"painstakingly" poems
A night owl in the harvest moon
was awake till the crack of the dawn
but wasn’t surfing online, wasn’t rowing
the boat in the digital river.
Deep down to a dreamweaving scene
that was, in musing, painstakingly creative.
Wait till you snap up a witty aphorism.
The darling buds of May will be in bloom.
The tickled pink nightingale too will
give out its voice, singing a song.
Save a copy and tweet it to all,
but do give us a demo, tell us a bit more.
Where does it shine and sizzle?
Where did the winter tuck away the rose?
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 11:43 AM UTC
He has taken rake and shovel in hand,
Taking advantage of the light,
Rare in these climes this time of year,
Still welcomed, though rendered severe
By the sun's reluctant trudge above the horizon,
The type which, sauntering through a window pane
(Falling upon a crucifix anchored above a cradle
Or some ancient, gilded frame
Containing a photo of some grandparent's wedding day,
Exploding into full undifferentiated diffusion)
May possess a dram of warmth, albeit resigned, nostalgic
A bittersweet reminder of what has gone by
(And in the shade, the air is filled
With the portentous chill of what lies a few months hence)
But there nonetheless as he tends to those final farewells
From the trees bowing to December's inevitability,
The droppings not the Pollock-esque bursts of October
(Those having been collected and consigned
To the normal corner of the back lot)
But dreary brown-hued things, not welcomed by eye nor heart,
Simply corralled perfunctorily and dismissed.
One could contend that such activity is unnecessary,
The mere vanity of all endeavor,
As the snow will come soon, and steady as well,
Performing the seasonal, cyclical function in its own time,
But he soldiers on nonetheless, a unseen one-act nearly-farce,
Painstakingly raking and bending and scraping
To leave his patch of green uncovered for a little while
Until the locking time comes to seal the earth's secrets once more,
To be revealed to those
Who shall receive the teasing ministrations
Of the fickle, fitful March equinox.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
Once it was garbage, refuse, trash.
A jumble of foul-smelling detritus hauled to the curb
And removed by sinewy men
Contributing a harder day's work
Than anyone else in the city.
Our energy now removes its entropy.
Sorted and classified into coloured bins,
We add order to our rejected matter.
Specialized trucks arrive to collect
The date-synchronized bins
Emptying them into functionally compatible mechanisms.
Most desolate is the black box of paper and cardboard.
Brochures and flyers, old magazines and letters.
Annual reports and cereal boxes.
Once these were enameled with crafted sentences,
Painstakingly typed, edited and debated,
On the monitors of copywriters.
Now they are just millions of words printed on flattened fibre substrates,
Jumbled into the bruised and scarred black box,
Entering into the recycling stream.
The nouns and adjectives,
Prepositions and gerunds,
All jumble together.
Fragments of precisely-crafted sentences and paragraphs
Are gradually broken, shredded and pulped.
Incomplete thoughts, broken phrases
Like those of a rejected stranger
In an lonely, unknown country.
Then words without context.
Then just disparate letters
Are all that remain.
Their M ea N inG
G r a Du all y
is re mov
e d
.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
On days, when time is going too fast,
I can't catch up, and there're things i can't get past,
I'd pull a chair at the verandah....just sit there
To witness, the gentler goings on in life...
See, how...why all plants face towards the sun,
On a dimly lit corner, watch a spider patiently spin its web,
Underneath the gravel and green grass, somehow,
The earthworm, painstakingly, bravely emerges,
Finds its way out of the soil...to remind us,
"...soil is healthy....it's time to plant!"
:::::
I feel, the beetle knows me, as it inches on,
Carrying its own body, crawling down the pine tree,
I won't ever grasp it, nor tie a string on its body
To control its range of movement,
As we do to tethered beasts of burden...
:::::
While sitting there, i decide: by all means,
Towards the flower *** i lean
Take time to smell a rose, feel its rough leaf
Not just a quick touch and sniff
But hold its thorny body, without daring to blink
While deep within, i'd let its fragrance sink
:::::
Some early evenings
When the cicadas' music are echoing
And the moths have started flying
Circling round the light at the ceiling,
I am warned...soon, it will be raining
And.....when it starts to rain, i keep listening
Til i'm soothed by the sound of rain...falling,
From sky to treetops.....flowing...landing
Next to the leaves......cascading down
To the concrete ground
Spreading quickly, far and deep...and as fate,
As nature would have it....the soil, without fail, waits...
:::::
Long time ago, we were small,
Curious and brave, we tasted glory, and all,
Armed with a child's innocence
And an insatiable hunger for learning...
Our eyes, our minds dilated,
Our brains were like sponge...
Like the soil.....we absorbed
All, that we discovered...
:::::
Sally
Copyright December 1, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
I never did know when to shut my mouth,
So I guess it’s no shock to feel it smarting against your back handed swing,
But to be honest, I bet it hurt you more, does it sting?
Can you feel it in your bones ?
Copper taste against my tongue,
I’m choking on my own blood,
Does my manic laugh horrify you?
This Cheshire smile plastered across my face,
Do my cheekbones slice your knuckles?
That’s going to leave a bruise,
Not that you care,
Twisted my head back by my hair,
My body is peppered in greens, purples, blues,
But with the way you turn your head down you’d think I was the one abusing you,
When you wrap your meaty fingers around my windpipe does it give you pleasure?
What goes through your mind while your holding my life in your hands,
How many of my ribs have you cracked upon your feet,
Only to lick my thighs later like a treat,
One of these days it’ll be my fingers around your neck,
And I won’t stop squeezing till your dead,
Until then use my body to your hearts content,
This dangerous dance,
Like egg shells beneath my soles,
I’m waiting for you to slip on the blood you painstakingly draw from me blow by blow,
And in your own sick way you actually love me,
Convinced the only way to save me is to hurt me,
But I’m not that sick or twisted to believe the words you croke out,
One day very soon it’ll be you who shouts,
Ya I never did know when to shut my mouth,
So I guess it’s no shock to feel it smarting against your back handed swing.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 9:57 AM UTC
of this wilting wall the colour drub
souring sunbeams,of a foetal fragrance
to rickety unclosed blinds inslants
peregrinate,a cigar-stub
disintegrates,above,underdrawers club
the faintly sweating air with pinkness,
one pale dog behind a slopcaked shrub
painstakingly utters a slippery mess,
a star sleepily,feebly,scratches the sore
of morning. But i am interested more
intricately in the delicate scorn
with which in a putrid window every day
almost leans a lady whose still-born
smile involves the comedy of decay,
6.3k
wondrous words,
shades of colorations,
this pain,
artfully slow, steady stalking,
finale staking into
my hardened heart
with tireless twinges
of loss and constant regret,
painstakingly plinking away,
leaving pockmarks of bullets shot
at the concrete ring-fencing,
failing to protect me from just another,
**oh god not again,
have no mo' time**
for jes one mo' time
love's aftermath regret,
bitter acid wash,
that cleanses nothing,
for you are already nothing
when love loss wrenches/rents your
soul's garments with knotholes of
unfashionable distressed
distress
**better not to have loved,
better, better, better,**
than this battering silent hurricane
invisible thunderstorm internally,
than respects no seasonality,
for which the meteorologists
can predict neither its path or its
final cessation
painstakingly,
did I build my walled shelter,
only to fail-fall to the siege machines
of beauty and desire,
and
once conquered,
with fire and heat,
*they burnt me
from the outward edges inward,
and I am not a
Phoenix*
see the stooped slow white walker
more than dead, yet alive enough
existing to be witness to
his own devouring,
his hands wrapped round
the stake in his chest stuck,
painstakingly
protecting it,
lest its removal
be one more undoing of the
painstaking man
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
Brick walls are incredible structures
The builder must realize the need for the wall,
then for many days must painstakingly
place mortar between bricks.
They must build with intention.
If not, it is no longer a wall
it will be left to decay in the rain.
However,
once finished it will stand strong against the weather,
impede prying eyes and thieves,
dissuade creatures and man alike,
The nature of the brick wall is this:
It only takes a single person
willing enough to remove that brick,
to break the mortar and push the brick through.
Their motivation
does not matter
so long as they find the reason for it being built.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
The sketch that ensues
will soon
be transformed
over the course of many months
into an heirloom.
Painstakingly crafted,
my intention
is that it’s created to remain,
now and forever.
A classic.
For the special woman,
who will wear it.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
In my perfectly painted room
All my books in order
on my painstakingly clean shelf
Not a speck of dust
Everything is spotless
All of the artwork on my walls
straight and alligned
I look around happily
making teeny little adjustments
just to make sure
it's perfect
And then I realize
everything
is
crooked
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 3:58 PM UTC
We are the stars that you ignore in search for brighter lights to guide you home
Safe and warm and ignorant you stay
We were the children born from orchids, into a meadow
and our lives have dried up, weeds thriving on our desperate longing for home
The only music we hear are the sounds of death: gunshots and screams
the genre that only people who have a warm smile to come home to can listen to at a music store
We are the people of Palestine, Syria, Egypt, Libya, The Congo, Haiti, India, Bangladesh, North Korea
The diaspora who no longer have roots anywhere on earth
we have been dug up and shat out by the soil that we sprung from
Our kin have scratched blood from our skin
We are the forgotten, the avoidees, the people who make you uncomfortable
who force you to leave your little world so painstakingly built for you to live in and die as a result of
Go, live the lives you were destined for while we dream of them
Go, have the freedom you think you have and we think we will get
We are goldfish in a bowl that has never been cleaned
We will never escape
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
Two sparkle at xciting find.
Joy, relief, wishes flood our mind.
Reality numbed by ecstasy of find
Hardship, struggle, desires for now behind
Rightfulness of find, reality’s duality
Realization of self, fighting morality
The opportunity loss creates uncertainty.
The opportunity gain, creates possibility
How to capitalize on this potential
Designed improvements appear preferential
Decided, we proceed unconventional
We proceed like natural
Blades of diamonds remove the rough
Painstakingly disregarding, unwanted stuff
Transformation, tough
Mindful, not to lose a bough
Rough turn sparkle, every time
Faceted gem’s birth, sublime
Artistry creates, perfect rhyme
This treasure set in time
Most beautiful combination
This magnificent creation
Testament of devotion
Evokes amazing emotion
Bestowed, this incredible treasure
Brings about untold pleasure
Value, without measure
Diamond forever, ours to treasure
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC
The moon sways
down the sun’s half eye
for it every mo
is the elephant is in the room
before the sun zooms out
deep down from the pi.
Magic is uncracked within
that first light breaks out
dawns in the eternal night
is a shiny tear in the speechless
witness’ open eye,
on the tight lips, deep runner silent pi!
Men on the painstakingly polished circle
may have hewn out riveted eyes.
Up more is set free deep down the pi,
bottom in anew, in open paradise!
Feb 5, 2022
Feb 5, 2022 at 11:29 PM UTC
Am I the only one to think
that a kite is such a sad thing?
Flimsy...frail...
never really free,
forever tied to a string
Yes, it can soar indeed,
so high, with the wind taking it places,
almost making it forget,
just enjoying the wind rushing through,
lighthearted
The wind drops,
then it gets snared
among tree branches maybe,
or perhaps stuck on a roof or elsewhere
with its string all tangled and knotted,
almost impossible to untangle
if made with paper,
it should be lucky to still be intact,
with nary a tear
more often than not,
it gets ditched in the trash,
the price to pay for
its momentary freedom
Sometimes, though
perhaps a rarity these days,
there is that boy who makes
that kite from scratch,
whittles the sticks himself,
painstakingly forming that frame,
creating that kite with love
So when it does get all tangled up,
that boy still tries so hard to fix it,
to make it new...
never minding the cuts
he gets in the process--
That string not meant to tie down
that kite,
but a lifeline to the boy
But like I said,
that must be a rare thing these days...
For I am one to think
that a kite is such a sad thing...
Flimsy...frail...
never really free,
forever tied to a string
Sep 13, 2011
Sep 13, 2011 at 3:38 AM UTC
I'll painstakingly
Translate the mysteries
Written on your skin
With my fingertips
And I will
Uncover you
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
it smelled like musty news and
clairvoyant spines and
so maybe you
were behind the seaweed and sea
of pages all this time.
it sounded like breaks in the index
so painstakingly prefix that
i wish you had
please called before venice.
it tasted like wrinkles but
not for sale
the ones that take ages
of glass and ink to retail.
please rid the library of myself
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
I didn't know
after all those band-aids we so
painstakingly crafted for each other years
years ago
yours had fallen off
I wish you I wish you
I wish you had told me sooner it's
not
the best time to get a call like that in
a sunny dog park
but I will be there for you if you're here
there for you when you leave
there for you PERIOD.
nothing will change that
It's funny, no matter
how long I rub my eyes, I can't seem to
catch my breath catch it maybe nope
I will be there tomorrow
and we will talk about our past
and your future
Oct 16, 2011
Oct 16, 2011 at 7:19 PM UTC
I went on a date today,
Another painstakingly empty promise of a better tomorrow.
I went on a date today,
And tried my best not to be filled with sorrow.
I felt bad for my date today,
His sincere compliments echoed in the emptiness of my heart.
What a gem, he was, my date today,
Offering everything I looked for in you, without being asked.
I watched as my date today,
Searched my eyes for a sign of warmth and affection
But to his disappointment, my date today
Only saw 2 pools of black that concealed the pain of her heart's deception.
As I stared blankly at my date today,
I briefly wondered why it couldn't be him
Because at the end of the date today,
I know I'll tell him I don't want any strings
I still went on that date today,
Shoving my feelings down, learning to hate you and letting my wits rise above.
But at the end of the day,
My hatred for you is just a blurred word for love.
Feb 11, 2024
Feb 11, 2024 at 4:30 AM UTC
i was the type not to get scared,
when i was seven, i climbed to the roof of the house,
and danced, not like a bird that could fly,
but like a chick barely just hatched,
ready to throw itself from the nest.
i used to dive into the deep end of the pool,
to sink until my lungs would burst and
i felt like there was no greater joy than living.
i hated few things except the dark
maybe because i thought of monsters,
but now i just think of death.
i despised routine and any type of
cage i could be put in,
i wanted to live as though each day
was my first and last.
when i was seventeen, i thought i found
my soul in a boy that loved everybody.
i held onto memories, like he held on
to grudges and his ex lovers.
and he never made any promises,
but i hoped i would never live to see
him become a broken one.
i fell in love with the thorns, but not the rose,
sometimes bad attention,
is worse than no attention,
i used to think i could withstand a hurricane,
but now the slightest gust can send me away,
i think painstakingly of the girl i could be,
and the girl i am, and it's been a while,
but i wish i was still as good
at sharing how i feel as i am at hiding it.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 9:02 AM UTC
last night scraped painstakingly
from the fissures in my brain
scraped like ink from wood-latch boxes with
fancy carved roses on the top
chewing apart memories with
your nails clenched into my hand
I am falling out of love all over again
clicking keys and snapping wrists
ripped strings and fractured minds
slipping into different facades
of distances that felt closer
six trembling months so
long
touching your palm
with a face that isn't real anymore
pillow cased fingertips touching cheeks
bumping elbows ripple through ponds of
tension seething just under the skin and
details throb in my temples
I have vanished from the city skyline
I am taking back my couch, I am stepping on dried roses
pilfering paint from butterfly wings
frankly darling sweet pea
there were these picnic baskets and sunflowers
bitterly lamenting to everyone but printed on both sides
of your business card it says "heartbreaker"
and printed on both sides of the fortune cookie it said
"not your business, move on move on"
stitching holes in my cheekbones, I
haven't got the heart to put up walls
haven't got the nerve to break them down
still painting you into my sunflowers and I am
so wary when I scrape elbows
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 6:33 AM UTC
I painstakingly cut off my
fingertips
screaming as I dug out the
microprocessors
so we could live
free from their scanner
grids
The whir of drones
overhead
provide an ironically
soothing white noise
as we spend the night
huddled together in a ravine
The truth is
I'm not afraid of
them finding us
and launching
our firebomb execution
so much as I'm
afraid
you might want
at some point
to see other people
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
Tonight, my snowed in heart has frozen.
It's numb, lost and broken.
With minutes left, yet no one to call,
this bachelorette lifestyle has taken its toll.
Search for greener pastures loses its charms,
on nights like this when the bed is cold.
Staring at a picture of a stranger,
I can simply sense the danger,
of rushing into a compromise,
by settling for my parents' choice,
of whom I should spend the rest of my life,
and all I can do is.... sigh.
Alcohol, an ideal solution,
but my room is painstakingly dry.
Several lighters lying around, but not a single cigarettes,
I could just cry.
Reminiscing a walk in town,
where commercialism attempts to sell love,
tying the end of Christmas to the start of Valentines,
and why I cannot afford any of the above.
Having gone astray,
losing my right to pray,
noticing how when they stay,
I end up walking away,
makes me suspect a divine intervention,
threatening a life of damnation,
with no means of escape,
because it's too late.
I'm in critical need of a saviour,
a hero, a warrior,
to feed my patriarchal upbringing,
to be that **** Prince Charming.
Enough good looks,
to keep me hooked,
and anaesthetize my heart,
for the inevitable ripping apart.
Wit enough to hypnotize my brain,
so the pain won't stop me from loving again,
and yes, that is what I want to do,
until this life is through.
My snowed in heart could do with some warmth,
someone, light a fire, soon...
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
i hope one day you learn to look into the corners and see that the webs were not cobwebs brought about by the lengthy days we had. they are strings painstakingly spun through the tough yet beautiful years that we have, all of those keeping me tethered to you. i hope you learn to read between the letters and the lines, that each one was made as a puzzle for you. i hope that one day you will learn that i cared about you as much as you cared about me. now that it's all over, i hope that you learn that my love does not lie in the open. you know how secretive i am. i would not leave the thing i value the most out in the open, just for people to try and take it from me. no, this is why you thought i never cared. i hope you bothered looking under your pillow or in the books i lent to you. it is in the ruffled sheets of our nights and mornings together. i slipped my smile for you in every single one of the pages i dog-eared for you. i hope you found it at 2 am, in the mornings with me. it was in my sleepy kisses and the way i huddled close against you. i hope you felt it in the way i ran back to you, every single time, when my rain poured only for you. i hope you hear it in all of my playlists about you that i never told you about. i hope you heard it in my giggling to the silliest things you said, and i hope you unraveled it in the way every single night i hugged you good-bye. i hope you felt it in our goofy dancing under the stars, eighteen kilometers apart. not far, but not close enough. i hope you realized it was in my tears, till the very last time i tried to fight for us. i hope you felt it in the way i gripped your hand as we walked a moon-lit street, and i hope you remember it in the way i asked for your embrace for the last time. to be perfectly candid, i was so nervous that night, but the way you held me, as it always did, calmed me down. i will always remember how you smelled that night, like sunshine, and you walked like it too. you brought me home that day, and i asked you one last time if you still loved me. i hope you heard it in my silence, anxious yet relieved, when only nothingness filled the car on the way to my front porch. i wondered why the silence was deafening even when there were no words uttered, even though my world was crumbling down under the tires of your car.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 7:31 AM UTC
I lit a match and swallowed the flame
the taught, warm light allowing me to glow
a distant orange, and you watched me.
Yet, your stare provided me with more heat
than I could ask, and I found myself wanting you
more and more again, but you didn't realize what you
had done; that you, for a brief second, illuminated me.
And you pressed your fingers to the glass,
your hands were shaking, your mind a mess , and I cried out
at the heat from your touch, but the indirect contact,
it wasn't enough. Not enough for you to luminate me.
You remain behind the wall you've painstakingly constructed.
You reside behind truths and life and love, and
I should not have to swallow a flame
to feel the warmth from your resounding gaze
in the night, please take me in. Even, if only for a moment,
I need it. I need you. And
I beg of you, illuminate me.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC