He reached into the paper bag his friend handed over and pulled out a small picture frame.

“Do you want it?” his friend asked.

He turned it over carefully to see what was in the frame. Through the glass, he saw a beetle mounted in cotton, displayed along with a strip of paper that held its name. It looked like something good to have hanging in his room.

“Yeah, but why?” No one just gives away nice things. At least no one gives stuff away without a reason.
“Why, what?”
“Why are you just giving stuff away?”
“Oh,” silence, “I just don’t need it.”

It was a non-answer, a truism, something people say just to get people to asking questions without lying. That’s not enough, he thought. If there was anything he knew about his friend, it was that he liked to talk.

“Wait, so why don’t you need it?”
“Just take the whole bag. Maybe just give back the 3DS games”

He turned the frame around. There was a mark in the back, like someone tried to open it up with ballpoint pen that ran out of ink. Whoever made it gave up after one try but still managed to leave pinholes in the cardboard.

“Are you sure?”
“I think you’re asking too many questions for free stuff, guy”

He looked through his friend’s bag, wondering what else was inside. It was clothes, mostly, and ruffling through it wafted up a scent. The smell and the fabric, it was decidedly feminine to him. He had more questions, more thoughts to investigate.

A car, pulled over next to them. “My ride’s here,” his friend said.

He looked at the beetle. Its wing casings were a sickly yellow. He saw a few writhing brown dots come from under it. He felt sick. Maggots, he thought.

“Carlos,” he called out, handing back the bag, “I’ll keep the beetle”

His friend turned back, took the bag and left.

A randy beetle,
circles a closing lotus;
nightly paramour.

Carpe Diem (2)        
  


It is a hot day....but, we're having a brief shower
i sniff the earthy scent carried by the afternoon breeze,  
feel it blowing, brushing against my moist skin,
i spot a beetle wandering away from its home,
the Pine tree...it travels... oh...so...slowly...inching
...reaching at last...the...window...sill...


Amongst the leaves of the tall Fortune tree
daddy long legs appears......its fragile body quivers,
as it dangles...going down from its web
to meet its neighbor and beetle friend,
.....and from the window ledge
the two fall down on the bushy flower bed,
like a dual suicide act.  
quickly, they vanish... into the thick
of bloomers, yellow, white and pink


The rolling hills landscape on the horizon
breathes peace and calm at this very moment
the valleys...streets......the church and houses
people from all walks of life, going through their chores,
they suddenly enfold my whole being...
there is  pulchritude in the faces of the women,
slim, strong, bulky...hips, bouncing, swaying rhythmically...
fair-skinned and dark, short...long haired...all are smiling warmly,
like they have no other cares in this world
signs of fortitude on their faces...obvious, but unuttered.

i, too, feel a lilt deep inside..i beam with a smile,
acknowledging theirs, as they walk past me.
enjoying every bit of  God's miracles
that meets my eyes

...a few lines pop in my mind...they become a story...or a ditty
suddenly, words in a joke...from someone who's witty
comes sweet laughter...during moments untethered
hours of heeeeeee, and ha-ha-ha, and shared giggles...

Anything that comes to sight
comes with a smile, so bright
i squint from its brilliance
i bask in its radiance
i refuse to let go of this glowing,
an unknown  inner feeling,
outside, it is revealing,
my soul, it is embracing

i claim it:
this moment of bliss
i have finally seized!


  

Sally

Copyright September 21, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Flowers to drown in the pond,
Frogs to make a blood bond,
Hysterics and cruelty,
I laughed, making it echo in the tree trunk,
Forgetting classes I just flunked,
I rolled in the grass,
smelling the green and powdered glass,
Ignoring cuts on the nose,
Went to frolic in the pink garden rose,
‘Ere I saw a red-black, lovely beetle,
Snickering at me,
Showing it’s needle,
Curiosity, red-sight,
Taking it in my hand,
Marveling at innocence,
I closed the trap, feeling the beetle decay to strands,
Despite my mind, my blue heart shed a tear,
So lovely the beetle,
Without a blue-black fear,
So quickly the light rolled away,
Murrain of regret, the cruelty that once was disappears,
Inside me lays moths and trolls,
And now,
The lovely beetle’s soul.
                                           -**Firefly

Fill your heart, fill it as full as you can.
Fill it with memories most warmly hued
and remember them well
in all their glorious, sweaty,
kindly brutal
minutiae.

Remember each drop,
each bite,
each individual dust
mote dancing
the still, hot, sunlit
February
Thursday.
Remember how different
places all have their own
unique elusive
smell and how
it is impossible to describe this to anyone
who has never lived
anywhere else.

Fill your heart with all those memories
of the best kind
of home grown hell.

Fill it until its tears are forced out.
Fill it against the long, cold dark of parking lost.
Fill it against mysterious hate.
Fill it against misery and mud and hard
frozen
bottle
glass
lies.

Fill it so full it can't ever sink far down.
Burden it with buoyant stories
and weigh it with
hypnotic winter flame.
These are the things of which
the cold terror to
victory apocalyptic will be born.
There are no second prizes here.

Fill it with the certainty of the worn places
where the chairs met
the table
each night.

Fill it with the truth of
the gnarled and sun-warm roots and
the indisputability of a Beetle motor accelerating and
the violent pirouette of each spring
and the ozone smell and
the way wet wood screams at the sky and
the way the sound
hits all ears the same
regardless of
their color or
what side of Line Avenue they’re from.

Remember what line you’re from
and to hell with the rest.
You must mind your own.
There’ll be water
if God wills it.

You are never too far lost if you still know
your father’s face and can still remember
getting milk from the tubes
in the
silver metal cooler
and the red cookie jar
lid as the
adults smoked at the green kids’ table
and everyone mostly had blue eyes
and red hair and there was always a phantom killer
lurking  
right beyond the only hope door
before you were ****** into the mirror
world and
*******, but
kids sure do have to make some
rough choices
before nine o’clock.

Keep remembering and when you remember,
remember even deeper
remember in yet greater detail and
practice that remembering until
you
ARE
the dust motes
the milk tube
Thursday
roots
sun
until you ARE each drop of sweat
until you ARE the phantom killer
and the red cookie jar lid
the straight line of smoke rising out
of the ashtray and
the motor and the
scream and the
ears and
you ARE all these things
and you ARE
and you can’t really say where these things begin or where
you end because you’re not sure that
anything really does end or
begin
anymore.

Beginnings and endings
haven’t much meaning after
everyone has
shown their cards and the worn places on the chairs have
met the table
one
last
time.

Beetles are just tiny black meteors
That tumbled from other galaxies
Sprouted legs and then began to trek round this planet
Making notes in their jotters about the weather and such
Checking charts and ticking boxes to confirm that
We'd ****** it all up here