At first light
it comes unbidden

Mourning--
clenching deep
enough to sound your soul
Stone on a string
sent to tell the depth of drowning--
in the tears
without a cry
weary beyond the sigh
No act of will
This weight--
gives no resistance
to the gravity of ocean's metal-gray
They seep along a sloping cheek
in silence

“Only lovers ever go this deep
It's strange,” they say

The man walked, shuffled,
Through blisters & sores.
His shopping cart stutters
Past the laden stores.
He's lost his mind
On rocky shores
He had hopes and
Dreams galore
Now he can't find them
Anymore.

In the land o' plenty
The woman lives hard.
Barely feeding her kids
With a food-stamp card.

The soldier lost limbs,
Now he's alone.
He is "housed"
But has no home.

[chorus]

We know the rhyme.
We know the riddle.
But they still get caught
In the middle.

Caught in the cracks
The streets for some.
Cement & sky
Is not a HOME.

Emily sits upon the stoop.
Goes to kitchens to get soup.

Michael lives.
He breathes.
He talks.
But he sleeps
In a cardboard box.

[chorus]

They're called vagrants.
They're called bums.
Labels they can't overcome.

Like wooden ships
Their only sea
Is in a bottle
They can't break free
Where's your HEART, society?
Where's your SOUL?

Your EMPATHY?

BRIDGE:
We must repent.
We must atone.
We ALL are guilty
To the bone.
We must help them

FIND A HOME.


SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/8/2017

Once upon a time,
i had a book i read nightly....without fail.
t'was a compendium of impossible dreams,
big plans, summaries of late night talks
on "long-shots-but-worth-a-try," stuff,
...our very own fairy tales, where we
wished for magic wands and wings,
written on nights when sleep was elusive,
when bottles of cold beer had lost their effect.
talks were long...my fingers grew tired, for,
my guitar wept with sad songs....t'was then
i learned to pour martini...into my coffee.

::::::::::::::::::
lost my guitar one day, got busted....but, life's
many notes and tunes, played on with time.
eclipses shaded the already dimmed horizon,
floods ruined boxes of souvenirs...stamped,
handwritten...with ribbons of silver and gold...
people died, some left...some fell out of love,
moved near the mountains, others left their
preferred milieus...for uncomfortable zones...

the moon, looking down from mountaintops,
was a witness to tears...of sufferings,
.....realization, and of acceptance.

when nights refused to end,
when the howling of distant dogs, echoed
and shattered the stillness of the night,
i question marked our tales with suspended
endings...tore off  unfulfilled, hopeless pages,
i crossed out those with "no forever afters,"
only a few pages were left......so, i began
creating new plots......and new settings
i added new characters, and new twists,
all written in the midst of unholy hours
.......til a new dawn....proclaimed itself...
:::::
to this day,
i write my own fairy tales, with no beer, definitely
i still have my night coffee...though sans martini
......it could be black, or with its mating cream,
....and all the dark curves and swirls, in between...
:::::
"a long shot, but worth a try," it may seem,
...yet, i do wish, i could put some sugar and cream
......upon everyone's dark, and bitter coffee...
:::::

Sally

Copyright June 6, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Here we are stark naked and mad
men and women and children of lunatics
screaming in the face
of the politics of war
and the war of politics
and its all the same to us
as you're the same old hateful man
feeding his blind dog
the bones of our innocence
and we can hear the fear
in your wheezing breath
as you try to feed us the same
*******
as your fathers father before you
and your blood is thinning
and running cold
and your hate machine
is rusted and old
and your busy spinning
and inventing new ways to lie
but all we hear is the same old
hollow alibi
and we have no currency to invest
in your insistence that the cost
of freedom
must be our children's deaths
but the only truth to your ideology
is that our dead bodies are needed
to profit your tombstone makers
and your bomb droppers
and your missile launchers
and the rat-a-tat-tat song
of the made to order machine guns
and like a true showman of illusion and deceit
you hide behind the curtain
and pretend the problem
is more or less control
while in the dark back alleys
that lead to children sweating away
you manufacture bullets of hate and rage
and flood the market with minnows
with bellies full of lies
and it doesn't matter how many times
we change the face of the puppet
when the puppeteers stay the same
shiny new strings don't mean a thing
when its the big hands of big business
and big banks
attached to small minds
that only give a ******
about their own oily hides
that make the marionette dance
and it's all smoke and mirrors
when it comes to the open mic
and the delusion
of the freedom of choice
and we're tired and we're starving
and we're sick and we're feed up
and we're desperate and we're volatile
and we're ready to stand our ground
and we're ready to push back
it's far past the time for a change
and we don't want another needless war
but we can't let you claim to have
another bloodless war
for if there is blood to spill
it's gonna be mixed with yours
and your history of hate
is headed for its long past due fate
and you have failed to divide us
with your repetitive rhetoric
of blaming the poor for being poor
and the sick for being sick
and the old for being old
and you've thrown out all the dignity
of the words
"that all men are created equal"
by slowly trying to strip us one by one of equality
trying to sell fiction as truth
to pass laws to fatten the cats
that scratch your back
you can discriminate
but united will stand against your antipathy
to the color of our brothers skin
and the strength of our sisters minds
and the age of our fathers and mothers hearts
And here we stand together
stark naked and mad
men and women and children
of lunatics

How I wish my life was
Just a dichotomy
Or even “Fifty Shades of Grey”
I am standing still
And moving forward
Living in the present,
But pondering the past
While worrying about the future
I am neither here nor there
But somewhere in between
I go so easily from feeling good
About myself
To self-sabotage
So even though
No matter where I am, there I am
I am in my dreams
Or somewhere
In between
Oh, how I wish
I was either here or there
But no!
I am everywhere
I am nowhere
And everywhere in between.

Kelly Rose
© March 30, 2017