
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
Marble, you no longer move
In their agile and skimpy arms
Under torrents of fire and hail
The majestic sinuous trees
Try to grapple your rose’s stalk
That of your body, inert, alone, morose
Those dark trees standing for the branches of my desire
Roughed up over and over again by a storm of passions
On the subdued soil of time through the wind
Like a veiled corpse living on a divan
Your kisses wither, blank of existence
Perfect bunch of flowers fit for an effigy
A statue erected by our violent patience
A bunch for sure, fit for nothing but a somber elegy
Facing death! A visage turned over to redeem.
Your body, lacking our decors’ agreement pours out
The blood of sacred love, the ideal love of the idea
That you held so close, so near, traced on the thinned out curves
Of my caresses, of my distresses, of my hips
You neither no longer are nor I am but a chanted fallen angel
Without you I can’t be, should I slay the Occident of your name
Of the moving geography of my fleshy map, my Orient
Between us, a mocking distance overhanging and weighting in the chasm
Of this Ocean shaped abyss, Mayday my soul! No!
Your absence is my grave, despite it being decked with flowers
What sort of beauty one should expect from a perfumed essence-less flower?
Translated on November 4, 2015
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
The sky was clear
The birds sang their song
Cotton flew, like snow all along
And somewhere in the middle, she sat like a walnut
Looking strong on the outside, but dying on the long
Decors hung from the ceiling
The DJ played his beats
Disco lights filled the room
And yet in the crowd, she felt alone
with no one to talk to, no one to moan
The lights were out
The wall clock kept ticking
And as everyone slept in peace
There she was, weeping to herself
About the challenges she faced
Her eyes were red
Cheeks so pale
And a breath that was going away
With every tear that fell
Looks like she's living
But she really is dead
Because what she wanted to hear
No one ever said...
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
from rough, tattered to freshly scented pages,
I've read words, applauded for ages.
No, they haven't touched souls,
for then graveyards would have been shrines,
of these wise, elite men,
who lived the life at deep.
Innumerable scribblings,
gaining shiny molds of clay that make good decors.
all life's struggle praised for literary skills.
Wonder is a poet's life.
The greatest poem of all times, his own life,
'cause he imagined his music meltings stone so hard,
but the truth lies far beyond.
We are devils, made of dust so rare
that rains so fragile
cannot wash it offshore.
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 11:09 AM UTC
I would like to believe that someday I will find my way home.
A place, no, a feeling that I can emphatize with wholeheartedly.
Somewhere where my skin fits perfectly free to roam,
Where tears that stream down would end abruptly.
A man is free to dream to be with whom he wants to be,
Perhaps in heavens of whispers on secret room escapades,
Or on the free road with festive decors that lets an unending flow of glee,
Bursts of joy that would make someone hopeless feel saved.
The waves of the oceans of uncertainties will be crashed,
By the roots and foundation of courage and liberty,
The winds of shame will be hushed,
It is time for the well of hatred, imprisonment, and drama to feel thirsty.
All in good time will we reach the moon ever evasive,
We aren't fools who won't stand true to what we desire.
We are what we are - purposive.
We are everything except people who tire.
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
You see them perched in windows
Of so many types of stores
But really, they don’t blend at all
In anyone’s decors.
They range in size from tiny
To those taking lots of space,
All with the same expression – blank!
Imprinted on each face.
One waving paw moves up and down
Ad nauseam, to me,
I guess to greet the passersby
In perpetuity.
It blows my mind how such a fad
Gains traction and persists.
My hat goes off to every shop
With keeper who resists.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 10:33 AM UTC