"reuniting" poems
finding solace
in reuniting
with my sis
is perhaps
one of the most
amazing gifts
I have ever given
to me.
I hope she and I
will forever
and always
(you know,
til the end of time)...
just BE.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
How many letters lost in limbo
How many thoughts washed up no more
Mortal Memories lie motionless behind a window
Heavenly hopes in hand; To reunite upon that shore
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 11:39 AM UTC
it was a moment in space
a second in time
a look in the face
a giggle, the thought
of letting our hands get caught
oh, what a beautiful person
we lie so close together
oh, it's been so long, feels like forever
since we've truly held each other
I mustn't get too caught
after all the past tears I've fought
but it's so easy to forgive his past lies
maybe it's just those hazel eyes
and I can't resist
his sweet kiss
those little lips of his
up and down my tummy
oh, his love is so yummy
nights spent being held
his warmness makes me melt
so sweet
so sincerely
now I remember why I loved him so clearly
because way back when
he was mine
way back when we were intertwined
but we had forgotten all that
it's just so far past
it was a first love thing we made
that turned into so much more
I never thought it would be regained
after he closed the door
but here we are
all cozy and sweet
here we are
once again, our hearts meet
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 4:57 PM UTC
We stood in front of my grandmother’s
Old almirah, facing each other
The peacock feather and empty bags
Of the square room fell silent all over again,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Then they all came, marched in, reflections,
Paraded in like martyrs of Brute’s History.
I knew them all, she knew them too
They came, touched us one by one,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
She looked confused just like me
Watching life pass by, centuries reuniting
After a very long season break, nations-
Travelled, explorers stood upstairs watching,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Streets strapped the coffee cans and middle-
Aged hospitals swallowed wars. Married women
Bend over like animals and in months, unable
To breathe they gave birth to few number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
The city vomited battles, human heads
And dreams of muted foul slaves. Men and-
Their violent tradition screeched for blue number-
Plates, lean number plates, handsome number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Unexploded bombs bounced happy homes,
My brothers, my kids, my mothers
Blew their windows and ran, ran away,
Ran afar without destination;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
They were all dark, their land was darkness
Or were we all blind?
Like a watchman we preserved darkness,
The vapours that filled their glasses did not speak;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
We are all reflections, ripples and mirrors
Of men-dead and living.
They all stood outside my almirah, million faces
Inside a mirror. She did recognize them;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
She did nothing, an unusable empathy rolled in,
The hypocrite did not even cry.
In quiet hours she smelt pain, blood and
History flowing from confronting corners;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
An insignificant obligation drowned her nerve,
They needed a home, candle flame, cotton and wool.
The land, their land has become unfamiliar
And they stood outside locked gates and laws;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
They all smelt the same blood, the abused blood,
I tried to kiss them and they kissed me back with-
Their cold lips. I tried to touch them, they touched-
Me back with water in their eyes;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
Summer would be the sunflowers seemingly blooming from beneath telephone poles as a reminder that love can travel upon the wires connecting long-distance lovers, the ropes that cling to trees as though reuniting after a twelve month absence as they bear the weight of two bodies more entangled in each other than the pattern of the hammock that they lie upon, the ice cubes that float atop the glass of sweet tea stealing quick kisses each time the glass is lifted as they melt together beneath the heat.
Fall would be the leaves clinging to the tree limbs whispering secrets to each other as they flutter in the wind and change color according to the lovers that will one day float to the ground beside them, a calm pond reflecting former versions of couples who have always desired to know each other before their time of acquaintance only to realize they never existed until the day that they met, the stone path that weaves through a graveyard that has felt the light footsteps of paired souls wandering the grounds during midnight strolls.
Winter would be the snowflake drifting in the wind quickly memorizing the patterns of each familiar one it passes in an effort to reunite with its match made in the heaven from which it has fallen, the steaming cup of tea that collects condensation in the hands of lovers who find solace in sitting upon their front porches when it's freezing, the parallel lines of sleds that have etched temporary tracks in the land as representations of the distance that once separated those who created them (but does no longer).
Spring would be the first sprout of the season persevering through the darkness of the soil and finally pushing through the light at the end to feel the warmth of the sun upon it, a bridge the connects flower-covered hills that houses the memory of two lovers who reunited after being apart for the winter, the daisy that he planted beneath her chest the night that he told her he loved her and promised to always water it.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 6:38 PM UTC
On occasion,
I dream about drowning at least once a week
And when I drown
I always expect to choke under the pressure of the ocean
That the salt stings my eyes shut
But I am always surprised at how easily my body sinks
And how buoyant it can be under water
And it makes me think of all the slaves
Who threw themselves overboard
How they thought themselves fish before slave
Did they grow gills?
Were they grateful for the mercy of erosion
Under salt instead of whips
Did they backs bend like dolphins do?
Did they build an underwater city untouched
By brutal hands
Do they know, that I see them sometimes
The ancestors who chose water over land
And they are not bone and marrow stacked
At the bottom of the ocean
They are not corpses who chose the easy way out
I see them
They have built an underwater world from their bare hands
They laugh and bubbles exit out their mouths
Even now my family would not mourn my departure
If I were to be called by the waves
For the water has a language that some
Of us have an ear for
It is not the place of mortals to tear up
When one of us africans drown
Because to sink is to find new life
Is to be in the hands of those who control their own destiny
I know them, the water people
They call me during the night
And i don't fight anymore
I laugh with them, and live
And wake angry that oxygen can suffocate me
That I suddenly become flailing fish
That my home is not this land
That I find comfort in ocean floor
That is where my ancestors speak to me
Console me
Teach me the ways of spiritual healer
At the bottom of the sea
And it is not a dream although I wake from it
It is a reality that is bestowed upon
The xhosa shamans from birth
The western world does not have a reality like that
So they will argue it does not exist
They will be quick to diagnose my mental health
Call the act of reuniting with my own
An episode, a stress indicator
A sleeping pill prescription
These are the same people who believe in
Three day resurrection for death
But cannot fathom an african never dying
And we don’t die
We do not die.
There is life for us elsewhere.
And when we are ready
The waves will welcome us home.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
I have met Masters and OGs
within joint commissions.
While my dear, Granddaddy Purple’s
spending my tuition.
But, it was merely a Blue Dream
at blunt ceremonies.
While Hindus and Afghans breed in
holy matrimonies.
Look at all of Mary Jane's strains,
I want to be like them;
stuck pondering my bud's embrace
and all’the broken stems.
Reuniting the Skywalker's
was quite like the Death Star
far out, in space and burns fast like
Sour Diesel’s quick car.
I rode the Pineapple Express,
then I hit the Train Wreck.
Lights out! The conductor demands
that we have our pipes checked.
Look at all of Mary Jane's strains,
I have plenty of them,
still pondering my bud's embrace
and all’the broken stems.
My bud's came less often and I
became less credible.
I told my bud Bubba that we
should switch to edibles.
“But, you can't eat these sweets unless
the treat's gradual high
stops your bud’s from disappearing.
You need me to get by!”
Where are all of Mary Jane's strains?
I need some more like them;
losing the embrace of my bud’s
and all’the broken stems.
All my buds have vacated me.
All that's left is Reggie
and Mid, who aren't like my kind buds;
they’re leaving me edgy.
I’m hanging with Mid and Reggie
hoping they'll come around
But now, even they’re gone, and I
have lost what was once found.
The strains of Mary Jane are gone.
I can't live without them!
I dream to see my bud's once more
and all’the broken stems.
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
chapped lips
sticky and sweet
the popsicle melts
and stains my crisp white dress
a seagull steals the french fry out of a little boy’s hands,
he begins to cry
the busker’s sing songs
of love and loss,
whiskey and wine
the boardwalk creaks
and i dream
of a cold beer on the beach,
the melody of waves reuniting with sand
like long lost friends
the soothing slap of sandals on pavement
freckles and homemade jam
midnight adventures to the park
skinny-dipping in a strangers pool
hopscotch and chalk
freshly painted toenails
the sun gifting us with golden skin and golden hair
adirondack chairs and campfires
fishing in lady evelyn and portaging in temagami
braving the falls at muskegoe
and counting the stars while lying on the bridge
catching frogs in the pond
while drinking coolers in paddle boats
sweaty palms and first kisses,
nervous anticipation
red skies mark the beginning of endless nights
i dip my toes in the fresh water
and the ripples skew my reflection
the man in the moon is happy
and so am i
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 3:26 AM UTC
The silence in your eyes
the peace within your breath
Like a camp fire glowing
against a harvest moon
you drawl me in
and make me feel at home
The gentle depth of your voice
the moments of laughter
like a happy song
you lift me high
to soar through cloud nine
letting me know that I'm not alone
I sometimes think I knew you
in another place in time
For the moment that I met you
I knew that you were kind
Like a sweat dream
you make me feel safe
and some how so free
Yet, sadly there is a barrier
that separates you and me
Perhaps it the familiarity
we as strangers should not know
that separates the reuniting of two
friendly old souls
I cherish you for how ever long you stay
I know I will always remember you this way
and perhaps if in this life our paths shall part
We will meet up again amongst the stars,
remembering each other as we pass through
the sands of time.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 6:29 PM UTC
'There's a cat in the window
Of the house of
My lover,'
But another
Never
Slept over,
Cuz he couldn't
Be bothered and
The clover
I pressed,
The four leaves
That impressed her
Are all I can try
To think about,
Like whether
She ever
Threw it out
Or if its still
On her dusty mirror,
Or if the weather
Of her fever
Washed it away
Like the mascara
Down her face
Flows in the brine,
The words were mine
That made them fall,
I never guessed she'd
Call a ride so soon
To drive her to
Hades
To be with the baby
We lost in June
Of '02,
She was never the same,
Out of tune
Like the guitar
I pawned to
Buy the crib,
The it's a boy
Balloons
That never did
Get inflated,
That whole ******* year
I insufflated my
Woes away
But they don't go away,
But she did go away,
Not yet physically
But emotionally and
Mentally,
The breaking point was
Beyond the scope
I could see,
Oh, my Emily,
How could this be?
How could I be
Without my bumblebee?
How could I be?
How could I be?
Now I can be
With you again,
The ability is
In my hand,
I'll see you soon
Baby,
And little Elliott, too,
There's just some
**** I need to do
First.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:53 AM UTC
Neon is rare on earth,
hard to find.
But I bet it’s harder to find
any second of the day
where your warm,
monotone voice,
reading an old picture book,
doesn’t echo through my ears.
Did you know that
after adding eight thousand volts
of excitement to helium,
it glows?
Yet my own face
lights up by counting down
the slowly melting
seconds,
minutes,
hours
and days
of excitement, leading up to your arrival.
Your own engraved dog tags,
silver and shiny,
metal magnesium,
hang from neck
like a personal reminder
that you’re not too far away.
Arsenic is nicknamed Poison of Kings
because it had been used to numb
and **** royal family members.
Although no poison in the world
can numb the tingling sensation,
that reaches to my toes,
as your camouflage boots
descend from the plane.
At this point
the only thing that separates us
is the carbon dioxide in our breathe
and the oxygen in the thick,
humid, Texas air.
So when I see your face
the tears will rush out
like water out of a faucet,
simply because
there is no scientific equation
to explain how slow
these thirteen months
have passed.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 1:20 PM UTC
(the hours in between)
It is the morning after reuniting, wining and talking...the stirring of the curtains transparent, become slow moving hands and calming whispers of a hypnotist, blending perfectly with the gentle whiff of a breeze...and the soft sounds of one who has just woken...a hint of a breath of life...there is much gratitude.....these early morning whispers could still be heard...quietude is a swaying hammock, but sleepy eyes peep through the window, gazing far, enthralled by the horizon...red, orange, purple.....merging.....against green and brown of the mountains...and from all these mix of colors, finally emerges a sky so blue...a new day is born, the Almighty is most kind...but something else unsettles the mind of one who has gone through many arduous journeys...asking:
"How did I fare"? Can I still...? Will I...?"
Now shining bright is a list of
Things yet to happen...intentions---
Disguised as questions.
Though this has long been conceptualized,
There's this pressing feeling, they must now be prioritized
Pray they soon be realized
Before exit from this world has materialized.
Can I still -
Be brave enough to swim? drive a car? ride a bike?
Meet with distant friends? learn new languages?
Write with more depth, even when I turn 80... and older?
Fly in a plane with my son as the pilot in command?
See my granddaughters finish college?
Will I still be able -
To satisfy this wanderlust endlessly stirring within me?
To ride a camel in the deserts of Morocco?
To feel the sun, the air, even the rain, while walking the cobbled streets in Tuscany?
To spend an evening in Florence?
To visit Greece, Spain, Ireland, Wales, and relive stories read?
To feel and breathe the air there, brimming with adventure?
We walk through various labyrinths in life, so absorbed in our own worlds...hours, days, become prosy, they move oh, so slowly.......still, when the dark is upon us, we sit and reflect...wondering:
Will we see another day unfold before us?
Do we get to witness
The Blue Hours of another sunrise and sunset,
And further be enchanted by the day's breath-taking
A L P E N G L O W ?
How many more
A L P E N G L O W S ?
Sally
Copyright August 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
In these silences of utter loneliness I stop and reflect;
Is this really my life?
Have I actually spent all these years trying to find change when in reality I've been stuck in this round-about since I was born.
I can't escape it.
This is my reality.
Of course there are peaks
Of course I have moments of true happiness and bliss which seem enough to be alive for in the moment.
But those moments have passed, all of them that may have existed in my lifetime, it seems.
I feel as if tomorrow will be another black day on my calendar.
Another year full of shed tears
More fallen hope
My crumbling spirit..
How?
On this day, one of the happiest for Muslims, how has it been consistently marked for destruction?
How have I been running away from my family due to sheer pain and sadness on such a beautiful day of reuniting?
Not one, not two, but for the past six years it seems, peace has not entered this home.
Please Allah, let today be different.
s.q.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC
When we reunite
It feels like I am looking through glass
A solid pane crystallized by weeks of separation.
I am terrified
That the minutes and hours we spent apart
And the distance that blocked our paths
May have severed our friendship completely.
After all
I am used to people leaving.
It is as familiar as the crickets that sing me to sleep
Or the canaries that sing me to wake
Though not quite as delicate and beautiful.
But it is her
My best friend
The one who loved me at a time when I didn't think anyone could
The one who had any choice of companions but chose me
The one who understands what I say...and what I don't say
The one who can ramble on for hours but instantly fall silent if I ever need to speak
The one who doesn't have to use words to promise that I will never be alone.
Can distance really break us?
I reach for her hands
My fingertips a whisper away from hers
As they touch
I find my answer.
“No.”
The barrier between us shatters.
And I realize that I am looking not through a window
But at a mirror.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 4:21 AM UTC
There you stand in a ring of fire
feeling gravity **** you down
tearing you away layer by layer.
And like a dying red giant
you collapse and bear defeat.
Here you lay on an ice sheet of apathy;
the chilling wind slapping you in the face.
A precipitation of tears drip from your swollen eyes
and a blue Aura shrouds your head;
you weep your way through this transition.
Now you float; mind from body.
And like an infrared mist of electromagnetic static
you shoot up! Towards the heavens!
Taking your place amongst the stars
and reuniting with your ancestors
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 3:55 PM UTC
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Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
A man alone is not a man just a force without a purpose.
No one to protect, to guide, or provide for,
just a force without a purpose.
A woman alone is lost, no one to nurture, or nourish,
no one to teach or cherish.
A woman alone is lost.
Of course my view is wrong,
perhaps sexist or chauvinistic,
but the differences are plain to see,
and to me the differences are complimentary.
A man is completed by a woman
and a woman is completed by a man.
Two halves that make a greater whole
two pieces reuniting one soul.
I am a man without a purpose.
Will you complete me???
Sep 2, 2025
Sep 2, 2025 at 2:59 PM UTC
I used to wonder if fire ever felt guilty for its destructive nature but if you think about it a star died to put the morrow in your bones and it was Tom Robbins who taught me that fire is just the reuniting of matter with oxygen
Everything is temporary and I know everything ends and every end is also a start and out of the ashes of beautiful things sprout more beautiful things but I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm not ready for another beginning or maybe I'm not ready for your next beginning but I can't tell you that
Listen, when I was seven I learned to patch up my bones with calcium and superglue but sometimes when the sun comes up too slowly they still rattle when I think about how trivial I am to you
and I know you don't want to hear this but it's the truth of my tears and every inch of my skin
and
.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
*Two beautiful stars of the night, Capricorn and Lyra
Capricorn tending to his herd minding his own business
Lyra, a daughter of the sun weaving and spinning
Father the sun king notices, and has become pleased
Alas, married forever, so enchanting was their love
a love of sweet fairytales, finally days and nights
were both one of excitement, no more business
and no more weaving or spinning of garments
These days were for play, and love, and happiness
and no silly lover could be more foolish than she
until father the sun king becomes a little vexed
does he wish for her to remain, mild and gentle?
Alas, Capricornus and Lyra's smiles finally vanished
as father the sun king ordered them separated
and quickly places a river of stars between them
and longing in their hearts
Still a glimmer of hope for their love continues
as father gifts them with one special night
of reuniting,
the seventh night of the seventh month
This special occasion of the year they will meet
with their hearts overflowing with love
and to promise to wait another year
as they comfort each other with endless kisses
alas, star-lovers an unconventional love story*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
I dream of us reuniting as the water reunites with the sand and carries it along
So I could get to express the love I kept suppressed beneath
But I don't know if ever in this life, you will come back
With a frail twine of hope, I now breathe
I witness the lazy sunset on our favourite beach alone, every day
Which once we did together in one another's arms
I write your name on the sand, hoping for the water to not wash it away
Not before you come back and I fall for your subtlest charms
I sit for hours, from dusk till dawn, waiting for you to return
So we could sleep by the water and wake up to the sun
Watch the sky turn tangerine and then paint it all black
And sleep under the stars while the tides sing us lullabies. Oh, such fun.
And if you ever come back, I will first kiss your lips and caress you whole
So you could immerse all the love and keep it sealed in between your ribs
Only then I will always be close to your heart like you are to my soul
And a fire will ignite, helping us keep the love and the burning desire alive.
Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 10:12 AM UTC
Poetry like a raging river
Dividing and reuniting
Around rocks as if
Nothing.
Some sentences make me want
To touch each word, feeling
The braille soul-matter
Beneath each pixel.
Norwegian sun on rooftopped
Reader; beads of sweat fall on
My touch screen
That I
Wipe off carefully in order
To read
Just one
More.
May the same sun warm the
Core of your poet's soul.
May none of the stars
On your night sky of
Creativity
Ever
Even
Fade.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC