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Something’s changed.


6:00 AM Sun August 16 2022

The temperature today will baby step
up the kitchen ladder, careful, senior slow,
to hover at a pleasant 79 Fahrenheit.

But, I am unfooled.

‘tis the birthing of the
changeling of mid-Augustus,
June’s initiating summer solstice,
an intimate longing now a long
gone forgotten memory, now a
calendar X a valedictorian graduate.

But of late, the sun has lately been
heisted by late afternoon by a batter
thick grayish cloud cover, right here,
hovering upon this godly place on earth.

there is a underlying fragrance, familiar,
an unmistakable chilling odor of cool fall.

an urgency emerges, hurry up you,
pluck the blueberries, harvest the peaches,
because trace hints of crispin fall apples,
falling browning foliage, curling leaves,
pumpkin flavorings and yellow gourds
is unjustly barely there, a definitely discernible.  

Back-to-school ads replace banners proclaiming
bargain prices for summer necessities, vin rosé.

Even the squirrels are enjoying a Sunday rest,
after mornin’ worship, no feverish acorn collection,
a subtle hint, winter supplying must be nearly done.

dare not superstitious say out loud, the **** geese,
have made themselves scarce going on two weeks,
having learned a trick or two from the Ukrainians,
I chuckle to think that we may have regained territory.

But, I am unfooled.

Morning boats of all ilk and demeanor ply-plow the
bay waters, but all seem less hurried, savoring the pretense
of forever long summer days, beyond-belief sunsets, soft white
ice of creamy calming waters, no impasto^ seas wintry rough.

Return-to-bed, coffee mugged, I await the Dumps early call,
the sorting done, metal, plastic,compostable, so easy to bring
order to our daily detritus, thinking if only one could sort the seasons then I would be a forever summer man, here,
on this godly place.


But, I am unfooled.

7:06 AM Tue Aug 16 2020
Shelter Island, N.Y.

————————
^Impasto is a technique used in painting, where paint is laid on an area of the surface thickly, usually thick enough that the brush or painting-knife strokes are visible. Paint can also be mixed right on the canvas. When dry, impasto provides texture; the paint appears to be coming out of the canvas.
 May 2022 Pepper Dove
Puds
Its the age between petal and
leaves
In the air that the woodland
breathes
From the darkness of the night
To the linen mornings wear
From a kingdom underwater
To being masters of the air
I don't want to go a
gentle journey,
from convoluted to
convalescence.
I quit drinking again;
found love in
the psych ward.
She's my broken-winged
angel.
So much pain behind that
sweet smile.
She's drinking again,
and I can't fix her.
It hurts, like an arrow
through the stomach.

I have a rabbit that comes
to my yard.
She lies in the same
spot every day.
So much so, that
she has worn down a
place for herself--the surrounding
grass grows around her.
She feels safe.
I feed her spinach, and my
brother sings her
show tunes.
That's what we get
for having a drama
teacher for a father.
Thanks, Dad.

It's been an unseasonably
cold April.
I feel sorry for Harvey;
That's her name, thanks
again Dad.
I talk to her softly.
"Hi, baby--what are you doing?
Do you want to come in?"
She doesn't answer.  I'm sober.
I want to take care of her...
Both of them...
My two little bunnies.
It's cold, and the wind is
blowing hard,
beneath a mean grey sky.
❤️


Conversations are brief surprises,
sweet, like unexpected presents,
polite, yet laced with
genuine affection and
a growing fervour;
with every farewell,
strength flies with the wind,
almost...like breath, departing
         :::::::::
for, love hides...confines itself
in the ***** of the heart, it is
known, and yet, not known, but
silently exuding a sweet scent,
a subtle fragrance...more enduring
than a gentle spray of White Linen,
or, dabs of Dolce and Gabbana...its
scent lingers, the nostrils remember.
it clings deeper, dwelling on skin pores,
in every fiber of the mind...in the veins
that carry blood, to and from the heart.
            ::::::::::
it is a fragrance so reassuring,
never vanishing...more calming,
more relaxing than a glass, or two
of chilled Champagne, or sweet Moscato
           :::::::::::
it exists, even without the sun,
for, it has a light of its own,
a torch, but, with a tamed flame,
it burns subtly...even in quiet airs.

        ::::::::::
        .........
        ......
        ...­.

            
              
  

             sally b

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February 14, 2022
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY EVERYONE!!!
 Mar 2022 Pepper Dove
Ciel Noir
0
 Mar 2022 Pepper Dove
Ciel Noir
0
I see the world
unraveling
the future
hanging by a thread

I try to memorize the spring
I hope I never will forget

the joy and hope
of innocence
new life
in the trees
on the ground

I try to walk
the Fool's calm steps
to face the sky
and not look down
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