"grayish" poems
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors
to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle
tones......gather words together in lines,
uncertain in their ebbing and flowing...
the results create surprise in many
hues that could make one cry,
grimace......frown......or smile
readers are led to far, or near
destinations...to the cool, sweet air
and peaceful atmosphere of paradise,
or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters,
or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole,
an unknown corner, where moribund souls
are biding their time, maybe, they could
now define by themselves, purgatory and hell,
understand those sunken souls who have lost
all...except their arms, and begging eyes...
then, through appropriate words,
a poet paints a laborious path, or
a stairway...so an enlightened reader
may climb back to safe, calm waters...
a poet makes the mind see a human heart,
beating in many rhythms...throbbing,
.......aflame with longing and desire,
bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments,
then, later on, shift to grayish thoughts
that cut deep....tormenting...crashing,
............gnashing the heart...
a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine,
later, to dip feet in celebrative pools.
sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet,
an inner force prevails, thereby paints a
drooping soul...dying, in total surrender,
ready to fall..............but, again, with a
barrel of lively-colored words, a poet
takes this despondent soul to berth,
with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth...
every human being is worth an effort
..............even those that have fallen
.........................are worth savin' .....
a poet's palette is uniquely
enriched with colorful experiences,
a poet paints life in its truest colors,
..........could be dark...or bright
.....nothing more......nothing less...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 29, 2017
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
A pale homemade dress hung to dry in the blazing sun;
It's original color not quite clear but presumably purple.
That stain that never faded, a spot of innocence...
I closed my eyes and remembered the night she wore it,
Childlike with that smile of hers.
He threw promises of love and eternal bliss;
She believed his words and followed him to the train-yard.
An invisible moon hovered over them as they entered
An old rusted cart, abandoned for years and years.
He didn't bother taking her dress off,
She couldn't wait to feel loved.
Right there beneath a dark sky, a man stole a girl's innocence.
But how can love find it's way through the Cairo Slums?
Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks;
They bleed.
A grayish sleeveless undershirt hung to dry in the blazing sun,
It's original color not quite clear but presumably white.
That rip that was never mended, a tear of hope...
I closed my eyes and remembered that morning he wore it,
As he maneuvered through downtown traffic
Trying to make easy money, as ordered by his jobless father.
A child of seven or eight running around with beads of
Sweat rolling down his tiny face.
Mr. Policeman grabbed him by his shirt, slapped him around,
Beat him to the ground for approaching Mrs. Businesswoman in
Her air-conditioned car.
But how can this child find hope for the future in the Cairo Slums?
Where human lay on top of another, like cracked bricks;
They bleed.
Let me take you down to the Cairo Slums,
Where people are animals in their nests
Of carton-paper, waiting for the big bad wolf,
To huff and to puff and to blow their lives away.
But soon you'll realize that evil's not born but raised,
That hate is brewed, and money is everything.
Let us disregard this urban jungle under a glass jar,
Let us use them for advertising or marketing our products,
Products they could never afford.
O' what irony, what strife.
The girl and the child never had a chance,
but they deserve one.
They bleed.
They bleed.
So without further a adieu,
Welcome to the Cairo Slums.
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 25, 2011 at 12:21 PM UTC
I awoke
with mountains in their heights
that spoke
of memories that wove
through knees
thighs
and ***** bone --
to the inky waters of the lake below.
In that cabin
where the sable pines enclose
and all about
from coral-white
to grayish
turquoise-blue
snow.
That scene:
on the edge
where the stillness
Knows.
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 10:17 PM UTC
They would have given a lot
those paste-skinned kids
with straw for hair
and knobby knees
Not that frail— it seems
Beneath grayish strings
through black rims
one cracked lens screams—
Gets nothing!
Changes nothing!
Ritual words fall—
a rusted refrigerator
shoved over a railing from the second floor
Barking dogs tied to the radiator of misery
fed on rough-house excuses for kindness
Why do people keep children?
Larger than average eyes
huge foreheads of genetic wrong
******* childhood downstairs
while mother is sleeping
I can get used to the smell of cats
Human ***** is not so—
different?
and if I didn’t change my clothes for a week
What do children know?
Jenny cuddles a starving kitten
then releases it to where
they disappear...
one generation after another
Famished eyes
devour anything offered
words...food...sex...God
Screams from the mats of string and gray
Scald the frantic instant badly
I watch her bolt beyond explanation
Night gives no reason to let her live....
My faith went the way the kittens go
Hope and a small girl
blend beyond blackness
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
Like seeing the ghosts of the people I loved
I scan through crowds and avoid their faces
Faces as magnets attract my eyes
My vision is blurry, it's time to go
I stumble through hallways
My head hangs low,
Avoiding those faces as magnets.
The girl with the piercings
The guy with tattoos
That person whose hair is a dark grayish blue
Those people have faces as magnets.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
I told you I didn't do anything wrong,
Yet you believed their lies all along
I was the love of your life remember?
You promised to cherish me forever.
One mistake - and not even on my part,
Tales told viciously just to break my heart
I was on my knees on that 23rd of July
I begged you to listen to my soulful cries.
What did you say on that bleak rainy day?
That I cheated on you and I must pay
Again You never wanted to see my face
And You would never offer a saving grace.
I accepted your harsh decision in blind tears
My heart bled from your punishment severe
I bowed my head not in shame nor regret
I had no dues to pay nor did I have debts.
Years passed and we met accidentally in a store
Your look of shock or surprise I just ignored
I pretended that I never saw nor heard you
But my heart beat faster for you oh so true!
Two years I suffered in silence and fears
Clinging only to my twin boys oh so dear
Proof of our affair to you was suddenly revealed
My pride won, I've my sons from you to shield.
Tell me frankly, what did I ever do to you?
You have your eyes set on me to pursue
Grayish pupils which always left me on trance
Now, You are asking for a second chance?
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC
Blue-grayish waves lap summer's sun-drenched beaches,
eternal, soothing rhythm, an enduring melody, into the soul it reaches.
Neighboring celestial bodies, conductors of the tides, creating eon's symphony,
embracing, pacifying music: a choral harmony.
Placid, glistening lake with fall moon's luminescent splendor,
silvery, reflective mirror, still and serene, lying quietly in slumber.
Bright, streaming rays, upon the surface, become as two entwined eternally,
brilliantly flowing: a beacon of tranquility.
White, pristine snow upon the meadow on a winter's early morning,
softly sown, caressing Mother Earth, pure and alluring.
Sol's rays shimmering on crystal flakes, a mosaic luminosity,
sparkling diamond facets: a blanket of serenity.
Dew-covered fields patched with spring's wild flowers,
dazzling array, vibrant and alive, displaying rainbow's colors.
A zephyr stirs bouquets of aromatic splendor, emerging reality,
a living portrait masterpiece--a canvas of vitality.
Nature, an ageless composer, conceiving kaleidoscope showcases,
perennial seasons casting actors on scores of different stages.
Wise is it, from time to time, to pause in awe and humble reverence,
and view a master artist's majestic, grand performance.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 5:32 PM UTC
*On the top of rationality
Remains an abyss to insanity
That I persist to climb
Until I reach my prime
Until I grasp all the rains in my veins
Until I rein the reins
As I contemplate all the plains
Of grayish fate, thru trees of clocks
Leaves of wish and apples of Eve
Thru rocks weightless as chants
And thru ants and doves verging chess
Hazy mortals with gloves of hate
Lazy and crazy mortals,
In such rare lands of bliss,
Obliterating the glow...
**So, I knead the canvas with my bare hands
And threw myself into the abyss.***
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
(monsoon moments 1)
The lively colors of summer have faded
Blazing May afternoons have ended,
Clear skies are now ash-blue, sometimes blae
Blooming with soggy grayish ***** of cotton,
Ever ready to burst with crystal drops...
Monsoon winds blow.......then rain follows
Big, heavy, noisy raindrops hit the roof,
They pour longer........inundate the streets
Making them impassable.......................but
I'm raring to be out there when it falls,
Let its cold touch, give me goose bumps...
And waken every nerve in me...
Let it wash away the heat and humidity from my body
Let its steady flow, drench my short hair, flat to my skull,
Let it compress my long-running indecision: do I, or do I not?
I'd wait for all these to slide down and join the wet ground
For, I want to walk around....soaking wet, and barefooted,
Feel the grass.......subservient to the downpour
I want to dip and wiggle my toes in the softened soil,
'til floodwater reaches my ankle
'til I'm one with earth and water
And then I...
Would feel unburdened,
When I come in
From the rain...
Sally
Copyright June 9, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
off the asphalt
five miles down south
she catches prawn
her skirt the catching net
feet quietly feather weight
she looks a muddy heron
beneath sky grayish pale
swimming wind with fishy smell
on her no man's patch
intent on her solo search
head bowed down cutely arch
she must have her catch
streaks of mud on her hair
only what she does care
a bunch of wriggling store
fire it up when day is dead
have the catch thinly spread
and nothing more
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
Darkness breaks,
Moon awakes,
night now brings the stars it makes.
Moon beams fall,
Light up all,
From silvery woods there comes a call.
Grayish blur,
Shaggy fur,
Food is this night creatures lure.
Brown deer,
Very near,
It is brought down full of fear.
Deadly bite,
Very tight,
Every wolf will feast tonight
~Zaynah Nadeem (an undiscovered poet)
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
And the emptiness now
lets the memory howl
and bang its head
off the sheer walls of never—
Engulfed in consequence as it rolls in
fog or smoke?
In any case—
lonely
looks like this--
numb and cool and slow-moving
grayish-white fingers
reaching for molecules of air
while the reign of suffering comes like fine drizzle
over
springtime over....
Desire perishing in a crisis of will
In the thickets of panic—
bronchial spasms expand seconds
at an open window
Choking, congestive, failure of heart!
in the face of what it means to be...
not being
...as I came into this world
breach and not breathing
to my mother’s horror!
Alone
Scrapping, gasping, grappling for breath
I love life
I LOVE-- life!
Love—
inexpressible, inessential fool of a child
Love ripped apart at the v
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
I can't be patient for any longer because I've been waiting for too long
Everything I've ever done feels worthless and like a disaster
I don't know who will love me when things get bad
Because things are bad
And the people that I need the most are too far away or too consumed to notice
To notice that I'm drowning in a sea of misery and paranoia
My breaths have become shorter and my pupils are dilated
I gaze into other people's eyes and I see nothing
A long time ago, I made a conscious decision to see nothing
And now I'm blind
But with blindness comes increase sensitivity of my other senses
So now my tears fall down my face and they feel like acid on my skin
Every whisper falls into...
This isn't living
This isn't life
Because life happens and this is something else
This is bigger than me
This is something that will still hover over my head when I wake up
And it will haunt me till I go to sleep
The worst part is that I don't know how to effectively cope
With everything life has bestowed upon me
So I'm left on the curb
Staring at a finish line
And I'm paralyzed
I'm alone with the thoughts and the voices that brought me to this state of recklessness
This state of unrevealed truth and blanketed wounds
My feelings aren't gone because I chose to share them
Shared they were, but only two people recognized the cry for help
I was transparent and found
But we're all too lost
And I'm too broken to win another battle
Weight is on my chest and I'm bitter over someone
I have been in a dark place for so long, that I've forgotten what light looks like
I want to scream at the top of my lungs and never stop crying
I don't think I'll ever stop crying
These droplets will forever fall from my grayish irises onto pavement and rocks and nothingness
Pain doesn't go away
Pain becomes me
I am tired and I cannot sleep and I'm afraid of what the future holds
Because at moments like this
I question the existence of a future
"I drank coffee, and read old books, and waited for the year to end"
But I've been doing that for 6 years, and I'm tired
So I need to be held and helped by someone or something
I need to remember what sweetness tastes like
And I need to piece together this puzzle called life
There are no leaves on the trees
Don't mistake it for fall
Because the leaves were never there
I need to be closer to love than I am right now
To love that is requited
The love that I've felt before
The love that is sweaty palms and mumbled giggles
Rhapsodies of savior
Someone,save me
Help me save myself
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 10:55 PM UTC
Grayish skies of silent mourning
Clouds of regret, ennui, silence
Wandering aimlessly
A trickle, and another...
A raindrop
Then a tear...
The skies mirror
my loneliness.
Oct 18, 2021
Oct 18, 2021 at 11:44 PM UTC
Take me up. Let the devil take me up, like the morning when we left ourselves. The ides are upon our lives, maybe backstabbing partners really won't pay the bills. The irreverent god, the irrelevant clause that speaks too soon, comes upon the midnight waning sky. Like the moonful of ham in the stock of the flesh, second helpings because I could not resist.
Pick me up. Pick me up. Like a devil born again in the flesh. Your womb is a rotten tomb of forced reclusion, I'm wide awake before I can even sleep. The Time, our heaven is pyre, we're in it now like you thought it had been. But the flesh never whispers when I tried to break it in, it only clung to me like pre-used clothing.
Write it up, tomorrow we make Japan. Tomorrow, the island is our vesper. Your nine lives have come, and you'd decided to trade all of your needs to please me. We intertwined into an elusive butterfly, you're dead inside my beak, chewy, squishy, crunchy meat. You're eleven but you've never tasted better.
Your lies are so stupid, I had to have you in supine. I had to lie to myself to placate me. I survived by being a witness to a life. A dusky, grayish shadow four feet yonder.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
I became jealous of my friend;
He hung around the intersections
Just a bit too long.
He used to slump around
In the corners of my eyes
And I didn't notice him when he'd frown--
We didn't notice him--until he hung around
That intersection for longer than we'd care to think.
I became jealous
Because he vanished
Right to that street corner
When he thought
No one would care but the coroner,
Right to the asphalt that received him--
Soft,
As I hoped my own
Last moments
Would be.
When I saw him,
Mama said he was sleeping.
He looked like he was,
But the lights were dim;
His arm cradled his head
The way he used to sleep
On his desk, in class
And for all I knew,
He was.
They said he was driving
Like he was late for something,
Like had he not been driving
Exactly 65.32 miles per hour
He'd have been late,
And it was only afterwards
That he'd figured out that he was
Right on time.
And when he arrived, his car blossomed into
A beautiful metal flower, and when it fully bloomed
He was the fruit
Which fell.
And all I could do was recruit the strength
I'd left at home on accident by the drain
The same one that ****** him into that downward cyclone,
Confused him and made him believe he was alone--
Not to just think or to have a hunch,
But to really believe it
To the point where he needed to expunge
Himself.
No.
No, no, no.
Not like this.
And so, now, I sit at the intersection
Chucking rocks with my weepy hand
At my grayish concrete reflection
Trying to see if he'll come around again.
I'm still
And still kind of mad within
Because life's not fair,
I'm jealous because he found the answer
And left us all to figure it out
On shards of glass
Pieces of metal
and intersections,
Which too long
He hung about.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
palette
russet, olive hues
yellow ochre
bird's egg blue
vastness held
within a bowl
turned over earth
to heal and hold
moisture from
the morning rain
thus the painter's
eye is trained
cadmium white
a fan-like brush
sketch mare's-tail clouds
an artist's touch
far horizon
grayish blue
a woman reclines
in the ****
her form reveals
the breasting hills
her hips the mountains
hushed and still
mid-ground
blurs of olive cacti
the saguaro
rise like hackles
Palo Verde lie in lumps
yellow flowers
bloom in clumps
point of brush
tweaks out the trees
turn of branches
stippled leaves
small are they
to catch the light
but the moisture
loss is slight
ochre foreground
brownish stones
blue-gray shadows
light source shown
grayish purple
prickly pears
ocotillo
here and there
spindly with splash of red
barrel cacti nod their heads
buff highlights
saguaro flowers
I could sit and
paint for hours
there's time to write
but now I pray
look upon these
words today
they paint the desert
you will find
If only in
the poet's mind!
SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage
2017
Mar 28, 2022
Mar 28, 2022 at 5:42 AM UTC
People said
Romanticizing is too dramatic
And sad poetries
Are kind of untold suicidal notes
And poets
Are too broken, bluer than a bruise
Blacker than old stretches
As miserable as a grayish dark cloudy sky
As heavy as the hazy rainfalls on a rooftop
Little know they realize
That words hurt
And sharp,
Like a knife twisted in a soul.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
Four seated around a table, four proper place settings.
Napkins on laps, forks in hands jabbing pasta and grayish meat,
unused spoons and knives on the right.
Casual conversation, metal clinking porcelain.
Occasional slurps and crunches, paper wiping skin.
The household cat mews in the background.
Father.
*Bills are late, mortgage is due next week.
Is there even enough in the checking to pay them?*
Mother.
Tuna helper for the third night in a row.
Daughter.
*I’ll just say I’m just sick of eating this stuff.
Maybe that, or…*
Son.
*I’ve seen her journal.
Do I say something? But…*
Father.
$89.45.
Mother.
Tomorrow will make it four.
Daughter.
*… I’ll “get sick” again.
It seems to be working.*
Son.
*…she’d **** me if I told.
I guess I’ll keep quiet.*
Four plates form a circle, their propriety slowly weakened.
Food blotches have tinted the once pure white napkins,
forks, spoons and knives are laid lazily on tuna scraps.
Meaningless words have turned to awkward glances,
throat clearing and thumb twiddling signals another meal over.
The cat patiently waits in the kitchen, still whining.
He wants the leftover tuna.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
Through Rain, Sleet, and Snow
by Tom Mach
Drops of cold rain dot the landscape,
and the ice-glazed roads hate car
especially mine when
I have to pamper my tire
and coax them
not to slide off the road.
The grayish sky is also angry
as it continues to discourage me
so I turn on the radio
only to hear weatherman drone on
about a predicted historical snowfall
but I don't give a **** about that.
The hospital doors never close
and I may be needed in ER today
to save the life of a child
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC
In misplaced demographics, an underlying figure
Gets lost in the middle of double-helixed bound’ry lines
Dissolving past parameters, confounding to the mind,
A deadlocked debate decides if pain or love is bigger
It’s like the world’s hardest riddle, answers buried deftly
That no savant or prodigy is able to surmise
And the truth does differ from what words can now describe.
I’ve learned that one can tread life’s forest with a steady course
And with the best of intentions and stark, concerted path
Turn winding bends ambiguous: mistake a birch for ash
So to end the tiring journey in tangent to its source
The nature of the Earth is neither white nor black
It’s more like the palate used when blue becomes grayish sky
But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe
Inside my head there lies a circuit, closed unto itself
So, through this loop I’ve learned to see the difference between
Progress and regression, what has been and has never been,
Is like finding from a deck why each hand differs that is dealt
But the answer matters not, for the circle spins again
It’s kind of like the ocean where the calm and break collides
But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe.
I’ve watched a daunting fog descend upon my clouded eyes
It curbs the hue of ev’rything to darker spectrum shades
So this shroud submerges light until definition fades,
Frustrates the sense of passion; luster steadily subsides
When the mind’s only window is comprised of rippled glass,
It’s like a drunkard’s double vision having not imbibed
But, then again, it’s not this easy to describe.
Each step I take grows even more uncertain than the last
If I could convey to you the shape of this confusion
If I could draw a diagram or picture of delusion
Then you and I might, together, construct and raise a mast
So with to steer life’s wayward ship back toward a purpose
At times, I’m unsure if living’s just learning to survive
So, in this pall, I reach you now, and in you I confide.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
not a morning person
she’s content to hide in leafy shadows
wildly overgrown purple and green vines
surround and ensnare her
beneath a canopy of pink antique tea roses
she stands inside a maple platform
designed and handcrafted with care
three asymmetrically positioned 2 by 4 risers raise her
about a foot off the ground
two golden plaster cherubs hover above her on either side
fine grayish wood grain, like carpenter’s fingerprints
peek out through faded cerulean backboards
a painted backdrop made translucent by exposure
fresh cut miniature roses in miniature vases
brighten the stage like foot lights
behind the platform, at the back of the cave
clumps of ferns intermittently reveal
mud swirls splashed on a mint colored wall
up front, a row of marigolds and strawberry plants
embank a retaining wall border
of cabana-like sculpted brick
glistening white quartz stream before her
like a river of rocks at her feet
completing the grotto
she comes alive as the afternoon sun
brings out the color in her cheeks
she steps out from the shadows
and stretches her arms out close by her sides
palms facing outward
fingers pointing down
as if something were emanating from her hands
while she blesses us with peaceful contemplation
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
Thy innocence, thy innocence is more than what words have to say
Passionate face with youth that shall never decay
Oh, and stay mute amongst those bitter roses of May;
vanished worlds are real to me today.
Yester' firmly thou startled the wooden door
And grinningly stepped into the carpeted floor.
Vibrant speeches then thou began to tell;
thy voice silenced souls like a spell!
And how nature celebrated thy sound-
ah! as I could feel it on my bare ground.
Look! How those wheels just whirled round and round-
but bits of thy keen presence they never found.
Windy were just the dusky moors
Just as the brisk rainfalls turned worse.
Rattling against frail, murky hedges,
sweeping over cross, old shaky branches.
O! But shy, shy were thy glistening cheeks-
with shadows that were genuinely sweet!
Charming thy crowds with pretty wit-
as the new night grew darker and bleak.
Ah! But times for thou are forever;
while songs to thee are just curious and everlasting.
As death thou shalt never encounter;
with a life as long and unbending.
Aye! With that gaze so listless and melancholy-
but days so suspicious and full of poesy!
Thy steps still light but not playful;
amongst those tasks too hasty and dreadful.
Oh! Vivid clarity, and its colourful rainbows
are like the talents thou decently show.
Thy modesty might they but adore
Lightly and gaily, later and before.
O my willow! Thou art the fir tree to my green ferns;
dust and pale fire are thy dignified young heirs.
Last time when their suffering was hard and stern-
resolve thou did, their lonesome affairs.
And how dreary this smoky haze-
that once put me in grayish days!
But now strangely it has it been lifted-
and my whole conscience has now returned.
Ah! And how thou, thou wert there, once more!
As soon as I escaped from my dry stupor
and to safe convenience I restored;
thou wert within, just behind the door.
But like singing clouds thou drifted away again-
undead and undying, just like souls shalt always remain.
For thou there might never be tomorrow;
for thou art still, in thy here and now.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
The sunlight before a thunderstorm. How it seems to break and falter with a grayish darkness in some areas, while others hold a nostalgic, yellow light ray that seems to reflect the warmth of the past, and its' contents. This is where I find you, with your mysterious mind, sometimes contradicting your quick smiles. This is where I'll keep you, in the middle of a paradox. My golden, stormy sunlight.
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 5:32 PM UTC