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CK Baker Feb 2017
There’s a silverback haze
on the shallow face
of the Rockwell Ridge
folded brow
puzzled chin
and dark hollow eyes
keeping watch
over the lilies
and crane flies
and will of the wisp

Rust brown ravens
and fisher kings
delight
in the reeds off north bend
(chased by the terraced streams!)
youth blades engrain
on the favoured
and historic
Banka Memorial

Mustard
and pumpkin skies
are clipped
by a call from
the resident loon
the sounds of Buddha Bar
piercing the silence
and shaping the afternoon chord

It’s a time to make way (stream side)
seems the anuran are courting
bones Mar 2017
She loosens on tiptoe
the latch of her window,

slides upward the sash
and the shine of the moon

pours over the sill,
like it's rushing downhill

like a silver stream,
flooding her room.
gracie Nov 2018
it's how he's gentle, drawing me close
when I shiver; how he holds my hands,
cold fingers nestled in the warmth of his palms.
how we return to a certain forest, admiring trees flushed
in hues of gold and scarlet; how reality fades away as we walk,
drowned out by the bubbling of a stream.
how I adore his honeyed voice, soothing like the patter of rain
on backseat windows; how the taste of coffee lingers on his lips
when he presses them to mine so softly,
so bittersweet.
how I feel myself falling, but I still run into his arms
because
"it'll be different this time."

but how can I outrun reality?
too close too soon, i guess.
King Panda Jan 2018
the wicked queen of morning
greets you with
clutching shore

little pebbles in the stream
rob red rubies
from dead fish bellies

on a rock
there are some feathers
a broken beak
crunched bones

your attention is cut
with the dead kiss
of a woodpecker

you are bound
to relive the death
of thousands of forests
bound to kiss
the stream’s mojo
laughter

listen—
the stream is still asleep
its floor is falling through
the weight of its slumber

nothing can contain it
Sally A Bayan Jun 2018
* * *
* *
*

Faces of friends, of people i met earlier
are  glittering stars on this late evening's
dark blue sky...their smiles are tattooed
in my mind...they're  hunched, going
lower by the days...slowed down by years.
it must be hard and painful...the arching,
the drooping of the neck, the curving spine,
they endure all, 'til each day's end...they rise
each new dawn...do what they still can do,
lest they stagnate in their aging ponds,
diminish to a state, where food, pills, or
forgotten information are forced on them,
......like drugs, injected into the veins

........................
these wee hours bring back the years...
they  have been good...never mind the
hard times...there were, there are good ones
life is a long, wide stream of changing hues,
flowing on and on....my water bears the
colors each new day brings...gray, at times
with sadness and gloom....other days,
blacked by despair...some summers, red,
roseate with glee, or green with life and
hope...blue, when trust is spilling, and
the tranquil sea and sky overwhelm,
with a promise of stability..........white,
when accepting......the unacceptable...
........................
the amber grains and i, are alike
ripened enough to be plucked
be pulled out from an existence...the
signs are known...shown...yet, we wait
for when it is due to happen...and while
waiting, the stalks sway, play and dance  
and enjoy the sun and wind...and i,
while i still can...walk, jump, climb hills
and valleys in this mammoth space
of land and water.............called life
...................
the sounds of my days, i still hear,
i am a lute, a harp, a cello...playing
off-key.....out of tune at times,
my strings are my graying hair,
i still can't stop dying the gray
i still want to highlight the dark,
but, one day, all these will cease...
............
one night, my face will be in one of those
many stars...glittering on a dark blue sky
sending a smile, to my loved ones...
...................
there is no other way, but forward
all are headed....towards an end...


Sally



© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
      June 26, 2018
...ahhh, the rains...do make us reflect longer on life...
Valsa George May 2016
Like a toddler taking maiden steps
The narrow stream moves through the woods
Tripping and falling over pebbles and boulders
Chiming its silver anklets

Forcing itself in irrepressible flow
It thrusts and shoves its way down
Through thickets and a line of ferns
And the tangle of creepers and thorny brambles

Drowning the whisper of bamboo leaves
Its sweet murmur falls in my ears
As an eternal living melody
The cosmic song heard over eons

As the water sluices down the rocks
It becomes a frothing braided torrent
Producing a harsh grating roar
Like the crescendo of a tribal symphony

There it forms into a small pool
With its waves gently rippling
Where birds merrily come to take a dip
And sunning their feathers, fly back refreshed

Sometimes travelling unseen
It suddenly emerges into the open
Cutting its way through cracks and fissures
Never willing to surrender before hurdles

With a bearing immaculate in grace
It sends out waves of pure delight
What joy it is to watch the dilly dally
Of this sedate pilgrim moving to its destination
Marigolds Fever Sep 2018
The Stream
Carries the mighty twig along
Through its winding turns
Gets stuck under a rock
But not for long
When the fisherman comes
And pushes it to the dock
There it hangs out
For awhile
Making new Friends
Near the wet branch pile
Some are thick
Some are thin
Some are cracked
And some are its twin
A sudden big splash
The kids have jumped in
Off the twig goes
Where it ends up
It does not know
Entwining with another twig
Around each lily pad
Like perfectly aligned dancing feet
That must have been meant to meet
Together they move swiftly through the water
Stuck underneath some large kelp
Its liked friend is there to help
Over the mini waterfalls they flow
Never really know which will let go
Eventually it starts to pour
And a wave crashes them to a shore
Together they are not no more
One transcends to a useful walking stick along the ridge
The other becomes part sandcastle bridge
Stopped serving their purpose
They did not
At midnight they are tossed back in
Rough waters ahead
They start to spin
Mighty twigs gave it their best shot
And then they began to slowly rot
Dan Beyer Sep 2018
I sit by the stream
and listen.
lapping the rocks,
like children's feet
patting across the pavement
on a summer afternoon.
listen–
you can hear the laughter;
little giggles.
jumping and playing
as it flows by.
Shofi Ahmed Feb 2018
It always does before I can see
before my foot, my heart
goes out to the sea.

Like the East, like the West
every pole comes in full circle
around this quay.

Far from the bottom of the land
every drop of water spills out
streaming along the rivers
march over to the sea.

I too pop up branching in
with the widest circle sliding
down to this so big but lingering dip.

Therein the sea when a river
looks for the bottom
a star up above in the sky
without a rope without a roof
looks for its peak!

Eye on but touch not
keep off the Moon.
It's for the sea.
For the Moon
the sea too is a Moon!
Sally A Bayan Aug 2018
..


Save from the hidden nests of birds,
it was the only one there...isolated,
like an isle...crested on the leveled
top of a gorge...its way down or up
was through a hand-carved series of
steps on its *****...at its front was a
curved gorge......one would think,
it was trying to cross over

the cottage was small, weather-beaten,
desolate......its wooden walls seemed to
have shrunk...its faded colors proclaimed
its age...its having survived past storms....
from its window, the stream was seen,
and heard, flowing on and on between
these two precipitous valleys.

light came from the sun...and moon,
music was provided by the murmurs of
the forceful wind, the continuous flow of
water on the stream, the stirring of the leaves,
the crackling of branches and twigs, the birds'
singing in the spring...the pounding of heavy
rains on its roof...and countless other hymns
of nature......the dweller had heard them all...

beneath a lonely moon glow,
when nights were cold,
there hovered low 'pon its aged roof,
rounds of layered fog...like a series of
steps....like a stairway to the sky...
fog slyly crept, and wilfully shrouded
the cottage.....it vanished from view,
the two gorges and the stream, hushed,
in the dark loneliness of that secluded
spot......their vulnerabilities, trapped
inside....misshapen silhouettes...

in light and in dark,
the whistles of nearing and departing
boats....were wailing, haunting calls,
piercing the peaceful calm of the valleys, or,
maybe, the stilled complacence of the cottage,
or...of the one living in that lonely cottage,
...lost, or gone astray, now weary and worn,
willing to be found...longing to be reunited
.......with the light and warmth of love...

the cottage, the gorges, and the stream
would be loneliest,
without the cottage dweller...


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 27th, 2018
"...no man is an island..."
Umi Apr 2018
All present in the stream of time,
Connected they build a line, a river which flows uninterruptedly,
The here and now, is the future of a pasts dream, a wonderous reality,
It is the futures past, the memories recorded within the depths of it
Gravity distorts time, causing it to slow down till it's stopping point lensed from a black hole, lurking within shadows of remorse in space,
Fished out from the sea of passing events, it keeps flowing, but now it does so while not including the fallen one who embraced a blackhole,
Time only knows one path, straight ahead with no slips and turns,
The present is the pasts future and what was thought to be possible,
It is the little wealth every living being possesses yet it is overseen and forgotten, until the moment of ones death drives gladly near,
From the **** to the tomb, drowning within the waves of a temporal lengh, the event of an entity's existence and its period.
A pace for an allotment, given from the complaints of an worldly life,
Spend it well, unlike the spring we cannot turn the tide, recycle again!
But for that matter the world of dreams holds a sweet embrace to all,
After all, you don't need to die in a dream.

~ Umi
Lauren R Apr 2018
Lately at night I’ve been feeling listless, my mind churning thoughts in the tepid cauldron of my brain and spinning about how my name is erased from fond memories and funny stories, replaced with "someone" and my heart is no longer on my sleeve but on my feet and the only time it rests is when I sleep after a day of walking and crushing it with every beat but I can’t sleep, not til 5 am, an hour before my alarm clock screams and I dream of old women birthing cherubs, their angelic hair like hot wire vivisecting their poor hosts’ bodies and a picture of me is sent to you and you say God, remember when we were friends? And then you laugh
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
The truth isn’t hidden forever
The sun is behind the Moon
it’ll find the bottom of the night
will pick it up upon the rose.

See whose shining
streaming down into a dew?
On the way though maybe
some storms one or two!
By a running stream I watched
As the sparrow pecked the stones
Feet gave a little splash
As the weeds gathered moss
On the half yellow dash.

Love Mary ***
Beatrix B Feb 2018
I'm swimming in a stream of consciousness
rare is the occasion I get to rest
I'm swimming
sometimes drowning
inside my head
I need rescue
help me please I beg

I was running wild with the wind once
against the current I flew
through the glass window I came suddenly
and fell into this room

I'm a fish not that big
not a whale or a shark
more like a salmon in the dark
at the bottom of the ocean
where I'm not supposed to be

I'm out of breath.

I'm a fish in your aquarium
the one you never get tired of looking at
you watch me do the same thing all day
how I get bored and lonely inside my rock
you watch me grow until I stop
I can't learn anything new
so I hide and play by myself

Once you dropped me on the floor
desperately grabbed me and took me home
I slept like it was my last day on earth
'cause you never know what's going on in the universe's mind
I thought I should've died before
but when you're being killed the instinct is to fight

I wouldn't mind stop breathing though
I wouldn't mind not having feelings

Fishes have feelings too
I'm afraid of the dark too

Here in your aquarium I get to see the most wonderful things!
how your cat almost swallows me
how your fingers get nervous when you're excited
and I can see everything
'cause no one sees me

Maybe you should take my eyes
'cause I can see through yours.
Jolan Lade Feb 17
I've found you, runnning everywhere
in my bloodstream
I've found you, to be the power source
for my heartbeat
I've found you, to be the essential part
in a perfect dream
#notes#
Yes I do feel very attracted to her
I must admit
MJL Mar 3
It's spandex
It's flannel
It's all the same
Grunge took over metal
Get back to jazz
Viper baby
Not on display
Not a novelty
No sneaking
Sneak out...
Louis Jordan
Cab Calloway
Robert Johnson
Howlin’ Wolf
30’s speak nasty
Melody Room
Parker
Coltrane
History
Dolls and The Doors
Intimacy
Feel it
Underground
Cabaret
Something wild
Mystery
Evil
Johnny Cash
Whiskey Sam
Drive on
Rainbow baby
Sunset
Snap
David R Mar 1
In her dream, the waterfall torrent
Crashes to effervescence,
With force and verve, vivacious apparent,
Shoots arrowed iridescence.

In cruel reality, a rivulet meanders,
Blind to mountain and fell,
Downhill she flows, barely seen,
Pebbles and stones part of her scene.

Here she circumvents boulder and rock,
There gives way to shout and shock,
Hiding her head between her knees,
Longs to lose herself in the seas.

I knelt down close to hear her cries,
Allowed her tears wash over my eyes,
Caressed her soft water with my hands,
Sprinkled her sweetness o'er the land.

'Sweet stream', I whisper, 'The waterfall you dream,
Lives through its roar ‘n terror,
But life lives not in its awesome scream,
Life lives not in its horror.'

'Without you the doe could not parch their thirst,
Frogs could not breed, nor dippers immerse.
Heavenly daughter, jeweled traverse,
One silent ripple is an angel's universe.’
In Nineva, in melted days of yore,
In a very distant verdant realm
Of a shadowy enchanted Moor,
There rolled a nectar stream.

And whoever ever drunk from it
Whilst the sun rained her golden light,
Craved nevermore to drink nor eat
But perpetually dwelt in delight.

Once, upon her banks strolled a couple
Majestically holding each other's hand.
Golden robbed with plush ribbons purple,
All the way from a very far away land

Where dwelleth many a mandrill,
A realm of many a precious stone
And many a verdant rolling hill,
Though creatures there all but forlorn.

King and queen of Merindrill they were,
On a golden quest for perpetual youth
Akin to the luster of many a fiery star
Whose mystery none knows the truth.

Though the stream galloped in gladness,
Though meadow larks chirped in ecstasy,
A roving wind eerily rustled in sadness
As it danced about aspen leaves all sassy.

All birds of evil omen graced the heaven
Whilst darkling clouds blotted heavens' bed
But unto none did it seem a bad omen.
Dyadic ravens perched upon their head.

"Quaff, quaff, oh quaff not from the river,"
Unto the king quoth the first raven.
"In that river deep thou shalt dwell forever,"
Unto the queen quoth the second raven.

"Quaff, quaff, oh quaff not," they didst spoof
At the ravens whilst as quick as drops of rain
Plummeting from earths' eternal dewy roof,
In such haste, they quaffed again, and again.

And 'tis for that reason that all men know
From the ***** of that sweet rollin' river
Did the fanciful couple now as cold as snow
Ever leave, but there dost live forever.



©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California, USA.
06/Nov/2018.
#Tales Of Nineva  #Fantasy #Adventure

#Merindrill is a realm of darkling woods far away from from the mighty land of Nineva.

Nineva is a magical kingdom in Kiko's legendarium - a miscellany of tales of mystery and macabre like you've never heard of. Tales such as, "The Mystery Of Lenore," "Woods Have Eyes," "The Dwarf Of Nineva," The Novelty Tea ***," "The Witch's Cauldron," "Jazabel The Witch," "The mandrill of Merindrill," among so many others yet to be posted here.
Dawnstar Aug 2018
Down in the valley of the fleeting stream
Parched Sudanese tongues crying to you
Below, below, the sacred Nile
Pestilence took my sweetheart

She was dark, now she is blue
Like the cataracts dividing the stream
And the tearducts dividing my eyes
Below, below, the sacred Nile

Torn in our tumult
From the bleak savan'
Starve like we all her cherrious face
Now forever blemished

Therefore let us dine on hardtack
Suffer for the things of the marble world
Below, below, the sacred Nile
Where we'll go and prosper

Go receive heaven's reward
Long, long, the vaporous mile
Fast along the toiling road
To the land of reward, we go

I compared her to a flower
Fair a fragrance as ever conceived
To think her smile is a nest for ants
Below, below, the sacred Nile

Change these feelings about me!
I am eager to see her again
But I won't obey the winds
Below, below, the sacred Nile
As far as fragrance is concerned.
A song.
I was
no fool                        
and here
my favor
was one
that overcame
a voice
of salacious
mold and
might throttle
my goad
and too
berserk with
her bare
in this
fold with
Carroll Stream

that extreme
today in
Carol Stream
there was
the cold
went to
bed with
a sweater
just to
wake a
buddy in
Claremont weather
that a
whiplash tomorrow
made best
picture in
ole  LA
Suburban Chicago
Corey Feb 4
it was a soft, palpable silence that can only occur in the absence of familiarity. there was plenty of sound, but it all felt—empty.

the babbling of the steam, accompanied by the calm rustle of leaves as a slow wind crept upstream. the humming and singing of the birds high above. the occasional croak of the far off frog, or splash of an unidentified creature returning to the brisk water.

my toes felt the chill as i stepped in myself. grainy water brushed by my feet—abrasive from the debris i knocked up with my heavy step. smooth rocks poking at my soles.

the water sloshed as i dragged my shin through the stream feeling the cold slowly take over my body. venturing deeper than i thought the stream got. the smooth small rocks underneath my feet turned to slippery stones that shifted under my weight, but that i wouldn’t be able to lift.

my toe stubbed into a softer object just as the water had reached my chest. i paused, feeling the rush of water pass by every part of my body. my feet feeling a slow pull to my left, while my torso was being pushed heavily in the same direction.

the softer object was the root of the tree on the opposite side of the stream. i stepped on it, slipping twice before finding my way up. i climbed the labyrinth of roots out of the stream and stood on the sloped trunk. it was not a fallen tree, but contorted. it sloped out above the water.

i crawled up the trunk passing branches that were beginning to turn barren with the colder weather. i sat near the end, high above the water. i watched the water flow past me. i watched a few leaves fall in and get rushed away. i watched the branches around me slightly sway with the wind.

i saw a fawn drinking from the water upstream. i watched it lift its head for a quick look around, then down to continue drinking. it showed no sign of knowing my presence despite how i broke the silence: the splash of an unidentified creature returning to the water—among the singing birds i was surrounded by, the croak of a far off frog, the rustle of leaves with the slow wind, and the babbling stream below.
Jordan Sep 2018
Like a zygote in a toilet bowl
you flushed me away with a raw and distant shame that must’ve grown in you for two weeks and kept you up at night as a churning of unknown origin, a bloating that weighed you down in that section of the grocery store and made you promise “after one more week” because it was too early to tell even though you were already flushed with that secret, lonely panic when something no one else could detect made you gag and you prayed like a Christian and remained silent like a monk until it finally happened and you were saved, redeemed by the sight of the red little pieces of soul and carnal ritual which were so tender and broken you became whole again and you understood so you flushed me away, and we never spoke of it because only I knew but you must’ve understood the shame because at the first sight of me in August you flushed my red little soul away too.
about a secret miscarriage and an unexpected break up
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