"favored" poems
Twelve Olympians, to rule as they choose.
Twelve Olympians, we'll start with Zeus.
God of sky, thunder, lightning, law.
Ruled the Olympians with the justice he saw.
Commonly referred to as the Father.
Next is Poseidon, God of Water.
"A tamer of horses and a saviour of ships,"
Said in one of Homer's hymns.
Next is Hera, Queen of the Gods, and of women.
Giving mothers a carriage, and marriage to men.
Next is Demeter, Goddess of Harvest, giving fertility.
Hades captured her daughter, Persephone, and her virginity.
Then there's Athena, Goddess of Wisdom.
Lept out of Zeus' head, and earned her throne in the kingdom.
Apollo is next, God of Music, Poetry, Light.
Also capable of bringing plague and plight.
Artemis, Goddess of Moon and Hunt, and Apollo's twin.
Guided mothers through childbirth, a sacred ******
Also, beloved Aphrodite, Goddess of Love.
Lover of Ares, who favored battles and blood.
Only Hephaestus and Aphrodite were wed.
Fire, metalwork, art of sculpture he led.
Also, there's Hermes, a god bringing word.
Among other things, guide to the Underworld.
Finally, there's Hesta, Goddess of the Hearth.
Feeding families and serving the home with warmth.
Twelve Olympians, to rule the sky.
Twelve Olympians, give your memory a try.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
"Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly" (2)
who needs challenges, commissions.
kicks~in~le butte~
when heaven heaves rains, one downs tall orders in
short shot glass verses, which glossed over at its
first communion(cation,
come back
months later
to subtract - another
poem from where it lay dormant
on the doormat
of my sub~sub~terranes
of my diluted subconscious au natured dry & rugged terrain
a favored poet,
a secretive admirer,
whoa~whose~her truthful name, I've yet to uncover,
but whose one true soul inspires me repeatedly,
ana~lyrically licks me into
dredging from me
un begrudgingly
and yet,
another love poem,
she herself wrote when elixiring (commentating (3))
'pon one of mine,
a long long time ago
Alas! Alack!
unnaturally immodest,
one concedes,
when obviously a Super~Woman!-cedes,
seeds in three verses, what I could never unknot
nor uncover
so I requite & requote with
unlabored pleasure
miz patty m's
primary terse verse,
neither secondary & never tertiary,
her absolut perfect mixed drink
defining, summarizing,
the essences of love
*"(Love) Poetry is confession, obsession, reflection.
Empathic minds, valentines, hope divined.
It's a kiss, whispered sweetly"*
I concede, in deed,
and in writing,
I know nothing,
of writing
of only love poetry
and all the great predecessors,
elsewhere lyricized, named and tabulated,
by yet another women, (1)
I will take my weary words elsewhere,
and if
perhaps,
disguised as a woman,
(Natalie, Natasha, Natali
see note below)
perhaps my verbal herbal insides,
my turgid insights,
will be shorter, sweeter,
but never more completer
than those of,
who can syncopate it
in rhyme
and the naming of my
predilection,
by mid~initial,
will give a measuring
of solace, and
a kiss and hug from my mirrored selfie,
having been unsuccessful at
my one chosen endeavor,
only love poetry,
adieu,
I, due,
utter
Nevermore
M>
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 3:38 PM UTC
Genocide
Flying, eight tall, beautiful spires ascend towards the sky
onto a thin silk wire of silver and white.
Lovely it rises so high.
Why must we **** the spider to save the butterfly?
to keep that sacred silence?
to savor your favored violence?
never far...
The floating bird touches the golden beach.
A medicine man welcomes them with open arms,
but from the belly of the beast comes a leech
with butterfly wings
Feb 12, 2010
Feb 12, 2010 at 8:39 PM UTC
I will always remember
Swinging with you in the night
January through December
You were my safe place, my light
Little sister I always favored
Saving me from every scree
Always kind, and rarely untoward
Without you, I wouldn't be me
The simple sweet moments we have had
Laughing, talking, and crying too
In everything you were my comrade
Even my relationship guru
When little, you'd climb into my bed
And even now as we are grown
Though some pieces have been left unsaid
All silence between us is known
Lovely little sister
Inseparable friend
Through the sweet and bitter
You are here to the end
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 11:54 AM UTC
I asked the Lord that I might grow
In faith, and love, and every grace;
Might more of His salvation know,
And seek, more earnestly, His face.
‘Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He, I trust, has answered prayer!
But it has been in such a way,
As almost drove me to despair.
I hoped that in some favored hour,
At once He’d answer my request;
And by His love’s constraining pow’r,
Subdue my sins, and give me rest.
Instead of this, He made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart;
And let the angry pow’rs of hell
Assault my soul in every part.
Yea more, with His own hand He seemed
Intent to aggravate my woe;
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.
Lord, why is this, I trembling cried,
Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?
“‘Tis in this way, the Lord replied,
I answer prayer for grace and faith.
These inward trials I employ,
From self, and pride, to set thee free;
And break thy schemes of earthly joy,
That thou may’st find thy all in Me.”
~ John Newton (1725-1807)
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC
Beware the bitter idiot--
That fellow with the sour
Mind,
Cankered by disillusion,
And feelings of
Left behind.
So life may not be everything
As planned--
It does, after all, arrive in
Installments called the day.
One of these is enough to try
To understand,
One enough for this thin
Vessel of stardust clay.
His voice is but a drone,
Nothing but rancor and filth
Ride upon his tongue.
Complaint the engine of his
Tone,
The wormwood ballad of
Pitiful woe he sings and has
Ever sung.
He will not be mistaken,
For the street tough is at his
Very core.
He will not allow to awaken
The malleable man of his
Youth and yore.
And so this fellow who has
Shut his soul off,
Stands in front of his mirror and cries.
He's too proud to unhand the
Lance of the scoff--
Boldness is his favorite lie.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC
an oval antique photograph
from the century just passed
six youthful brothers
must be sunday dressed
exuding life and promise
facing forward all in line
symmetry pervading
sister mary in their center
on the photos right
a startling recognition
an image seen before
colins great grandfather
raymond often ray
in features and a gaze
seemed as colin
would have stood
photo has a crease
fading but still clear
now with photos recent
privileged to compare
colin next to ray
both fully present
yet a gaze away
rays gaze anticipating
army time in paris
fortune seeking in the west
fortunes to be found
four generations branching
to colin and beyond
colins gaze capturing
a journey now beginning
does he see montana paris
or the stars
repeating patterns forward
reflect photographic truth
music completes the pattern
with colorings of sound
rays trumpet and harmonica
introducing a guitar
which colin has absorbed
thus in his confirmation
new dimensions
now foreseen
confirming four generations
reflecting many more
expanding light and love
carrying our gratitude
for the glimpse
an old photograph
favored us
to find
(poem written for my grandson's
confirmation....)
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
I miss you all so much
Words with such passion, right?
If only you could feel what I feel
(But you do, don't you?)
Then you would know what it is to “miss”
(But you do, don't you?)
Then “so much” would actually mean something
Maybe if I used a rarer word
A word favored by artists and English teachers
Then the feeling would be adequately described
Right?
Correct?
My heart longs, but that does not do it
My heart cries, but that does not do it
My heart burns, but that does not do it
My heart explodes with every pain of desire it has ever held
Repeat with soul
And still, nothing
These words are meaningless before feeling
Why do we move around?
Why create these feelings?
Maybe if
I add some Santa Easter Bunny Jesus Lincoln desire-made belief?
That I will see you all again
And we will share our most intimate moments
Worthy of many exclamation points
!!!!!!!
Until the end of time?
Stay put and never leave
Put down roots in the soil and in hearts
Never go and always let them know
Just how much you care
Never let your ambition or desire outweigh your love
And Be Godammit, Be!
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 3:39 PM UTC
Black- soil-stained hands,
Weaklings at my feet,
Today we thin beets
So the others grow strong.
The beet is my spirit animal
In food form, but
Not the weak kind-
I am the strong one that is good enough
to eat.
The beet is discrete
The beet is a vicious vegetable
The beet is humble, *****
Beneath most humane things
The beet is ugly, absurdly
Colored.
I often wonder how it could be natural
But the I remember Hell is natural too.
I dream of beets
They are at dusk and dawn
In the desert monsoons,
In menstrual cycles,
In the blood of my enemies I want to slaughter,
Then taste.
When I roast and handle my beets, they are the
blood on my hands I can't rinse off
The black soil remains under my nails indefinitely
When I’ve forgotten about the beet,
The beet has not forgotten nor forgiven
me
I **** and **** and spit red
The beet never leaves me
Beet, please, never leave me.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
From a young age, I always felt stifled
I wasn’t allowed to be me so I was muffled
Mother insisted at my school I be held back in first grade
Principal said no, she insisted and in her hands he played
She said I'd be better off ******** because someone could do something with me then
Because the way I was, I was unable to learn, refused directions again and again
Mother said I came from a loving caring family that I treated terrible
I just don't know how to appreciate, and made others lives unbearable.
Being me was really not acceptable
So I always felt quite skeptical
Everything I did, wanted to do, said or liked
Was considered bad, wrong, sinful and disliked
My having fun was not allowed
For I’d embarrass them in a crowd
I never knew what I was allowed to do
Because of that I never really had a clue
Never knowing what to do, say or how to act
Since all my actions against me were attacked
My mother said one thing to me and did another
I knew she favored others over me so why did I bother?
My entire life has been quite a farce
Attention I wanted from her were sparse
Always pretending to be such an outstanding mother
To impress the friends and family she shouldn’t bother
Mother said I couldn't work because I can’t get along with anybody
Making me dependent on her in every way, she said I was shoddy.
While mother was pretending to me that she really loved me
She was going around bashing me to any family she’d see
I’d complain that other family members treated me bad
She said all you do is cause trouble and make me mad
If you could just grow up and learn to behave
Then everyone would be nice and about you rave
I trusted my mother when she said I was born bad, told her I see
She asked the doctor for help but said nothing was wrong with me.
Mother spoke with fork tongue; sold me out, lied to me constantly
Leaving me to wonder how to survive without her cautiously
I'm afraid to have fun, I'm always afraid someone will be cranky
When I did things I'd pay for it because mom would be very angry
Afraid to be me, don't know how to act, who I am, or what to do.
Today I feel the same and for that reason I will always be blue
At the age of almost 60 I'm finding out things were never my fault
I'd like to take all those bad feelings, and lock them in a vault
Copyright 2017
All rights reserved
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 8:40 PM UTC
On April 10th, 1846 on the ship Devonshire from Liverpool,
one Catherine McCarty, age 17 arrived in New York during times most cruel.
She made this long journey to escape the famine occurring in her native Ireland.
We don't know if she arrived alone or with family
or whether she was married or accompanied with a boyfriend.
The passenger arrival manifest has her listed a servant as the occupation she did.
Based only on her age and her name, many historians have speculated and proclaimed
that she's the mother of BILLY the Kid.
Billy's mother died on September 16th in the year of 1874.
She was 45 years old according to her obituary.
Combine the above information and we know one thing for sure.
Immigrant Catherine shared the same age and name as did the true mother of Billy.
It seems that due to health reasons, Catherine McCarty's life had gone onto
searching for dryer climate out west as a single mother of two.
One of her sons would live a full life and then fade into obscurity.
Her other son would die very young and become one of the greatest legends to ever be.
No one knows anything about the boys' father or whether they shared the same one.
Did he/they die or abandon the family? Your guess is as good as anyone's.
Catherine was a strong, independent, gregarious lass
whom everyone seemed to like and enjoy very dearly.
She earned a living selling baked goods to customers she had amassed
and by also doing much of the neighborhood's ***** laundry.
She also dabbled in real estate, purchasing what little property she could afford,
and to earn extra income she'd often open the door to her home and welcome
all those willing to pay room and board.
It was clearly shown that she could take on the responsibility alone,
as far as providing and caring for her boys.
When she wasn't earning employment, she'd occasionally indulge in the enjoyment
that every good, loving mother enjoys.
After schooling her children, she'd take them to local dances
where she was known to be one of the grandest dancers on the dance floor,
but of all the dance partners she'd dance with
there was always one she could never resist
and he'd want to dance with her more and more.
"Of all my dance partners," she told him one night, "you are my favorite one."
To see her lovingly gaze into his eyes, it certainly would come as no surprise
to learn that William Henry was Catherine McCarty's favored son.
To Be Continued
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 4:47 PM UTC
Some people think that they have the right
To go throughout life pointing out imperfections
Everyone has their own flaws,
But people need to think and realize: I am the perfect me
I might not be a Barbie doll
I might not have perfect hair
I know my body is not ideal
Sometimes it just isn’t fair
I might not be the brightest girl
Sometimes I struggle in school
I might not be Valedictorian
But I’m sure not a fool
I know I am the Perfect Me
I might not be the most athletic
Sports might just not be my thing
I won’t always get first place
But in a competition, the best is all I bring
I might not be the perfect daughter
Sometimes I speak my mind
Some days I’ll admit I’m a little lazy
But I have never gotten behind
I am the perfect me
I am not the most organized girl
Some days it’s a balancing act to get everything done
Some days it would be so easy to give up
But I know sticking to it will pay off in the long run
I am not the most valued girl
Some days it’s as if I weren’t there
I am not always the one they go to
But nevertheless they still care
I am not the most popular girl in the school
Nor do I have the favored styles
I might not have the best ideas
But with individuality by my side, I can go miles
I am the perfect me
I might not have the best self esteem
I don’t walk with my nose in the air
I will admit, your words do hurt
But I try my hardest to realize, I shouldn’t care
As you can see I have my flaws
I am not afraid to be one from the crowd
Some days I feel a bit insecure
But I have every right to be proud
Shoot me down
But I will only stand higher
Tell me I am wrong
And that I don’t belong
And I have one thing to say, I am the perfect me
Tell me? Is anyone perfect?
Does anyone have the right to judge?
I know I am far from perfect
But I will continue to stay strong
We have all either been on one side of the story
Being bullied or the bullier
And I want to ask you, what made you feel good?
About telling someone their not good enough?
-=
All of us have fought our own battles
And some of them have been lost
We have all had our bad times and struggles
But still we only stand stronger
Be a hand when someone has fallen
Be a shoulder to cry on when someone’s upset
You never know how much it can help them
Or how much they need it in the end.
I only stand stronger when you say those things
My scars only seal open wounds
They are within my sheet of armor
One that I’ll never undo
White, black, Hispanic
Blue, brown, green or hazel
Short, tall, thin, thick
We are all beautiful
Love me or hate me
Judge me or criticize
Blinded by seeing
Only what’s on the outside
Everyone in this world is imperfect,
Everyone is a shining star cocooned, ready to fly
Everyone has their own flaws, even though some want to deny,
The next time someone tries to point out your flaws, tell them, bold and strong
I am no less than the perfect me!
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
i given nothing
i abandoned
i adopted
i dropout
i garage
i Apple
i NeXT
i Pixar
i Apple
i pilfered i
i invented i
i produced i
i market i
i retail i
i am i
i am
i
i tech beauty
i consumer fetish
i whom you love
i sleekest widgets
i Toy Story
i Macintosh
i macbook
i Lisa
iTunes
iPod
iPhone
iPad
i more
i rebel
i genius
i visionary
i entrepreneur
i world changer
i exceptionalism
i capital market hero
i bigger then business
i cool capitalism
i myth
i "the man"
i worker
i employer
i boss
i thief
i savior
i billionaire
i venerated
i vanity
i Buddhist
i prophet
i redeemed
i 1 in 300 million
i America
i sing the pathos
i am the creed
i define the ethos
i Steve Jobs
i amassed riches
i accolade crowned
i ingratiate world
i virtue
i success
i creativity
i favored
i Midas
i bedeviled
i tested
i afflicted
i retire
i human
i mortal
i succumb
i eulogized
i leave legacy of i
i am an MBA case study
i employed workers
i peddled intrepid product cycles
i subject of amusing anecdotes
i am heroic corporate folklore
i grew pods full of music
i incite kids to thumb phones
i captivate consumer imagination
i built rock solid balance sheet
i erected toxic Chinese factories
i enriched investors
i am the cool corporate brand
i inspired a million unused i apps
i hipster capitalism
i imposed my will
i insisted
i am that i am
i cannot take it with me
i leave blue jeans
i leave NB sneakers
i leave black collarless shirt
i will be asked what
i did with the time
i was given?
i did the best i could
i played the hand dealt
i parlayed it into a royal flush
i filled it up with i
i ask why
i am no more?
i leave the world
i am no more
Godspeed Beloved
Steven Paul "Steve" Jobs
(February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011)
jbm
Oakland
10/6/11
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
jesus and judas kissed in the garden
moments before the world caved in.
the gospel of judas says that
the betrayer was the most loved of all disciples,
that jesus took him aside and
taught him touched him laughed.
there are two sides to canon, history, myth:
someone somewhere at sometime
wanted a better story,
where the betrayer was held close
and favored, forgiven—
but the gospels all end the same.
the son is strung up for someone else's sins
as judas wastes alone in the garden.
intention is a matter of interpretation
but what is silver worth, really?
metaphor disintegrates
and you come to me in my dreams.
to love you after all of this
is apocryphal— tempting yet untrustworthy.
you're not judas,
i'm just a mortal man,
and there is no gnosis, no hidden knowledge,
only apocalyptic revelations now.
the world is irrevocable, just born.
i miss you in the same way
jesus met judas' eyes on the cross.
somewhere in a field of blood
or a forgotten library buried under the earth,
there is a better story.
over time only becoming more unknowable,
hopeful fragments turning to dust
in trembling hands.
Nov 16, 2022
Nov 16, 2022 at 11:48 PM UTC
Oh how I earnestly await for thee to awaken from thy slumber.
The time that passes is far from squandered. It bestows upon me, favored opportunity to admire thy beauty.
Desiring not to be selfish. Alas, I cannot help this. Somehow, some way, I need to emerge from it.
Just a glance not even a stare and I am vexed beyond repair.
Do I even seek such hellish things?
To be repaired, would be an unjust, merciless act. Knowing what I did not have, now I possess.
Who in their proper mind would relinquish such a gift?
You would be mad!
Without this Monarch, I would be unhinged, unbalanced, lifeless.
These are the things I ponder, while I wait patiently your end of slumber.
Call me mad, call me insane. For if she is mine and I hers.
Devotedly I Remain.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
PROMETHEUS!
Prometheus. You,
Were favored among man.
PROMETHEUS!
Prometheus. You
Stole fire from the gods.
I was fire and
lightening
at the creation of Earth.
Feet dance like,
Shiva.
Hips sway,
Calypso
Hair flung wild like
Yangtze and Ganges
I was energy and passion
until you loved me
to Olympus rock.
Greedy bird, you are never full.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
*** a knife in my chest,
Not a day I rest.
My anxiety is too high,
I have not a clue why.
They threw a book at my face,
And expected me to work at their pace.
All of a sudden work became too much to handle,
I sit in mental agony, trembling with a melted candle.
it seems unjust, unfair,
To now have me decide; to fully care.
I am baffled as to why there was a requirement,
I feel trapped inside an isolated environment.
Did they ask about my feelings?
Did they wonder what I knew?
Did they care I favored my abilities over theirs?
Did they realize this much is true?
The book beside me is relentless,
It motions for me to work day after day,
But I sit there with stress raging over me,
Will I be okay?
I try and I try,
To greatly improve in this never-ending book of lies,
For an outstanding score,
And the disappearance of my sighs.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
**Scattered Thunderstorms
The radar shows a band of multi-green storms,
Parallel running to the East Coast,
Stretching from So. Florida to Falmouth, Rhode Island.
Path-dependent, the edges skirt my present location,
Instrumented, but not weather resistant,
Water teases, invites me to a head clearing session.
Breezy gusts of overcast, caramel salty bay waters,
(weirdly calm),
Spray sprites whisper, scattered thunderstorms, starboard side
I am the only boat out, especially,
The only one going for sure aimlessly,
Radar non-discriminatory, stupidity legal,
So fools like me go out alone.
Scattered Thunderstorms,
Unavoidable, summer's favored annoyance of choice.
The melancholic platelets budding off my bone's marrow,
Forming wondrous clots of sadness,
Running strong in the currents of my veins,
Downtempo'd, there is no relief for
Inside of my radar scanned brain, the scattered thunderstorms,
Have arrived much earlier today.
What sourced this elegiac distich,
Too many poets, fully disclosing their downbeat, aroma of defeat?
The world is in a **** mood, not one of us, got nothing
Good to say, seems that love storms ripping hearts
With no trace of mercy, the radio has elected nonstop
Taylor Swift and Jonas Bro's
Just to make the point!
It is so easy to feel ******
When the sun is unshining, elegant distich, **** me.
Thinking back, getting a good idea,
Found some long necked Corona overlooked,
Turn on the tv, pretend I'm a real cowboy,
And for god's sake, shut down poetry,
Good Bye Poetry, for the rest of the day
Value you more than me, but you've worn me down
My blood streams your anguished distress,
I cannot survive these scattered revolver-repeating
Anguish-Cries-For-Relief from the Thunderstorms,
That now having reached, breached,
That now, having infected my heart which started
This day brow beaten,
First poem of the day, already shell-shellacked,
Now, I must shut me, batten me, down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The average lifespan of a platelet is normally just 5 to 9 days. Platelets are a natural source of growth factors. They circulate in the blood of mammals and are involved in hemostasis, leading to the formation of blood clots.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
*You are trying to be the lead;
like a famous book
that people will read.
Wanting to get the title of "unbeaten",
no single thing to you is hidden.
You are favored because of thy name.
Overwhelmed by the sound of fame.
Be watchful, you big-headed;
there are things that you devastated.
-Steph Dionisio*
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
She is exotically sweet,
like cherry blossoms blooming
in the warm summer heat.
She is softer than spring,
and more delicate than daisies.
She sleeps in the rain,
bathed in the moonlight.
She loves like the sun,
and lives by the moon.
She is a creature of holiness,
her soul made of sunflowers.
She is a beackon of light,
for ships lost at sea.
She is born of the earth,
made of dirt,
and the leaves.
She is a **** that grows wildly,
among a field of planted seeds.
She is free in her spirit
for what she believes.
She is a guarder of those
who have no voice to speak.
She is heaven and hell,
mixed up times three.
She is an angel of earth,
given the force of the sea.
She is a rose without thorns,
and white as could be.
She is a rare expression of love,
favored by the bees.
She is a perfect jasmine flower,
the most beautiful you will ever see.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 3:19 PM UTC
Gray and faded
Cold crisp edges
The crunchy of fallen leaves under our feet
The only warmth found here is a
Chic charcoal coast fastened with bulky brown buttons
My milky vanilla bean coffee
And your hand holding my own
A shy smile given to me as you glance over
And brush the hair out of my face
That had been misplaced by the cold winds
In that moment
The clouded skies and birds heading south
The foreboding winds and icy water filled with fallen gray hues,
Even the scent of my favored drink
Escaped me as time froze
In the dark world around me the only color i found,
Was deep within those espresso bean eyes.
Captivated in that moment, I couldn't move
As his soft lips embraced my own
Oh sweet satisfaction.
Just as i went to kiss his back
I shuddered awake.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 4:20 PM UTC
(for Mama <3 )
She wore her favorite red and beige
batik cotton dress, that morning,
while i,...wore old, faded clothes,
unfit to be worn outside the house,
my slippers, thinned by frequent use...
she would've admonished me,
had she noticed.
she never went out of the house
wearing crumpled attires......no missing
buttons or snaps...her collar was always
straight...stiff.....until she came home
from work at night...
as she grew older, she preferred more
comfortable clothes, like, cotton shirts
and dresses....and how she favored
those with batik patterns...
even with her back bent a bit,
she still dressed up
with grace and confidence.
whatever the occasion was.
in her younger days, i felt sad
each morning when she left for work...
with admiration, i followed her as she
walked away...as far as my eyes could reach...
these days, i am older...i still follow her,
as far as my mind could remember...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
---July 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 5:27 AM UTC
By Joseph Childress
Backyard parties
Are more free
Then open houses
No limit power
Sky ceilings
And ground floorings
Flourished
On earth's home
Earth tone colors
And bright flowers
Compliment one another
Feng shui settings
Decorated by nature
Greet guests
And shade neighbors
This lawn is alive
So my backyard is favored
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
Her feet rose and fell
between fields of paddy
the grass bowed
then looked up on her way.
If only she had wings
and the winds carried her to her sister
she could land right on the yard of her hut
and take her home by the return flight
but her mind soared no less
so before the sun favored the west
she was right by her
laughing and talking like the yore
with only a line of vermilion
that she felt had come between them.
Soon she looked around
and making sure no one was watching
brought out from her skirt a mango.
She gave it to her like
she was giving a piece of her heart
plump yellow green
with the most delicious nectar hidden within
and when she narrowed her lips
to drink from the gift
her tears poured like the summer rain
mingling with the cries of the parched earth.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 4:40 AM UTC
To be blessed ,
favored and protected by the environment,
selected and isolated from your social groupings,
To be blessed is to synthesize what truly has meaning in life and self-meditate with the sake of life’s pace.
Before falling asleep, resting, force the mental to remain awake,
processing and breaking apart the information given today,
despite the fact that time wasn’t kind, brief or even prolonged; make it the moral commitment to self-reflect.
Make a correction if your answer is wrong; the fabrication of a scripture,
Make sure, for certain, that all the totaled scores calculate to a certain percentage,
Affirmed, scolded or ruled by another to convey your defined truth as inaccurate, almost there or rarely ample.
Time is allotted, effortless and to be taught a lesson is a blessing,
Space is limited, given and to be bestowed the gift of building is the set up version of a lesson, a shell of a blessing.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 1:39 AM UTC