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Pocket lint was magic dust masquerading
2. If I kicked a rock down the street I would have to move it back otherwise it had no way to return to his friends
3. Music made storms go away
4. Bugs couldn't climb furniture
5. The next door neighbors back 40 held a secret gateway to other dimensions
6. Your belly button was how your legs stayed on
7. Moving clouds is what made wind
8. Stars were just holes that the light of heaven shone through
There are few things more pitiful
In this first world society
Than a man
In stretchy pants
With a
Pointing down *****
Getting a *****
In a situation where
Adjustment is
Out of the question
That's what you guys get for wearing spandex.
You were a bright yellow flower
That bloomed in early July
I was the shy little bumble bee
That was always passing by
I would like to keep my distance
Cause other bees liked you too
Any yet you barely knew me
And I barely knew you
But somehow I felt like I've seen you before
In this botanic garden of dreams
Filled with flowers of blue, violet, orange
And crystallized glistening streams
But yet you were one of few yellow flowers
So you easily stood out
You colors always remained vibrant
Even during Our droughts
So I kept on admiring your colors
But I still stayed far away
In our vibrant crowded garden
Until you noticed me one day
And I started to fall in love with you
But soon came the end of July
And all of us smart bumble bees know
That's when Sunflowers die
When people ask me
Why poetry
Why not pick a paying profession

Take hold this truth
That I'm laying on you
In which there is a valuable lesson

If you do what you like
You're going to find
Life holds treasure in wonder

Instead of the dough
Taking you out in its tow
And then pulling you under

When you're doing things
Think more the gifts they bring
And not money to be made

When people ask me
Why poetry
Do I really need to say
* * *
* *
*

Faces of friends, of people i met earlier
are  glittering stars on this late evening's
dark blue sky...their smiles are tattooed
in my mind...they're  hunched, going
lower by the days...slowed down by years.
it must be hard and painful...the arching,
the drooping of the neck, the curving spine,
they endure all, 'til each day's end...they rise
each new dawn...do what they still can do,
lest they stagnate in their aging ponds,
diminish to a state, where food, pills, or
forgotten information are forced on them,
......like drugs, injected into the veins

........................
these wee hours bring back the years...
they  have been good...never mind the
hard times...there were, there are good ones
life is a long, wide stream of changing hues,
flowing on and on....my water bears the
colors each new day brings...gray, at times
with sadness and gloom....other days,
blacked by despair...some summers, red,
roseate with glee, or green with life and
hope...blue, when trust is spilling, and
the tranquil sea and sky overwhelm,
with a promise of stability..........white,
when accepting......the unacceptable...
........................
the amber grains and i, are alike
ripened enough to be plucked
be pulled out from an existence...the
signs are known...shown...yet, i wait
for when it is due to happen...and while
waiting, the stalks sway, play and dance  
and enjoy the sun and wind...and i,
while i still can...walk, jump, climb hills
and valleys in this mammoth space
of land and water.............called life
...................
the sounds of my days, i still hear,
i am a lute, a harp, a cello...playing
off-key.....out of tune at times,
my strings are my graying hair,
i still can't stop dying the gray
i still want to highlight the dark,
but, one day, all these will cease...
............
one night, my face will be in one of those
many stars...glittering on a dark blue sky
sending a smile, to my loved ones.


...................
(there is no other way,
but forward
all are headed
towards an end.)


Sally



© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
      June 26, 2018
...ahhh, the rains...do make us reflect longer on life...
Hugs....
How you've known I needed
Them I will never know,
But what can I say, I do.
And when I read your reflection
On my words,
I cam stop what Im doing
And read my poem again,
And then I cam hug myself,
You calmed my climatic
Mind from shattering
Its self against the wall
Of my own making,
And that wall,
Well I can calm it down.

What is it about Patty M?
A simple seemingly pure
Heart in a world where fake to
survive seems to be the order
Of the day,
And when her words
Like mine, I can hug the
World again,
Because Patty M hugged
Me when no one else could,
Her words are not metaphoric;

She heals my broken self,
Because she meant it,
And I know that something
Is real about that,

So here's to you Patty M
From the Ded Poet:

H.    H.  U.     U.   GGGGG
H.    H.  U.     U.   G
HHHH. U.     U.   G.    GG
H.    H.  U.     U.   G.        G
H.    H.  UUUU.    GGGGG
You never knew but ypur hugs always come at the right time. I feel the scincerity. Thankyou for always holding me thrpuhh my words.
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