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Not all men are poets

some come home to play cards
banter with wife
ask what's for dinner made
head for bed.

they don't bother to think deep
don't string emotions into written words
are ever joyful with a game of cards
nights lend them quite good sleep.

they don't dabble in poetry
going beyond is not their cup of tea.

Not all men are poets
they need not be
without it they have enough to keep

gift of a day night's peaceful sleep!
To all poets writing hourly poem
I offer my unqualified admiration
Place them with honor in my hall of fame
For truly glorifying our poetic nation.*

They keep the windows open never shut the mind’s door
Can’t suppress them schedules of work hectic daily chore
For who knows when the sky passes by stops dead the falling rain
Uncared a feeling rolls by goes unaddressed angst of pain!

Isn’t a rainbow painted out there on doorstep waiting the season
A bird is chirping the song of hope giving life a compelling reason
Isn’t a face waiting to be seen love pining to be released from a heart
Who knows when dies a river midstream each moment’s scenes depart!

The farther these poets go they dream for a farther reach
To hunt out the dark demons blind alley’s fearsome witch
Who knows when the light goes out burns out the fiery sun
This body turns to trails in dust with so much little yet done!
He’s the odd bird out I tell my wife
His time is up full spent his life
Bereft of feathers peeps out his skin
He doesn’t deserve anymore caged in.

He could now the others infect
For the ones healthy him must reject
Once he is gone we would have the good four
Let us be practical and show him the door.

My wife a kind lady looks at me askance
Is this the same man or someone else by chance
Then bringing herself together says with a stern face
How could you be so cruel and horribly pitiless!

I reason with her time is closing for him to die
We would do it better if we let him taste the sky
His life is already wasted enslaved in your cage
Why not give it the wind to fly turn over a new page!

She isn’t convinced an iota from what I clearly spell
Get in her eyes the clouds impending rains well
It’s too late now she says not to let him end his life
In the world he knows his own with a family of the five!
true story, like most of my poems are.
If I could fly back to that strip of life
When showed the church clock three forty five
I held her hand together walked to the green lawn
Baffled how I would ever live without her alone!
please see my cover photo, the time I'm already missing.
 Apr 2014 Kitbag of Words
RA
Trees
grow out of moss
graves, roots
pushing their way through
bones. We
would all like to think we are
forever, but
trees will grow for so much
longer, through
the shards of our
skeletons, long
after our fragile eternities
are over.
Cmentarz ul. Okopowa, Poland
Monday, March 17, 2014
2:31 PM
edited 8:31 PM

From my collection, Poems from Poland.
If
If you'd let me in
I'd jump into your heart and
See everything you see
I could never see what you see, especially not in me. I wish I could see what you see, because I have never seen anything....
morning sun is brightly shining, but,
in the dark, is where i am,
protesting,
there is a war going on.
changes are seen, felt,
happening to me and around me.
they are unacceptable this very moment
i am bound by something that rebels in my innermost.
this questions my faith in myself,
my capabilities.
am i languishing?
deteriorating?
is this just a respite?
could i have been blinded?
is something being painted before my very eyes
that fails to penetrate this weary mind of mine?

why is it that, at the same time,

A passive countenance,
a vacuum...accosts me...
there's this sting,
a biting feeling,
it goes on pricking,
puncturing my chest,
because it has been
realized and accepted:
i haven't strayed that far from
I, Me, Myself,
so obvious, in this written piece...

no thoughts
except those of inadequacy...
dwell in my mind
they dry up my throat
as I leaf through trivial pages,
going through each phase of life,
where I find myself surrounded
by things I've taken for granted
people I've thought of as uncelebrated...
thoughts are shallow,
the mind is narrow...

compunction floats in the air
merges with the winds of sensitivity
that blows against my reeling body.
then I come across a well of words
that further stir my already troubled mind
thoughts that pierce my eyes, and
my heart to the core,
shattering my complacency
into pieces,
my numbed awareness,
is now more awakened...

this vessel doesn't offer much,
it is wanting, asking
for more compassion
it is just half-filled...
ineptitude is admitted
and acknowledged...
a cloak is thrown over my head,
a last-ditch effort,
to shroud my now enlightened mind...

but, these awakenings make me quiver...

i need another kind of mantle,
light and transparent,
to hide myself from shame
to shield my poor threadbare soul...


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
It seems this poem is the first part of my posted poem, REASONS....
I feel they are very much connected, although it was unintended...
Give a parent a website
And they will browse till their heart's content.
Teach them to use Google
And they will never bother you again.
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