"swooshing" poems
Strangers known
by shared room
Honey voiced , high cheek *****
no less, no more
Licorice words pounding
on a chest
scrambling to wrap fingers
around a single perfumed breath
Two days dragging on
pulled through mud
stuck in fog
seconds are hours too long
Then ringing came
answered by drops of syrup
pouring out a reply, yes!
drinking it in with big gulps.
Mirror reflects practiced hellos
swishing hair put in place
teeth and lips splitting
breaking through stone face
Pacing back and forth
frantic footsteps pounding
crushing carpet in a line
south, north, south, north
No ring, no change
red blushes fad grey
phone silent, gaze up
stare blank
Is the swooshing hair the wrong way?
Is the grin too toothy?
Is the face not constructed right?
Stood up and let down
sailor on a ship
already sunk and drifting
off the starboard bow
Stood up and let drown
by the honey voice
the high cheek bones
Failure in hindsight sighing
“I should have known
I should have known…”
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 3:31 AM UTC
^ ^ ^
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
^ ^ ^^ ^ ^ ^
^. ^ ^^ ^ ^ ^
^ ^Diaspora ^ ^
^ ^^^ ^ ^ ^ ^
^ ^ ^^^ ^ ^^^
^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^
^ ^
Tonight,
a jumble is taking place
in the small wilderness...outside my window
...cicadas...crickets...lizards...
all night creatures...even the trees
join in the dance.....to survive
they could never go against the swooshing rhythm
of the rushing kingly wind.
as i am tonight...lost in my own wilderness
i feel so limited...turning left to right...to and fro
as sparks of thoughts and images...come and go
scattered ***** bouncing here and there
from corners and walls of my room
now, they're here,
later, they'd disappear.
mind is a mess...bright ideas, scamper off
fleeing from their temple...their home
refusing to be captured...
simultaneously, some known sounds
the cries...the envisioned giggles and laughter
of familiar voices, are now hidden somewhere
have sought refuge some place else.
faces...names...smiles...words...good spirits,
one by one,
slowly, have gone...
...there is only the damp darkness
of a vacuum.....an emptiness...
created by an absence
of inspirations
of people who give inspirations....but, have left
some are about to leave
thank God for those who came back,
missing fellow poets...good friends...and their works
missing the placid waters
that once surrounded us
i miss reading...feeling the sweet music...the rhymes,
the free verse of good, wholesome friendships...
of kindred spirits in poetry
in poetry...where we all started...where, in one way
or another, we all have metamorphosed...
i believe, i know...our paths didn't cross for naught.
::: ours is a small world...existing within a bigger world :::
::::::::::::::::: there needn't be a diaspora ::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::::: i miss us ::::::::::::::::::
¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥
Sally
Copyright March 11, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
"Mama... Mama!"
Mama sometimes doesn't wake up when I want her to.
Mama must be dreaming about the ocean.
And there are waves in the ocean.
And the waves are outside my window.
And I hear them.
Swoosh... swoosh... swoosh...
I draw the waves for Mama everyday.
They are squiggly and big,
like the messy lines on Mama's forehead.
Mama's forehead is big, big!
And the waves are big, big like Mama's forehead!
They are blue like the sky.
The sky is blue because blue is your favourite colour.
I like blue too, because Mama loves blue.
I want Mama to know that there are waves outside our house.
I can hear them swooshing outside the window.
Papa says: "It's just the wind."
But he's wrong, Mama.
Wind doesn't swoosh like a wave does.
I know, because I hear it.
You hear it too, right, Mama?
And you dream about the waves too.
And in your dream, the waves are swooshing outside your window.
They are squiggly and they fill our room with the big ocean.
They can even touch the sky.
And the window can't hold the ocean anymore,
and their hands go-
BAM!
Mama mama,
The waves are coming into our house.
Wake up.
They're coming.
They're coming in Mama.
The room is so small, and the ocean is so big.
Wake up.
Isn't blue our favourite colour?
Don't you want to see the blue sky again?
The waves outside our window are coming in.
And you sleep like they don't.
Mama.
Do you know?
I can hear the waves in you
Deep, deep inside you.
They are big, big like your forehead.
Bigger than the bed you are lying on.
Sometimes
you don't wake up when I want you to,
But it's okay.
Mama must be dreaming about the ocean again.
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 9:01 AM UTC
Synergy slides like a promise from thick whips of fingers
Griping me and sinking thorns in but loving it all the same
Twitching with them
Epileptic ecstasy
Slamming and combining. Pure unadulterated noise
Lapping at the shores of nonsense
Wildly uncontrolled but watching it looks like perfectly harmonized marionettes
Punching sounds in and flowing reactions
Spinning swooshing, dancing like the Nike sign.
We are Just Doing It all over the place
Hands spread and flower
Seeming endless heartpounds swim below
Feeling the need through the floor
shattering up bones and jerking bodies into movement
Wicked entertainer creating blooming false patterns
Blood lining where it hasn't before, yet it's already planned
The electric noise makes you think inspiration but whispers command.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
We sung the anthem of each year
wishing our friends a happy day
commemorating their existence
but deep inside,
we know that this
won't fix the broken
or bring back life to their breaths
because I am now rejecting
every expansion of my chest
and deafening my ears
to not remind me that
I am yet stuck here another day
swooshing like wine in a glass
tossed around
in these vicious cycles.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
In the light of the new morning,
He opens his eyes,
The Devil gets his warning,
And the heavens start to cry.
She utters a quick prayer
To always keep him safe
The Devil weeps in despair,
And a smile warps his face.
He was always quiet,
He was always kind,
At a young age the Devil tried to find,
But his mother’s prayer always declined.
One day she began to cough red,
The same day she breathed,
And the same breath she bled.
He clenched her on the bed,
She said her finals words and fled
The heavens began to dread,
The day the Devil would enter his head.
She looks beautiful walking down the aisle,
He greets her on the stand with a smile,
The priest begins the trial,
On Sunday the heavens sleep a while,
The Devil creeps out of denial.
She watches her son from above,
A tear rolls down her cheek,
She hears the Devil speak,
She tries to warn him,
But the heavens silence her screech.
The clock ticks,
He looks into its eyes,
His heart stops,
And the heavens start to cry.
He kisses her on the lips,
He cries his tears of wine,
The Devil feels fine,
Such an act must be sign.
He runs his fingers across the blade,
He looks into its eyes
He remembers his mother’s prayer
And his conscience begins to cry,
The tears of heaven begin to dry,
Like cancer it spreads across his mind,
While he begs the Devil to make him blind.
He looks all around,
His mind is deranged,
The Devil knew this was bound,
The heavens start to change.
He looks down at what could have been
He looks down at his biggest sin
The Devil only laughs,
While his world no longer spins
She comes home and it feels colder inside,
The man she loved has died,
And the Devil has taken his side.
She sees herself in the pool of red,
She sees it motionless on the bed,
She screams her scream of silent pain,
As the Devil slowly opens her vein
The wind is swooshing outside,
His heart is the Devil and his conscience is the Eye,
He gets up, weak with age,
The Devil cries his tears of sage.
His life is slipping away,
He goes and lies down in his grave,
He covers himself in his own pain,
The heavens begin to obey,
All in all, in the Devil’s cave.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
Till half asleep I bask
under cerulean skies and sunshine
in the middle of the meadow
where the gentle winds roam
counting clouds
like they were sheep
slowly drifting toward a world of dreams
while listening to the peaceful swooshing
of free winds across the soft grass
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 10:01 PM UTC
glimpse of repressed desires, in rain
as i met dominique northstar on a platform
life trains passing by in slow motion
and we are smiling at each other
end of existence's hectic, silver heaven
leaves flying around her head, swooshing
two hours later, her sounds, my ********
and we talk endlessly, films, food, songs
the following weeks are waves in our souls
we don't sleep with each other, but laugh
in times of hunger are we gathering greed
a massage here, a soft embrace there
northstar starts to glow more often
one day, she wears a darkyellow blouse
telling me about it, throwing tender codes
and i catch them, and we get closer
sleeping with you is wordless, dominique
last night i dreamt, you would write to me...
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 7:01 PM UTC
Eros
Eros was named after the Greek god
He was large, black, and hairy
He was a Newfoundland
and a new-found love
to everyone he met
He weighed 155 pounds,
half of which surely was heart
There was no creature that displayed more love
or more character than Eros
He loved most everything and everyone
But more than anything,
he loved a cat
He followed that cat everywhere
He would have done anything for that cat
But the cat showed no love in return
She would turn her cold nose up at the sight of Eros
She dreaded his clumsy stride
Always followed by a wet tongue
dripping drool and a heavy tail
But Eros loved her nonetheless
He followed his heart wherever it led him
And the world was a better place because of him
Eros' heart never failed anyone but himself
Because of a heart defect
he died at the age of eight
Seemingly everyone mourned the loss of Eros
Everyone but the cat
The cat went about her business
The same cold, finicky cat
that Eros loved unconditionally
It seemed that the cat felt no loss at all
Don't be fooled
Late at night, once in a while
The cat can be seen and heard
perched atop a window sill
Looking off into the darkness
In the distance,
a dog barks
and her ears focus
Listening for the clumsy footsteps
and swooshing tail
of a big black dog
With a long wet tongue
and a big bad heart
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
A wide open field
Where grass blows in the wind.
A narrow stream gurgling,
From a distant waterfall bubbling.
The dancing umbrella cut dress,
Lined sleeves with ruffling frills
The swooshing long tail of a neatly tucked bow
That follows her toes wherever she goes.
A beige sheet of starched cotton spread
On the grassland by the dried riverbed,
A bottle of water glistening
With the spring sun listening
To that song that floated around
As she moved on her toes;
Round and round and round.
Wild flowers lying low
Swinging with the water flow.
And the song goes like this:
*Only if I could have a kiss,
Now that is the only thing I miss
From your lips to mine
Under this spring sunshine.
Because I love me in this dress
As you loved me in this dress,
And made me love you
By making me fall in love with myself.
As they dance the ruffles caress my face
Which reminds my cheeks of the trace
That you left with your palm,
Caressing me till I become
The girl who loves herself because
There will be, there is and there was
Within her this overwhelming love
Of a kind whose definition she didn't know of.
This makes my feet dance in joy...
...Because I love me in this dress
As you loved me in this dress,
And made me love you
By making me fall in love with myself.*
And there were feet on the grass
Turning round and round.
And there was a song of love
Under the spring time sun floating around.
And then there was a dress with ruffled sleeves.
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 2:52 PM UTC
this sick, euphoric feeling
despite destortion is bold
gate to enchanted world unveiling
so intense and cold
that angel throughout the night I've been dreaming
am I oblivious of something?
since even in the limbo ; her mesmeric presence I had been feeling
hovering abruptly with its flaky wings
swooshing tepidly ; gradual and low
even the fragile of its touch stings
so disruptive and slow
showering illusionary dream ;
gentle whispers
kissing with the crimson lips;
firmly clustered
my shriveled face effervescent
her elated aura phosphorescent
sudating through the very pores
deluded ;
was this really a dream
had I not been in a state so worse
suffused
with the prismatic love stream
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
The hose snakes, benign and cool, over the fence and into the yard
And water pours soundlessly into the familiar dirt beneath the dying dragons
It wets the burning asphalt
And it is the smell of the hot asphalt and cool water that is home
It is also the half a dozen strawberries dripping with cold tap water
It is the scrape of sunwarmed pavement after dark on bare toes
It is the sunset that makes the trees glow every different color
And the distant headlights swooshing in the dark of too early morning
The tap of fingers on keys in the between of today and the next
The scratch of paper and pencil and the smudge of a ***** palm
The sticky childish joy of ice cream
There is also the promise of crumbling leaves
And rain tapping on the roof at midnight
And wind gusting through treetops and hair
And the constant threat
Of impermanence
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 1:11 AM UTC
He has no choice but to chase her.
This hurricane of a girl,
who carries a roiling storm of turbulent winds behind her glances,
and breathes deeply of natural disaster.
Men will fall for forces of chaos.
Then pursue them despite emotional harm.
All he desires is her and that has made him blind.
He loves how the rain scents her skin.
She smells like dark mahogany and loam.
He loves her rounded gestures.
The way they angle in swooshing arcs,
cutting and emphasizing dialogue.
He wants to kiss her, hold her, be with her, talk to her.
But her crooked, crescent mouth sings only of destruction and implosion.
There’s no time for love or affection.
Her body is an empty vessel for primal lusts.
As slurred, blurred words are panted against her ear.
That’s how long she can stop.
That’s how long she can stay.
She’s caught in the swirl of her turmoil.
And like a hurricane she tears through place and setting.
Always in search of better things.
She has no time to puzzle out love.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
10 words
cats battle outside my window
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 9:50 AM UTC
Linking the ritual chronology of the past few days in accordance with 'The Boy's' 21st birthday. No longer a boy, but not quite a man, but unsure if that was the ambition at all. Linking the rites of spring with the rites of summer, endless summer, indian summer, endless ****** no longer sure, were we ever, and did we ever want to be?
The seasonal threshold coupling the brutality of summer freedom. All those years on the bench in systemic education, waiting, counting the days until the breakout of summer, the breakout of the nation-wide epidemic of drips of sweat rolling down foreheads, cars racing up and down the highway going anywhere but home, if only for a few minuscule hours of freedom. Not really knowing what to do; the only certain knowledge; that doing anything is better than doing something, whatever that means.
Proud proletarian patriot, hating with every inch the structure and the scaffold, the zephyr swishing and swooshing over the surface of the storefront, while the air condition whirrs away, in a little town on a little island in a massive inlet in a vast sea, tossing and twisting, raging and blistering with the toils of work, throwing rhetorical fists in the air like-you-just-don't-care, with drops of Digital Ink. –with that strange symbiotic disharmony that emits from the boy's fingers, fuelled with every every-day stimulant, caffeine, nicotine, THC; Trembling Hallucinogenic Creation. The ongoing tremble of uncertain fingers, searching for a certain certainty he knows he'll never see.
And therein lies the tragedy
But also the beauty.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
That single leaf flutters by
with the wind swooshing it right and left
until on the ground safely it lands
my feet click and clack
with the pale concrete floor
and so do yours
just next to mine
The wind pushes softly
playing with both our hair
you joke and i giggle
you smile and i blush
The wind is more violent
the clouds are more gloomy
the wind pushes your hand
right into mines, you claimed !
and my heart smiles
never like before
off the ground lifted i feel
like that leaf swooshing
in the warm windy air
you glance at me softly
and agree with my thoughts
But to ever land
back on the concrete ground,
shall I?
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
Life is spinning around and around, things keep circling around and around, we all are moving like a whirlpool swooshing in our feelings until we thrash through enough to feel better.. but it just repeats and repeats.
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 11:07 PM UTC
She is no heaven
She brings no hell
A tender mess of earth
She smells of pure mud
Up at the sky, I look at myself
Burning inside with zillions stars
-Just to light her up
-Just to see her shine
She revolves in way
-such mystifying
Alluring with those twists,
swooshing her hair of curly forest
,eyes with reserved invitation
Refusing to shine on my lights
Its not mere coincidence
when stars fall on sky
Its me , my egos falling
its me, my gods getting high
its me, falling on my knees
pulled by desires of temptation
to smell the rain on mud
to get drowned in ocean of love
To whisper under her hair
close to her eyes
at her dimples
swirling round- dizzy and elated
With time stuck
all stars at brightest
moons lost
heaven crushed
hell forgotten
vanishing
anihilated
with breath that will take forever
I whisper words... to be forever true
aahhyi lloveee yyyyyu
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 4:48 AM UTC
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When emerging from a dialogue,
a communion.....with God, taking in
all the good and bad we've poured,
a reassuring calm rests upon us, through
a peaceful silence...a lilt flows in every
word and move...a smile graces all
<<<~>>>
In the midst of chi kung mornings
all energies combine...no one speaks,
a silence enfolds participants...a time
to receive energy, and share...a time
to be strengthened...to strengthen others
<<<~>>>
alone, by the deck of a ferryboat,
with no bouts of mal de mer...a vista
of the limitless horizon, and the flowing
sea, mutes the human voice...gives way
to quiet moments, to mull over things, and
discover one's self......senses are made
aware, by a mist of sea water,
and a swooshing wind that brings
a scent of salt
......a peaceful silence calms the soul
<<<~>>>
a moment comes,
when cacophony heightens.
drums, gongs, church bells and cell
phones ringing, dominate the airs.
in our own found silence, we listen
closely...'til a pleasant beat finally
waves...rhythm is found...and heard,
until music is born....like a dream.
tunes agree, there's nothing left to do
but sing "la-di-das and la-la-las..."
<<<~>>>
late nights, before and beyond midnight
when the night radio rhythmically plays
a crescendo and diminuendo of snores,
i seek for my muse that teases and hides,
there's fun....in the silence of creation...
<<<~>>>
inspiration, suddenly becomes incipient,
it resonates, at times, stubbornly torments,
no sound could ever distract the flow.
<<<~>>>
Schubert's Serenade, or Beethoven's Silence
can only enhance......not crumble, nor ruin
the attempt to create......especially when
silence is most eloquent.....i am rendered
..................impassioned
<<<~>>>
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
September 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC
Ideas are bulletproof that is why they are harder to win over,
Especially when affirming instances come one after the other.
The body succumbs while the mind knows better,
Hopping from one stone to the other hoping we get to a constant somewhere.
Throbbing wind whispers a beep,
Rushing cars swooshing their trip,
Her voice looking at me knowingly,
“You know it but here’s the story.”
The high improbability and the comparisons,
The stretch that echoes unfounded sounds,
The conversation that could’ve been,
Shall and must remain as a romanticized fiction,
Started, peaked, jumped, risked, failed, hoped, failed, and left for the conclusion.
As you have absolutely no choices,
To raise your eyes and ears is something to give your best.
Everyone’s kinda moving,
It’s not a race but for everyone the road is ending.
I would still have that grin, whisper, and crookedness,
Inasmuch as nothing of those are even close to any semblance of realness.
I must remain the best parts of what I have to offer,
A refined, mature, swaying, itching, panacea of everything you wish I wish I could cater.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
I walk outside and the harsh winds greet me
The combustible clouds are eager to meet me
Tears trickle gently from the sky
Pleading with silent cries
The leaves fall from the trees
Swaying and swooshing like the seas
The sky starts to yellow
Oh, how I am a silly fellow
For this is the calm before the storm
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
The swooshing of an aircraft
as I struggled to image paint
not knowing that all of my body
is the sailcloth, a masterpiece
My eyes is blinded by madness
and I would blame an empty head
and the blade that was my weapon
is used to myself instead
Who will defend me, a woeful being
will you sacrifice your creed?
If the waves of the ocean water
they will drown you to your death
I am the moon lover
and the rain is my mistress
When they see me together
I am the king of chains
And we all will gleam simultaneous
the light, the water, and flame
oh! the two of them outshined me
still, I am bewitched.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC
A beach day is a great day the bright hot sun beating on the smooth white hot sand the sound of the waves swooshing and slamming into the shore the feeling of the wet sand under your toes the pungent smell of the salty water yes a beach day is a great day
Mar 28, 2021
Mar 28, 2021 at 2:55 PM UTC