Cynthia Buhain-baello Poems

I love the quiet of the night
When only little crickets sing

In unison with the gentle breeze
...

One cannot presume what the other is thinking
Nor can one give motives behind a poem
Unless in laser-like mind reading
One, like a Superman, by miracle has become.
...

We were childhood playmates
Way back in the late fifties
She was sort of a retardate,
We children were not aware of this.
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He was the neighborhood nuisance
Each morning we heard his loud mouth
When he spoke he caused a disturbance
And would throw all his cigarettes about.
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By the fruit you will know them
Not by the pious labels worn
For actions and words confirm
If a man has been truly reborn.
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The tongue of the wise brings healing
And the words of Compassion, comforting.
As apples of gold in settings of silver
Words finely chosen birth harmony there.
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So many people try to write poetry
Groups of words laid out quite randomly
Sway to and fro in their diverse thought
But these lack any meaning that is sought.
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They want you to bow
Christmas you must forget
Because we all know
Christ in the word frets
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Our lives are nearing sunset,
Change has little time for us.
But this we must never forget-
What's in the heart matters, it's precious.
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It comes with a lump on the throat,
Conceived by a gripping pain.
In the absence of comfort sought,
There's a need for release again.
...