I’m in a contest I can’t win
Or even come in second.
My bird has flown from the streetlight arm
And taken promise with it.

Another lands and then departs
To mock my hopeful prayers
The sky teems with symbolic fowl
But I can’t suss their meaning.

A big one flew straight over me
But I can’t read its message.
Was it promising good health
Or telling me it’s sorry

That I’ll only get just what I have
To get me through tomorrow
And if I am not strong enough
The game will then be over.

Why are birds the messengers
In answer to my pleas
They send me signals I can’t read
And I walk on in darkness.
ljm

A cold spring morning,
sun enters open shutters
cool breeze touches face.

Chopped parsley on swirl
adorns bowl of hot creamy,
puréed pumpkin soup.


Eyes roam the green fields
some boulders block them from view,
words hide...like truths veiled!

Uneasy muse flees,
but...a winged creature arrives,
a peach mimosa...

Seeking shelter now,
flash rain pours...petrichor fades,
floods flow...blocks crumble!


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    May 1, 2025

fields of lavender
as far as the eye can see,
in rows of scented purple
growing insatiable idiosyncrasies,
our minds are a rich, deep soil
and the children of our thoughts
run free,

run free
and light,
run free
and careless,
like a river to the sea.

the heart is programmed
to be broken,
to let in the light,
and the earth in us is woken,
our heart will open,
it will open,

when we take in our first
breath of this heaven.

/-\          
                    /----\
                  /-------\
                /----------\  
               /----_----\
              /-----|   |-----\
\ // (\ /  /------|   |------\ ) // \ / /( // \////
|||||||||||||[||]||||||||||||||||||||||
-----------------------------------------------


On hot days, out on errands...dealing
with a quicksand situation...maybe a
quicksand of not so useful thoughts,
i close my eyes, to find a calm moment,
in a sea of honking cars and blabbering
voices....to stop a pounding headache,
.........to find some silence....but,
.................................................­...

"How does one find silence, anyway?"
.....................................................

D­eep among tiresome thoughts,
i take flight......a short bridge,
an ascending road,
with rows of quaint coffee shops,
small diners that serve hot, fresh
and delicious home-made meals.

Walk farther on...turn right, to  
a guarded entrance...towards a
hilly, sloping walk...tough, painful
to the thighs and legs...headed to
a humble  abode...a small white  
house...a white gate with white fence.

The dogs are such noisy welcomers,
five ladies, all accurate storytellers;
i gladly listen to both...then, sit by
the small graveled space, with potted
philodendrons, succulents, and crotons,
lush from the daily rain showers...always
the best place to detox, to heal, all ways.

Being there at a graveled refuge, sipping
some sunset cuppa coffee, while gazing at
a copper-hued horizon, kind of unleash
a silence, so peaceful, it is where hot
summer winds...turn to cool breezes.

Amidst cacophony, silence is found
when flooded with notions of home,
.........../\ as if i were there /...........


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 9, 2025