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 May 2016 Sia Jane
r
Flamed
 May 2016 Sia Jane
r
One night soon
someone
will strike a match
on a stone
and read my name.
 May 2016 Sia Jane
Lazhar Bouazzi
“Rain for my words,”
Cried the poet.
But the rain would not acquiesce;
For she dreaded a languagekiss.

© LazharBouazzi, Carthage - Tunisia, May 14, 2016
 May 2016 Sia Jane
r
I am thinking of the dead
who are still with us
on their way in the rain
to meet lovers or brothers
and my sadness waves back
like grain in the fields
of lost summers and summers
before that, fireflies in the dark
still young and beautiful
like starry nights, but for them
there is no moon, and for us
the same news we do not receive.
In memory of Barry.
April 3, 1955 - May 15, 2015.  
You are missed, Brother,
 May 2016 Sia Jane
Sally A Bayan
Brownout

A not too loud explosion pierced the quiet hours
..................immediately after......lights went out

Twelve midnight, and two minutes later
there gently blew, a whiff of cool air,
brushed past my cheeks and shoulders
but...that was it

Every hot, humid second of every burning minute
took too long to get out of my sweating body
the heat seemed stationary
in the stillness of this limited territory

Lukewarm water
flowed out of the shower
being wet.......was brief
it didn't bring much relief

It was cooler....out at the verandah
but mosquitoes are more active in the dark
the flickering candlelight
teased them all the more, this moonless night

This should be a good time
to ponder........to write
but my head feels limited...empty
swelling with something else, that is chilly
this silent.........uptight
uncomfortable summer night
...the hours, consumed with blight
a disappointment outright...

just waiting....for my eyes to give in
no longer defying,
but surrendering,
to the hot...humid
dark wee hours of the morning.

Sally

Copyright May 12, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
...either too dark , or too bright...makes us, weary...
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