Best Bayles Poems
Sunlight leaks
through the curtain
after I’ve thrown off the covers.
Downstairs the television flickers
as a roommate sleeps
on the couch.
He was talking politics
last night.
I went upstairs
and read a poem.
This morning
I walk into the kitchen
and turn off a dripping faucet.
The furnace hums
to fight off a chill.
The calendar says spring
as if my life has just begun.
I go out for a leisurely drive
where the countryside
speaks to me.
I come back home
and make a quick brunch.
Words dancing in my head
cry out for me
to put them on a page
as the cat sits on my lap.
The roommate rolls to his side
saying, April’s the cruelest month
while I say the cruelest thing
is writer’s block.
A jet passing over a crown
of trees at the end of the street
streaks the sky.
The roommate talks about a movie
he watched in the middle of the night
and its philosophy.
Did you like it, I say
as a bird outside the window sings.
dawn’s stillness
early lightfall
at my feet
my body aches
I slip out of bed
I shiver
the angels have fallen
a part of me has died
a part of me is gone
left with realization
my love
I’ll never see her again
my love
left with realization
a part of me is gone
a part of me has died
the angels have fallen
I shiver
I slip out of bed
my body aches
at my feet
early lightfall
dawn’s stillness
(palindrome form)
A woman’s voice said
Look out the window
and I saw a ravine
with a fresh cover
of snow.
I thought it was the neighbor
but I was alone.
A thicket of trees
reached for the sun
yet I noticed
one was fallen
its age born
in its rings.
Two cats lay on my bed
as I took in my visions
of a pastoral scene.
a day in February
in the middle of town.
In this moment
I bore my seasons
and winter called for spring
yet a patch of a lawn
had turned brown.
A woman’s voice said
Live, live again
as I faced another day.
A cat sits on a chair
and hovers over me
as I lie in bed.
It’s December 31st
as a soft rain falls.
As I get up
I ask myself
if this is
an ending or beginning.
I’ve been back in town
full-time for five years
but embrace memories
of highways travelled
throughout the Midwest
when I worked
for road construction crews.
Now I’m left with my poems.
Bare limbs in the yard next door
wave and dance in the wind
beneath the cover of grey skies.
The cat brushes against me and mews
and I know it wants to be fed.
I take it downstairs
and fill a dish on the floor.
It eats in the kitchen while I call
my older cousin and we peer
into our younger lives.
When asked I said
if given the chance
I say
I’d live my life again.
Outside the window
rain has turned to snow
and the dormant yard
bears the change of weather.
november gray
the whisper
of love lost
A friend said
a little mulch
and planting
is what it takes
to transform a yard.
She bought flowers
in spring
as a gift to herself.
She laid the mulch
and planted the flowers
around a tree.
She cried out
for last night’s storm
and all life
a touch of rain could bring.
She said
after her divorce
every transgression
could be forgiven
with a little sun.
After moving back
to her hometown
it was time to start again.
She said
that her two sons
would bring their wives
and come back
for an Easter brunch
when stories told
around the table
would fine new life.
She knelt in the yard
and spring kissed her
on the cheek.
as a warm breeze blew.
A church bell pealed
such joy found
when young girls
dressed in white
holding lilies
danced along the sidewalk.
Restless clouds hide
the sun and stars
as I drive alone.
A voice on the radio
asks what is important
now. My bones ache
and I embrace my dreams
as clouds pass overhead.
The voice talks about visions
of children as their lives lie
ahead, but I am older.
The tires on my car sing
as I embrace the moment,
but memories find their way
back to me and sit by my side.
I see the many faces of love.
I still hear their voices
the conversations, feeling the warmth
of every stolen moment
in the corner of a room.
The radio talks about time
about how it passes but is never lost.
The small town on The Mississippi
awakens with a whisper
and the river always flows.
The sun breaks through clouds
and glistens upon waters as they stir—
a revelation.
Every day I’m learning
to live again.
Without a word I slip out of bed
and a thousand conversations
run through my mind
as I walk barefoot across worn carpeting.
Two nights ago, I barely made it home
while driving through a deluge
and water on the roads.
I defied the warnings
and survived
as bolts of lightning laced the sky.
I was the storm.
I was the silence.
Now as the sun pokes through
a thin veil of clouds
the sense of nothingness I embrace.
I must admit a year ago I loved someone.
She said that she loved my humor
my new stories and poems
and there was so much to share.
Now she’s a memory lingering in my heart.
This is my life, I say when alone.
This is what I’ve made it
as I watch a shadow dance on the wall—
it can be anything.
My chest ached the other day
when I bore the weight of humanity
while working at a grocery store.
Customers and I talked and traded jokes
but as the day wore upon me
I longed to be in my time and place.
A housemate downstairs
shuffles through the kitchen
while I sit in my loft and play with words
longing to say what’s never been said.
Road work had been finished
for the winter on an asphalt strip
north of town near a nature preserve.
I said good-bye to the hotel owner
and he invited me back
although the town was a lifetime away
from my home. We shook hands.
The town wore its history well
with a façade of an old west town
complete with a jail and post office
on its main street, as if it wanted
to live that life again.
Picture postcards were sold in a drug store
to be packed away and taken home.
Gates of fences aligning themselves
on either side of a highway
spoke of the last cattle drive.
I realized this was the west
where cowboys lived and died.
Reflections stirred of how we gave of our lives
for our dreams and for the ones we loved.
Hasn’t it always been this way?
Sandhills loomed to my side as I drove
on a two-lane east to another town
where I could see another historic site
then get onto the interstate and drive
to the next assignment.
The sky above the open land was an ocean
as I drove east toward the sun.
Dressed in sunlight, it smiles
as it peers through my window.
As I put on a sweater
it says come live again.
The calendar says December
but the ghost’s voice
calls me outside.
A glorious spread of limbs
greets me as I drive
to the sight of limbs
bearing leaves
and just beyond
bare limbs reach for the sky
but also cast shadows.
The ghost whispers in a soft voice
of spring romance, but the one
I loved is gone.
Spring again? I ask,
a lover’s leap
but in my heart
I know snow will fall.
neon lights at night
danced behind closed eyes
vague memories embraced
cats lie at the foot of my bed
a heater vent breathes
the world I know turns
it’s February
the sun wears a veil of clouds
I take a deep breath
a feeling that love
lies between death and me
as I cry out for spring
a leap of faith
always a poem to write
a story to tell
at the end of the street
a ravine
crowns of trees
reach into the air
beginnings rise
from other endings
I hit the snooze alarm three times
get up and go into my office space
where a cat sits on my chair.
The room is silent but a song
I sang last night seeks a second life.
The walls angle down
like the loft I had as a child
where a collage of Beatle photos hung
the place where music played.
This morning my legs ache
and my ears ring.
The sun peers through the window
and falls on the floor in front of me.
Lines of an unwritten poem
linger in my head, bigger than life
and a new day lies ahead of me.
I’m left with unfinished conversations
as I sit down at my laptop and write.
The cat rushes downstairs
where footsteps echo through the kitchen.
It cries out and whines to a housemate
and the back door slams shut.
The room is silent but a song
I sang last night seeks a second life.
I’ll cook and wash dishes
but I feel something greater waits
beyond the door. I can’t explain.
Yesterday I gazed at an image
of a cluster of Novas and stars.
A gate to the universe, it was called.
The world opens for me as I hop
into my car and drive toward the sun.
A gust of fresh air into the driver’s
window whispers as a world unfolds.
The room was silent but a song
I sang last night seeks a second life.
The first sun inspires
words on the page.
A prompt asks
for a new poem.
I want it to feel
like the first kiss
stolen on a front porch.
I want it to beat
the heartbeat
of a young man
who learned to dream.
I want it to sing
to the stars at night
when I’m alone.
I want it to be with me
like my older cousin
when she sat by my side
and showed me
The Big Dipper
in an endless sky.
I want it to be
like nothing else
that came before
although I’ve traveled
many highways and roads.
I want it to take a deep breath
and celebrate the morning
when the world began.
cluttered room
a jungle
the cat explores
Forest fires in Canada
leave a haze in Iowa
and I can’t help but think
of how they have consumed
the land.
As I go for a Sunday drive
a wall cloud of smoke
in the sky before me
hides the sun
but the river
is at my side
rippling reflections
of sky.
A voice inside says
we must embrace
before it's lost
as I count the miles.
I round a curve
and for a moment I see
the face of someone
I loved as she smiled,
a memory unveiled.
Yet I know
fires are burning
out west
a story played out
every year.
I look into my self
and feel assured
as the sun emerges
and opens the skies.
for every charred trunk
that falls a seed
left in its wake