"ensuing" poems
awakening with the gradual rise
of the subdued heather hued sun
a palpable spectral silence permeated the air
the anticipation of celebration intercepted
by an enveloping phantom black malaise
hiding in obscure shadows
the terror of the twin towers final doom
elucidated quivers of melancholic nuances
rippling through the greying vicinity
my birthday september 11th a tuesday
my night to sing at abravanel hall
with the utah symphony
unable to serenade death
our voices remained indubitably silenced
in hushed wistful reverence
ensuing 9/11s channel somber sentiments
cloaked with annihilation while
dark visions occupy smudged iphone screens
this anniversary i will dissipate despair
transmuting dark despondency
splashing all with lucent petals of delight
i’ll live this day with passionate intensity
and those subsequent with equal ardor
ferociously painting back the light
i will raise my voice with effervescence
and sing in wild abandon
for my precious brothers that were lost
demonstrating devotion through a refusal
to be silenced by fear bestowing honor
with a conspicuous message that love wins
©2016janetaylor
Sep 11, 2016
Sep 11, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
1542
Come show thy Durham Breast
To her who loves thee best,
Delicious Robin—
And if it be not me
At least within my Tree
Do the avowing—
Thy Nuptial so minute
Perhaps is more astute
Than vaster suing—
For so to soar away
Is our propensity
The Day ensuing—
2.7k
In early, or late spring
the daffodils appear, to enchant us
stems are firm, while
holding clusters of bloom.
they enhance our views...our spirits,
arraying our horizons, with fresh hope
fresh perspectives
never giving space to doom.
daffodils
are offered, not singly,
but in bunches,
just like the way a mother gives herself,
never just a piece,
she reaches out with her hand
when in fact, she has offered her whole body
always...with open arms.
Most times, she wears lively colors
of white, yellow, gold, and green,
whatever the season,
whatever circumstances she may face
her smile, her warmth,
are the most colorful parts of her being
There is a lilt in her eyes,
in her actions...in her songs...in her words
in her dance...as she does her chores
such a miracle, all these graces, she offers
On a sunny and windy day
a mother is like
those dancing daffodils
on the hills and wayside
staying strong enough, while
swaying...to the winds of life
not to fall down...or be blown away,
she may be silenced by frustration and worries
but never surrenders to ensuing hardships
just choosing to be quiet...seeming dormant.
She is both a bulb...and an all-season root crop,
stuffed with needed energy
quiet underneath when the cold season comes
but never dead...never fallen
always gathering, saving strength,
for when a storm in life comes
not one to mope...but one to ease
...like a healing balm.
A mother is a rare kind of a daffodil
one that gleams with bright lights, and bold colors
all year round...through all kinds of weather.
Sally
Copyright May 8, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
Dashing hither, dashing thither,
Dashing in the winter weather,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a hat upon his head
Not some lace cap fit for ladies,
Nor a bonnet stitched for babies,
John the dashing haberdasher
Dashed a top hat there instead!
Never had a hat so fine,
So tall and silken, so refined,
Regaled upon the daily grind
Of prince or pauper in the Strand
Ladies stalled to see it's lustre,
Swooned and swayed before it's bluster,
Fell and fainted in a fluster,
Startled by a hat so grand!
Children screamed in dreadful fright
And yelping dogs began to bite
As crowds began to brawl and fight
And riots claimed the London street
In the chaos thus ensuing,
Folks began to run, pursuing
John the dashing haberdasher
Chasing him from Strand to Fleet!
John was taken to the prison,
Chided by the crowds derision,
There to wait the Mayor's decision
On his wanton heinous crime
Charged with breaching lawful peace,
He paid a fine for his release
And ordered to desist and cease,
He left his top hat well behind
Thus is told the tale of John
Who dared to bravely dash and don
A silken top hat high upon
His noble head in London town
Heed his tale and take this warning,
When you wake one winter morning
With desire to be less boring,
Careful how you dress that crown!
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
Brains constantly devoured,
Forged as the unknown.
Intellect decieving creative diction
Pardon errors and revise.
The hours you spent
Absorbing anything but sleep,
Piles up to the layers
Of stars and air.
Stop being the person
You thought you were.
Brush off values you knew,
Learn to teach something old.
Tear ducts flood out
Sodium enhanced contracts,
That binded you to affliction
Yesterday, and all hours that remain.
It doesn't have to stop,
And it doesn't have to start.
Sit through the releasing
Of depressing minds.
Cope with the contract
That you desperately signed.
Let them hear you weep
And see your pathetic eyes.
Stars shine with hope,
You shine with sadness.
Thirsting for more oppertunities
That allow you to feel something.
Now that there is nothing left
To feel, and nothing left
To hate, forgetting them
Is chronologically ensuing.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 9:43 AM UTC
Fenola watched
as Eileen bathed.
She took in
the hand
moving
the lathered sponge
over the contours
of the body,
moving between ****
like some
venture ship of old,
moving down
the belly,
beneath the soapy water
to the pleasure dome,
then out again
around the neck
and under chin,
then whole body
over once again.
She knew that body well,
each inch of flesh,
each orifice,
each smell,
each loving touch.
Even the thought
pleased her
overmuch.
Eileen looked over
where Fenola sat,
on stool,
in bathrobe,
with feet
on mat.
Come on in,
she said,
room enough for two,
you rub my back,
I’ll rub yours
and other places too.
Fenola thought awhile,
took in her eyes
that gazed,
the smile
that spread,
the memory
of the afternoon
in bed,
the positions held
and played,
the *** ensuing.
Eileen pointed
to the soapy bath,
come in,
she said
with **** laugh.
Fenola stood up
from the stool,
disrobed,
set it aside,
stepped in the bath
and sat down,
the water engulfing.
Somewhere
from the other room,
Ravel played
from hifi speakers,
Bolero
or some such piece,
the sound touching
the bathroom walls
with steam and scent.
The girls rubbed
and scrubbed
and laughed
in soapy water,
each one
like a siren
of the sea
or Neptune’s daughter.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 3:42 PM UTC
It's like a habit, done unconsciously
Do we even know, it is reactionary?
This breathing out with varying intensities
Could itself, be a tendency
Says a lot---it could mean anything,
It could mean everything...
Speaking becomes a choice,
To hear, or not to hear one's voice.
There's a sigh of admission
Or agreement...a signal of an ensuing confession,
Rarely comes with a nod or a smile...
We admire with a sigh
Our eyes, a sparkle it could never hide,
We give out a sigh of despair
When hopelessness permeates the air.
From disappointment, we frown
Our shoulders are down,
And when one is anxious, and wait-less
Limbs are so restless
Mind is unruly, followed usually
By a sigh of anxiety.
When heart and mind have conceded
A sigh of surrender has succeeded
When what we see is beyond comprehension
And we.....have run out of options...
When the air is laced with sorrow
We sigh, and then tears follow
Because words refuse to flow
A sigh is all that we can let go.
We sense disrespect
A snort, we usually expect
As things, people, sometimes stray
And we sigh in dismay.
When what we feel we cannot utter
We exhale...it feels so much better
Sometimes, it is gentle...other times, violent
Could be like a shout...or one so fervent...
I ventured...thought of a lot more sighs,
They could fill my page...I could run out of rhymes
So I'm ending this poem with one...prolonged and high
Acknowledging...that a sigh is not just a sigh,
it holds words, actions suppressed, even ****** expressions,
Confusing....at times, giving wrong impressions,
Because...the true reason for the sigh
Is known, only to the one who sighs.
Sally
Copyright March 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
Like the stars where still there in the daytime,
unseen, fiercely burning alive,
the excitement of love occupied me
it appeared, when at night, you arrived
Their unfathomable scale was your beauty,
cataclysmic the event of our kiss
beyond reason, the rhyme of our body
Infinite the ensuing abyss.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
1615
Oh what a Grace is this,
What Majesties of Peace,
That having breathed
The fine—ensuing Right
Without Diminuet Proceed!
2k
Do you know what it means to butcher?
To assault, to inflict,
To incite, to enflame?
To maraud in entirety?
To usher the kind of, ****
And with one word, maybe two,
Wherein even butterflies bleed
Amnesia –
And so,
She's ill and wrought under cover,
In between legs,
Pushing,
Pulling,
Throbbing,
Coming,
Crying,
Wanting, and crying again.
Tears atop whimpering the,
“Other’s,” name,
But screaming for
One, the only, “one,”
The lonely, “one,”
Solely one,
Done, and the one broken
Promise – I’d never come home?
And so,
I should have been jealous,
But I wasn’t.
I should have murdered,
But I couldn’t.
In their stead,
I silently tucked that knife
A little deeper
Mumbling, “sorry,”
For the first time in years
And making good on fear –
“Good bye,” and ensuing long walk away.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
Cyclonic storm is brewing nearby!
Dampness all over is engulfing;
Only single grey paints the sky!
Trees and plants dance by the wind!
Intermittent light and strong breeze
With a little rain is washing the place!
Storm is supposed to cross the coast
Within 24 hours making all alert.....;
Ships and boats are anchored safe!
End of year with the last storm on
Makes dampness everywhere and
Chilling weather slowly creeps all....!
Anticipating the ensuing storm all.....
Wait and watch suspense at seat edge!
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 4:25 AM UTC
You don't even know
what a love poem is.
I'll show you,
here and now,
a love poem
is a rose
and a rock,
a love poem
is a robbery,
a love poem
is dropping Neruda to your girl
and thinking about the next caper
when she's not there,
a love poem
is thinking your girl
is yours
that she's a girl
in the first place,
a love poem
is a lie
just like
me saying I'd never leave
was a lie,
a love poem
is remorse,
a love poem
is hatred
of both the inside
and the outside,
a love poem
is me seeing through you
right to your heartbeat
and punching
you
as you sit exposed,
a love poem
is **** in an *******
all of me
made to hurt you,
a love poem
is ****
and the ensuing
yeast infection.
A love poem
is like trying to put a band-aid
on an ulcer,
a love poem
is a lot like love,
if love was watching cartoons
on ****
and thought
it saw the Holy Trinity
as Ed, Edd, and Eddy.
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 8:28 PM UTC
New day, with dawn of rising sun
off the docks, cruising towards horizon
light and breezy all, felt like blessed by Poseidon
Skinny dipping for happiness, hope I find some.
Many I got bon voyage, many I curses,
many were on board, many kraken lurks.
Head straight, high sail,
ignored all, focused on right trail.
Pleasant journey until now, premonitions around,
dark clouds, high tide, ensuing panic in crowd,
blinded became Travis, undermined the upcoming crisis
Darkness engulfed, realized too late, next moment...
**** hit the fan down came the rain,
followed by storm and a huge hurricane.
Bulldozed through, but that's just iceberg's tip,
it's gonna be titanic soon, already feel like losing grip.
Beyond horizon, can't see,
calm sea or whirlpool will there be.
All I know, strength of these sails,
sailors and that mysterious gentle gale.
May 25, 2022
May 25, 2022 at 9:52 AM UTC
i breathe out & the world is calm. we are standing waves in the sea. i am a long distance, a collection of lip movements, and all associated aches. you were a fleck of snow i barely even saw, and the ensuing onslaught of winter. plans turn around, often; we stick no closer to 'em than our moralities- i knew what i believed, just some other day: i believed i could roll out of the feeling of wakelessness that i'd thought you endowed upon my eyelids. you were prying them open, though, and i was the one at force. "sleep, my fears and doubts", i would call to myself -round midnight- "sleep and you may escape, or somehow come closer to what you're not sure if you seek".
but my plans, moralities and i, all ambiguous at best, changed. i can't pinpoint why. you said "maybe you can smell my dying, from all that way" i said i hoped not, that i could sense you but you just couldn't tell you were flourishing.
in the heat, i would make out daydreams like dialogue, spread sense like contrails: seemingly cohesive monuments to my bearing, left out to dissipate. snowfields on sunlit afternoons. but you, you you you you you, you stay heavy-stuck to the ground through cycling seasons. variation, only nondecreasing patterns in my everyday thought. inconsistence, only meaningful or meaningless. no pain, just ache all the same.
finally, in month's transitions, i found meaning (or its absence) and realised each was a facet of the other. that all facets were tiny jewels, set into the world, puzzle-piece mirrors set just. right., to reflect the gleaming bright pearl inset upon the other side of our tiny universe, each light another stroke of your portraiture, and i found longing: to find the unknown, through all things ordinary.
and you were, at once, more than a question-mark and the statement of my circles through days. you were the taste of waking, without sharp slice of reality. you were a mirror, hung in front of i, also reflecting; and i saw eternity unfold in us each. you were, and are still, peace on the shoreline. and i was, and am still, drowning, but i can make out sand on the horizonline.
so, i'll just keep afloat, if you can do the same.
so, i just won't go changin',
shine brighter with each passing day.
smile.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
I thought for days and could think of nothing
to satisfy the eye and hand and heart,
or satiate the mind, or at least seem
worthy to be willed into decent art.
The past ten years offer little I’d deem
rousing enough to write this first part.
Then imagination just so inclined
the speaker, the scene, what I’d sought to find.
Grasping the pen, I pressed it to the page
and out poured imagination as ink.
I painted a line, then outlined a stage,
and pondered for hours on their supposed link.
It seems excessive thought may shape a cage
in the corner of which ideas sink.
Sometime later the stage had some players
and the line had formed multiple layers.
All vanishes the ensuing day,
forcing thought on what’s soon to expire.
Dramatis personae hardly convey
the message famished minds desire;
Likewise, poetical visions crochet
a meandering, allegorical empire.
The thought-maelstrom bids me “Confess!”:
I’ve reduced life to a logical process.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
Stopped on the shore
to snap a picture,
"can you pose more candidly?"
you asked the water,
while the sun scurried
across the sky to duck
behind the horizon for fear
of the ensuing argument.
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 6:08 AM UTC
The way the clock ticks
Smooth away
Spirits dry
Slightly tender ears
Become another breath
A breath a sigh a mess to deal with
A test of zeal
& a box of papers
strewn left
& right
torn & strung about to conceal
the floor
the door
the walls
& the ceiling
naked peach & sweating
standing still like a post, but turning around slowly internally
putting on graces & smiling, sniffing the glass
before frowning & commenting on the values of waiting,
or diving right into the chasm of debt,
he looks handsome
& brutish
like a man best used for feeding
himself, feeding someone else
mere feed
he was food
a cow in a pasture
devouring to continue the feeding
for some dollars each day increasing
‘no worries mate’
a gesture to continue moving
there’s less to do
ensuing deadlines
wave beside the days arrive
sequentially,
enduring through them dutifully
like you must
red stars of sparks string off his limbs
& burn holes in the papers
brown cigarette burns widen & envelop
the papers that are small, the bigger
ones catch alight & fall to the
floor & it spreads
to the door
the walls
& the ceiling
now naked & blue & burning
the red & yellow flame rises high
a candle stands spinning
screaming & fighting & running from foe
who will eat him,
or **** him
he sleeps shivering under stars burning brighter than his own
& the papers are gone
so few left to feed the fire
he collapses
in a heap of soot & ash
he lies naked & black & steaming
panting & huffing like a kid on a balloon
on hands & knees observes the wreck
& sighs to clean the mess before
he becomes accustomed
or bored
he swings a broom around
and a dust pan handily collects the
soot & the wreck doesn’t seem so bad
it still stands & he stays there
in a darken pit, a hole of charred plaster
& carpet,
it seems OK so he stays there
all along the street the candles are snuffed out
they still stand so they stay there
in a row
toe to toe
all together
in compartments
of a box
of matches
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
Summoned at an elevation of a height
The ensuing plodding gloomy twilight,
and sweet sound of the night cricket
denoting yet another moment
of Peace after the bust,
from the twiddling day in haste,
now the full Moon smiles in glee
in a split second above the fig tree
Tally-Ho!!...the startling howl of the fox in the dark at three…
Scintillating tales about Angels of the night…
Dazzling as emerald gemstones
Speaking to awakening sons of men to affirm…
The third unseen soothing divine presence
Basking in the resplendent mysterious
Peace of dusk grandeur…..
Kenneth Muhumuza.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:57 AM UTC
The road is narrow
The path is dark
The ensuing sparrow
This pilgrimage, I shall embark!
In search of an ark
The ferry’s set sailing
You people that do sleep, hark
Anubis, Osiris, Hades are hailing!
Shred by shred, bit by bit, haling
Fulfilling the uttered destiny
Heart beats slowing, or failing
Curing the ennui of monotony
Life’s made of delights, some agony
What goes around, comes around
Seemed to be in perfect harmony
Not a thief, but the righteous’ crowned
6/12/2011
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
I was the, “Monster,”
With all but one
Concern
Upon my tongue –
Her and imagination wrought
Honey.
I was the, “Monster,”
Who’d only one
Plight
Come 5:00 A.M. –
Flight and ensuing chasm christened,
“Regret.”
I was the, “Monster,”
Where all but one
Finger’d
Grasp my throat –
Phantasms of someone she’d met once
Before.
I was the, “Monster,”
When it wouldn’t work
Again
And again and again –
Sacred and scared, I’d never answer,
Faint and, “knock.”
I am the, “Monster.”
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 11:57 AM UTC
my eyes are heady **** bloating
from within the sun
white embellishment lasers out
lending provision
setting life to the organic cog and clock
provoking muted growth to retch a bloom
leading
spending
seeding
my tread destroys nothing
each step frictionless
patterning little hovering eddies
a fraction above ground
minimal is my disruption
enough only to promote a deeper observation
tender fanning of the life that i am fawning over
how to feel this spritely at all times ? t'would be a spell
a fondled thing
it’s from our night of shared tether
our infection threw out an extra pleasurable souvenir
it carried its energy into the ensuing day
i am launched affection
beckoned into the true employment of my surroundings
carrying my socks and shoes in one hand
and my heart? it is a possession of the senses
i am truly led
i am emitting
Nov 4, 2022
Nov 4, 2022 at 9:44 PM UTC
1/ Swallow a ripened evening whole.
2/ Regurgitate the metaphor bit.
3/ Masticate on the ensuing puzzle.
4/ Spit out the sparkling bottomless-pit.
5/ Savor the nutrient-loaded symbols.
6/ Plant the jewel in fertile wit.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC
Crawling inside the depths
are fears of inadequacy and lose of hope...hopelessness.
Senselessness becomes rational where before it had no place.
Often when the spirit is momentarily uplifted
panic abounds of the ensuing crashing down by a broken heart.
Despite this familiar thought, right now this is not the concern.
Joy and harmony must rob the soul
of hurt, anger, and a shattered heart.
The tides of time do not stop for no one stone.
Take your stride soul; be as powerful as you can be.
Spirit be not afraid to kidnap this being
from self inhalation through self-inflicted pain.
Mend the leakage of this being's punctured heart.
Oct 1, 2011
Oct 1, 2011 at 8:47 AM UTC
~~~~~
two hands,
reach and hold,
entwine, reassure...
the eyes meet,
speak without words...
hearts beat
in one rhythm...
beating faster,
breath upon breath
as...
two lips
press upon each other,
intense kisses ensuing...
feet...
in a huddled language,
toes, touching...
two bodies,
sharing warmth,
sharing love,
sharing moments sublime...
immeasurable bliss,
undeniably
~~~d i v i n e~~~
(October 21, 2013 ...3:30 AM)
~~~~~~~
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
"Are you two sisters?"
The thought of me ever enjoying those words
Makes me shudder.
We have eyes of the same color
And when you didn't dye
Your hair
We looked so alike
And with our gazelle-like third
We made a trio
I the shortest, as always.
"More bars in more places"
Much laughter ensuing.
"i never would have let him kiss me if i had known!"
That's exactly how you said it.
But you lied, because
More
Happened.
You took him in ways I fantasized about
Thank God he wouldn't let you
Slip your little fingers around
His virginity
And rip it from him
Like you rip the beauty
From my heart.
You couldn't believe how he had used you.
I couldn't believe how you lied.
That's when the ending began,
Because I could forgive him
But not you
And you never forgive anyone at all.
You play the martyr.
You were used, abused, thrown away
Disregard the fact I hid my love for him away for 2 years
And you said his face gave you nightmares.
Obviously he's in the wrong
For being a stupid boy who wanted to keep us happy.
You never did a thing
Except
Create
Every
Problem.
You made me feel like nothing was good enough
Complaining
Your ******* were now D cups
How tragic
That your ***** were getting so big
When I felt like mine didn't exist.
Every good feature you had you made nothing
And I always was the smart one,
So that must have made you
Prettier.
I know I'm self-centered
But at least I try to be subtle.
I wanted your family
They loved me
I never knew what that was like
To have little ones that
Love me.
"Alice is our favorite big sister!"
They chorused every time.
I want your family still,
But I will not stand you.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC