We will dance on the cold pebbles
beside the lake where ripples
of clear blue water will tickle our feet,
where wisp of autumn air will thread
our hair and make us giggle like children,
and where dragons can turn into butterflies.
When dusk casts long shadows
across the garden, we will sit
with the chrysanthemums
and brew tea. We will read
our favourite poems to each other
and try to outwit one another
with stories, tall or short,
rhymed or unrhymed,
with or without meter,
until the last bits of light
seep into the air
Then, we shall have a feast together.
You will make some spaghetti
and crème brulee while
I fry some chow mein
and bake egg custard tarts.
We will savour dinner slowly
so that we can remember
every word we spent together,
every pixel dotted on paper,
until they’re chiseled
into our memories.
-----------------------------------
Autumn's NaPoWriMo Thread at PFFA
I want to add my thanks to David for his comments on my NaPo thread at PFFA. I had pm him earlier but had not posted my thanks in the thread because I did not want to pull it up again then. So, thanks David for the wonderful comments you left on the thread.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Lunch
Last night’s migraine stayed in my dreams
and I woke up with veins throbbing
like they were dancing to the beats
of some heavy metal band. I closed
my eyes to shut out the thread of light
that has escaped through the drawn curtains
and that was beaming like a spotlight on a soprano.
Something soft brushed across
my forehead and I tried to struggle
out of sleep. The smell of your cologne
and the aroma of my favourite
char siu rice filled the room. I smiled.
My eyes took in the flickering light
of candles softly licking the walls
of the room. You hugged me close
as your thumbs on my temples
massaged the pain away, until
somewhere a doorbell rang,
louder and louder, until
the doorbell became mine, until
your body was no longer against mine,
until I opened my eyes and realized
that lunch was never here.
and I woke up with veins throbbing
like they were dancing to the beats
of some heavy metal band. I closed
my eyes to shut out the thread of light
that has escaped through the drawn curtains
and that was beaming like a spotlight on a soprano.
Something soft brushed across
my forehead and I tried to struggle
out of sleep. The smell of your cologne
and the aroma of my favourite
char siu rice filled the room. I smiled.
My eyes took in the flickering light
of candles softly licking the walls
of the room. You hugged me close
as your thumbs on my temples
massaged the pain away, until
somewhere a doorbell rang,
louder and louder, until
the doorbell became mine, until
your body was no longer against mine,
until I opened my eyes and realized
that lunch was never here.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Breakfast
Smell of rice boiling in water
fills the kitchen, cleaning the air
of yesterday’s fried chicken.
The congee with pieces of dried scallops
bubbles slowly on the stove.
I set the garnishing of ginger strips
and chopped spring onions on the table
and take out the crispy youtiao
from the oven, ready
to colour and flavour the congee.
I turn off the stove and together
with my fluffy slippers shuffle
back to the bedroom.
I pull off the blanket
from sleepy-head and touch
his cheek with my lips.
His eyes open and stare
at me for a moment
like I am an angel in his dream,
before he grab and pull
me down on top of him.
Breakfast can wait.
fills the kitchen, cleaning the air
of yesterday’s fried chicken.
The congee with pieces of dried scallops
bubbles slowly on the stove.
I set the garnishing of ginger strips
and chopped spring onions on the table
and take out the crispy youtiao
from the oven, ready
to colour and flavour the congee.
I turn off the stove and together
with my fluffy slippers shuffle
back to the bedroom.
I pull off the blanket
from sleepy-head and touch
his cheek with my lips.
His eyes open and stare
at me for a moment
like I am an angel in his dream,
before he grab and pull
me down on top of him.
Breakfast can wait.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Sevenling (Searching)
Revised:
The day was humid and stifling like a bad migraine
while night crippled with stiffness of rheumatoid arthritis,
and early morning, congestive heart failure.
Alone in the house, I searched for you
in the gold ring you left behind, in the red hat
you used to wear and the brown sweater you last bought.
Outside the room, the staircase creaked a moan.
First draft:
The day was humid and stifling like a bad migraine
while night crippled with stiffness of rheumatoid
arthritis and early morning, congestive heart failure.
Alone in the house, I searched for you
in the gold ring you left behind, in the red hat
you used to wear and the sweater you last wore.
Outside the room, the staircase creaked a moan.
The day was humid and stifling like a bad migraine
while night crippled with stiffness of rheumatoid arthritis,
and early morning, congestive heart failure.
Alone in the house, I searched for you
in the gold ring you left behind, in the red hat
you used to wear and the brown sweater you last bought.
Outside the room, the staircase creaked a moan.
First draft:
The day was humid and stifling like a bad migraine
while night crippled with stiffness of rheumatoid
arthritis and early morning, congestive heart failure.
Alone in the house, I searched for you
in the gold ring you left behind, in the red hat
you used to wear and the sweater you last wore.
Outside the room, the staircase creaked a moan.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
You're not alone
When clouds burst and wounds open
to reveal flesh scorched brown
and infested like rotten fruits,
just know you are not alone.
When rain falls and flushes
away dignity like paper clips
lost to eternity, remind yourself
that you are not alone.
When the sun sets and you fall
behind on a lame leg with the crisp
air biting your tail, just remember
that you are not alone.
--------------------------------
(after watching American Idol Gives Back.)
to reveal flesh scorched brown
and infested like rotten fruits,
just know you are not alone.
When rain falls and flushes
away dignity like paper clips
lost to eternity, remind yourself
that you are not alone.
When the sun sets and you fall
behind on a lame leg with the crisp
air biting your tail, just remember
that you are not alone.
--------------------------------
(after watching American Idol Gives Back.)
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Cherished and Desired (Retitled: Cherished Wine)
Revised:
I like the way you taste my name;
let it spread across your tongue,
roll it side to side and aspirate
its flavour in a slow puff
of breath that seduces
my ear to surrender
like a soldier
in a lost war.
I like the way you drink in my voice;
let it slide slowly down your throat
to caress and warm your neck
like a muffler and then let it
settle in your chest before
it stirs into the stomach
and entices you
to sigh.
First draft:
I like the way you taste my name;
let it spread across your tongue,
roll it side to side and aspirate
its flavour in a slow puff
of breath that seduces
my ear to surrender
like a soldier
in a lost war.
I like the way you drink in my voice;
let it slide slowly down your throat
to caress and warm your neck
like a muffler and then let it
settle in your chest before
it stirs into the stomach
and entices you
to sigh.
I like the way you make me feel
like a full-bodied wine,
cherished and desired.
I like the way you taste my name;
let it spread across your tongue,
roll it side to side and aspirate
its flavour in a slow puff
of breath that seduces
my ear to surrender
like a soldier
in a lost war.
I like the way you drink in my voice;
let it slide slowly down your throat
to caress and warm your neck
like a muffler and then let it
settle in your chest before
it stirs into the stomach
and entices you
to sigh.
First draft:
I like the way you taste my name;
let it spread across your tongue,
roll it side to side and aspirate
its flavour in a slow puff
of breath that seduces
my ear to surrender
like a soldier
in a lost war.
I like the way you drink in my voice;
let it slide slowly down your throat
to caress and warm your neck
like a muffler and then let it
settle in your chest before
it stirs into the stomach
and entices you
to sigh.
I like the way you make me feel
like a full-bodied wine,
cherished and desired.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Bare
Revised:
The museum is silent
except for the sound
of exhibits not breathing,
of a mummy not unwrapping itself,
of dinosaurs’ bones not creaking,
of birds not flapping their wings,
of bugs not crawling
and of emptiness not hissing at you.
Our house is bare
except for the collection
of things untouched,
of lights not turned on,
of doors not unlocked,
of sofa not sat on,
of cupboards not opened
and of thoughts not thrown away.
First draft:
The museum is silent
except for the sound
of exhibits not breathing,
of a mummy not unwrapping itself,
of dinosaurs’ bones not creaking,
of birds not flapping their wings,
of bugs not crawling
and of emptiness not hissing at you.
Our house is bare
except for the collection
of things untouched,
of lights not turned on,
of doors not unlocked,
of sofa not sat on,
of cupboards not opened
and of mind not emptied of thoughts.
The museum is silent
except for the sound
of exhibits not breathing,
of a mummy not unwrapping itself,
of dinosaurs’ bones not creaking,
of birds not flapping their wings,
of bugs not crawling
and of emptiness not hissing at you.
Our house is bare
except for the collection
of things untouched,
of lights not turned on,
of doors not unlocked,
of sofa not sat on,
of cupboards not opened
and of thoughts not thrown away.
First draft:
The museum is silent
except for the sound
of exhibits not breathing,
of a mummy not unwrapping itself,
of dinosaurs’ bones not creaking,
of birds not flapping their wings,
of bugs not crawling
and of emptiness not hissing at you.
Our house is bare
except for the collection
of things untouched,
of lights not turned on,
of doors not unlocked,
of sofa not sat on,
of cupboards not opened
and of mind not emptied of thoughts.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Myth or Truth?
I am a fish in a glass bowl,
long dead but I still have to
dance to your symphony
each time you pipe
the flute, each time
my mail box clinks.
I am an ostrich without
its head; my mind lost
in the sand each time
you draw a magnet
across my lips
to make it pucker in a kiss.
I am a unicorn, myth or truth,
now extinct but tease
to life by your breath
because you never know
I am dead.
------------------------------------
Note: This one should undergo a major revision but I'm not sure how I should go about it. I think I'll workshop this at PFFA.
long dead but I still have to
dance to your symphony
each time you pipe
the flute, each time
my mail box clinks.
I am an ostrich without
its head; my mind lost
in the sand each time
you draw a magnet
across my lips
to make it pucker in a kiss.
I am a unicorn, myth or truth,
now extinct but tease
to life by your breath
because you never know
I am dead.
------------------------------------
Note: This one should undergo a major revision but I'm not sure how I should go about it. I think I'll workshop this at PFFA.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Sevenling (Continents)
Today's lunch at a cafe in a cool mall
was pumpkin soup, spaghetti aglio olio
and vafler, washed down with a latte.
Dinner was a loud affair at a Chinese coffee shop
where we were served chicken porridge,
char siu cheong fun and sweet red bean soup.
Continents are merely patches on a map.
was pumpkin soup, spaghetti aglio olio
and vafler, washed down with a latte.
Dinner was a loud affair at a Chinese coffee shop
where we were served chicken porridge,
char siu cheong fun and sweet red bean soup.
Continents are merely patches on a map.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
The Bridge
Revised (slightly revised):
I passed a bridge today,
which I did not cross
but instead hung onto the edge
like a cat being given a bath,
pondered if it was a test and waited
for my legs to step unafraid
on wavering shadows
and snarling seabugs.
I was afraid, afraid
of the colour of the sky
at the other end, afraid
of the sunset bleeding
into my skin, afraid
of wavering shadows
ghosting my body
and snarling seabugs
gnawing at my bones, afraid
of the exploration
of truths untold.
First draft:
I passed a bridge today,
which I did not cross
but instead hung onto the edge
like a cat being given a bath,
pondered if it was a test and waited
for my legs to step unafraid
on wavering shadows
and snarling seabugs.
I did not cross the bridge
because I was afraid
of the colour of the sky
at the other end, afraid
of the sunset bleeding
into my skin, afraid
of the exploration
of truths untold, afraid
of wavering shadows
ghosting my body
and snarling seabugs
gnawing at my bones.
I passed a bridge today,
which I did not cross
but instead hung onto the edge
like a cat being given a bath,
pondered if it was a test and waited
for my legs to step unafraid
on wavering shadows
and snarling seabugs.
I was afraid, afraid
of the colour of the sky
at the other end, afraid
of the sunset bleeding
into my skin, afraid
of wavering shadows
ghosting my body
and snarling seabugs
gnawing at my bones, afraid
of the exploration
of truths untold.
First draft:
I passed a bridge today,
which I did not cross
but instead hung onto the edge
like a cat being given a bath,
pondered if it was a test and waited
for my legs to step unafraid
on wavering shadows
and snarling seabugs.
I did not cross the bridge
because I was afraid
of the colour of the sky
at the other end, afraid
of the sunset bleeding
into my skin, afraid
of the exploration
of truths untold, afraid
of wavering shadows
ghosting my body
and snarling seabugs
gnawing at my bones.
Friday, April 20, 2007
An Art
Your brush shimmers
a tantalizing glow
on the neck, tickles
as it reaches the curve
of the belly
and your fingertip
dots the button.
You line the hips
with a soft stroke
and texture tissues
with vibrant colours
exploding
into scores of symphony.
You paint like Picasso,
intoxicating with your touch.
a tantalizing glow
on the neck, tickles
as it reaches the curve
of the belly
and your fingertip
dots the button.
You line the hips
with a soft stroke
and texture tissues
with vibrant colours
exploding
into scores of symphony.
You paint like Picasso,
intoxicating with your touch.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
The News (at Virginia Tech)
The battled door
and splintered glass
are now as silent
as the man who took 32,
like shooting targets in a range,
for the pictures they did not draw
and the speeches they did not make.
My eyes popped
like the guns that drowned
the girl in her blood
on the floor and put a hole
in the mouth of another.
My head whirled
with the screams
of kids choking
to leave the burial ground.
The hows and whys
drilled at my brain
like a rusted nail.
I tried but could not stop
my eyes,
my ears
or my mind
from puking.
and splintered glass
are now as silent
as the man who took 32,
like shooting targets in a range,
for the pictures they did not draw
and the speeches they did not make.
My eyes popped
like the guns that drowned
the girl in her blood
on the floor and put a hole
in the mouth of another.
My head whirled
with the screams
of kids choking
to leave the burial ground.
The hows and whys
drilled at my brain
like a rusted nail.
I tried but could not stop
my eyes,
my ears
or my mind
from puking.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
The Sky
The sky is a patchwork of blue and white,
free patterns as haphazard as life.
She tumbles over bitter words, stop
mid sentence and bite her lower lip.
The chair creaks under her weight
as her head turns toward the sun,
her eyes ready for a cliche.
I can only speak of the separation
of day and night, of the moon
that shines but has no light,
and that her existence
is not an illusion but a life.
Then she looks at the sky,
a patchwork of blue and white,
free patterns as haphazard as her life.
free patterns as haphazard as life.
She tumbles over bitter words, stop
mid sentence and bite her lower lip.
The chair creaks under her weight
as her head turns toward the sun,
her eyes ready for a cliche.
I can only speak of the separation
of day and night, of the moon
that shines but has no light,
and that her existence
is not an illusion but a life.
Then she looks at the sky,
a patchwork of blue and white,
free patterns as haphazard as her life.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Sevenling (Crossroad)
After our road show, we had a nightcap
at the Hard Rock Cafe, watched the dancing fountain
and shopped for souvenirs at the mall.
A jostle hugged us closer, my cheek touching
his jacket and his arm brushing against my sweater,
as our scents mingled in my scarf,
until we reached a crossroad.
at the Hard Rock Cafe, watched the dancing fountain
and shopped for souvenirs at the mall.
A jostle hugged us closer, my cheek touching
his jacket and his arm brushing against my sweater,
as our scents mingled in my scarf,
until we reached a crossroad.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
New House (Haiku)
(For Jen)
Rain stops this evening
Gutters flush with clean water
Fresh start in new house
Rain stops this evening
Gutters flush with clean water
Fresh start in new house
Saturday, April 14, 2007
A Tall Tail
April 14 - A Tall Tail
Someone let the cat into the office.
It screamed in the pantry.
It screamed in the meeting room.
It screamed at my colleague in finance
and nearly scratched her eyes out.
The panda with her pathetic eye makeup
observed from her corner, chewing her pencils,
while the monkeys looked on in glee,
almost clapping their hands at the spectacle.
The mice hurried back to their holes
and hid behind their monitors.
The rhinoceros sat in her room
oblivious to the flies buzzing outside her door
until her starling went in to pick some ticks,
to which she merely grunted,
"Let the cat be, let the cat be".
So the cat swung her tail everywhere
because everyone let the cat be,
until the dog came in.
Someone let the cat into the office.
It screamed in the pantry.
It screamed in the meeting room.
It screamed at my colleague in finance
and nearly scratched her eyes out.
The panda with her pathetic eye makeup
observed from her corner, chewing her pencils,
while the monkeys looked on in glee,
almost clapping their hands at the spectacle.
The mice hurried back to their holes
and hid behind their monitors.
The rhinoceros sat in her room
oblivious to the flies buzzing outside her door
until her starling went in to pick some ticks,
to which she merely grunted,
"Let the cat be, let the cat be".
So the cat swung her tail everywhere
because everyone let the cat be,
until the dog came in.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Choices
Revised:
Threads of haze weave
into my mind as your voice kisses
my ear and small talk tumbles out
of my mouth like a badly sung song.
My coward eyes inspect
the dust on my shoes
as your eyes touch my hair,
and my cheek burns with knowledge
that your lips are just an inch away.
And I have to greet an alien
who has come back to invade
my blood and threaten
to contaminate
my whole being again.
I have no choice
because I don't mind
that you are standing too close.
First draft:
Threads of haze weave
into my mind as your voice kisses
my ear and small talk tumbles out
of my mouth like a badly sung song.
My eyes are too coward to hold
your gaze so they choose
to inspect for dust on my shoes.
And when your eyes touch my hair,
my cheek knows that your lips
are just an inch away.
And I have to greet an alien
who has come back to invade
my blood and threaten
to contaminate
my whole being again.
I have no choice
because I don't mind
that you are standing too close.
Threads of haze weave
into my mind as your voice kisses
my ear and small talk tumbles out
of my mouth like a badly sung song.
My coward eyes inspect
the dust on my shoes
as your eyes touch my hair,
and my cheek burns with knowledge
that your lips are just an inch away.
And I have to greet an alien
who has come back to invade
my blood and threaten
to contaminate
my whole being again.
I have no choice
because I don't mind
that you are standing too close.
First draft:
Threads of haze weave
into my mind as your voice kisses
my ear and small talk tumbles out
of my mouth like a badly sung song.
My eyes are too coward to hold
your gaze so they choose
to inspect for dust on my shoes.
And when your eyes touch my hair,
my cheek knows that your lips
are just an inch away.
And I have to greet an alien
who has come back to invade
my blood and threaten
to contaminate
my whole being again.
I have no choice
because I don't mind
that you are standing too close.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Our Song
Today you showed me a blue moon
and took over my life. I want you
to look into my eyes and hear
the things I could not say out loud.
Please do not forget this sweetness.
Yes, remember this sweetness, this moment,
our moment in this semi-darkness
as we drink in our closeness, today.
Chorus:
You gave me the answer, a reason to walk this fantasy.
If only, if only, life is as simple as a child’s game,
then it’s our game and we can reach reality.
Stand strong, stand strong, this can be our song.
Today you showed me a blue moon
and your eyes told me I am your jewel,
and you are the gold binding us together;
and man enough to walk beside me.
Please do not forget this feeling.
Yes, remember your feeling, this feeling,
that we’re not on a plane in transit
but living in the cosiness of this lift, today.
and took over my life. I want you
to look into my eyes and hear
the things I could not say out loud.
Please do not forget this sweetness.
Yes, remember this sweetness, this moment,
our moment in this semi-darkness
as we drink in our closeness, today.
Chorus:
You gave me the answer, a reason to walk this fantasy.
If only, if only, life is as simple as a child’s game,
then it’s our game and we can reach reality.
Stand strong, stand strong, this can be our song.
Today you showed me a blue moon
and your eyes told me I am your jewel,
and you are the gold binding us together;
and man enough to walk beside me.
Please do not forget this feeling.
Yes, remember your feeling, this feeling,
that we’re not on a plane in transit
but living in the cosiness of this lift, today.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Monday, April 09, 2007
My Friend's Adulation
My friend’s adulation is so fake
when she smiles with her haunting eyes.
Sometimes I wish there’s more to take.
My friend’s adulation is so fake.
She only loves me for her own sake,
yet I never fail to listen to her lies.
My friend’s adulation is so fake,
when she smiles with her haunting eyes.
when she smiles with her haunting eyes.
Sometimes I wish there’s more to take.
My friend’s adulation is so fake.
She only loves me for her own sake,
yet I never fail to listen to her lies.
My friend’s adulation is so fake,
when she smiles with her haunting eyes.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
The Liturgy and The Hair
As the loudspeaker blasted out the liturgy,
I sat at the pew pretending to pay attention
to the words of God. I focused
my eyes on the hair in front of me,
long, black and curly with a big butterfly clip
clasping half of the lot in the middle,
a smaller one clipped at the right side
and two plain pins on the left. It was
a bunch of hair done well as every hair
was in place and the force of the fan
could only sway the few strands left to stray
at the front of the face (I was guessing
because the girl with the hair kept brushing
her hair away from her face). Unfortunately,
she did not stop at that. She would fiddle
with a strand or two behind her ears,
first the right side, then the left. After that
she would proceed to brush both hands over
the long strands down the back and swung
them to the side, first to the right then to the left.
Then she would twirl a strand that got disentangled
with all the brushing and the swinging.
And when she thought that the hair has gotten
a little out of place (which actually was not), she
would clasp and unclasp the clips and the pins
until she tied her hair up again the way it was before.
And I prayed “Thanks be to God”.
But that was not the end of the liturgy
or the doing of the hair because as the priest drone
on, the fiddling, the brushing and the swinging
of the hair went on. And I wondered
what was more dreary this Easter Sunday morning:
the liturgy or the hair?
I sat at the pew pretending to pay attention
to the words of God. I focused
my eyes on the hair in front of me,
long, black and curly with a big butterfly clip
clasping half of the lot in the middle,
a smaller one clipped at the right side
and two plain pins on the left. It was
a bunch of hair done well as every hair
was in place and the force of the fan
could only sway the few strands left to stray
at the front of the face (I was guessing
because the girl with the hair kept brushing
her hair away from her face). Unfortunately,
she did not stop at that. She would fiddle
with a strand or two behind her ears,
first the right side, then the left. After that
she would proceed to brush both hands over
the long strands down the back and swung
them to the side, first to the right then to the left.
Then she would twirl a strand that got disentangled
with all the brushing and the swinging.
And when she thought that the hair has gotten
a little out of place (which actually was not), she
would clasp and unclasp the clips and the pins
until she tied her hair up again the way it was before.
And I prayed “Thanks be to God”.
But that was not the end of the liturgy
or the doing of the hair because as the priest drone
on, the fiddling, the brushing and the swinging
of the hair went on. And I wondered
what was more dreary this Easter Sunday morning:
the liturgy or the hair?
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Leaves
We saw the wind,
tossing crinkled leaves up
in the air like ripples
on a pond, its breath
drowning their faint rustling.
Young ones, nodding
and bouncing, hung
onto trees swaying
in a surrender to some calling.
Cars in suffocating haste
further the chaos as she watched
from her bed by the window, calm
oblivious to turmoil,
this state of life and death
in nature’s struggle.
tossing crinkled leaves up
in the air like ripples
on a pond, its breath
drowning their faint rustling.
Young ones, nodding
and bouncing, hung
onto trees swaying
in a surrender to some calling.
Cars in suffocating haste
further the chaos as she watched
from her bed by the window, calm
oblivious to turmoil,
this state of life and death
in nature’s struggle.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Easter Lilies
Your sweat has bloomed
and the Garden of Gethsemane
is deserted except for trumpets
blowing a promise of spring.
White and glowing
in your room, bonding
me with the fragrance
of Remember Me,
Easter Lilies adorn
my dreams each year.
and the Garden of Gethsemane
is deserted except for trumpets
blowing a promise of spring.
White and glowing
in your room, bonding
me with the fragrance
of Remember Me,
Easter Lilies adorn
my dreams each year.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Sparrows
Haze and smog in early April;
the city skyline disappeared.
An angry sun burned
the trees into a misty image
on the pond and an orange
glow skimmed the surface,
like the aurora in her eyes.
An electric streamer cracked
the sky and stone birds
turned into sparrows and flew.
Her chuckle was as swift
as their wings and the cable
like an eyebrow twitched in tune.
the city skyline disappeared.
An angry sun burned
the trees into a misty image
on the pond and an orange
glow skimmed the surface,
like the aurora in her eyes.
An electric streamer cracked
the sky and stone birds
turned into sparrows and flew.
Her chuckle was as swift
as their wings and the cable
like an eyebrow twitched in tune.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Shoes With No Feet
You were my legs when I had none.
My feet are now bare and aching.
Where are my sandals, that shiny
gold and white, those wings
of a butterfly like a tattoo
on the curve of my ankle
to the tips of my toes?
My mobile remains attach
to the plug on the wall,
missing the hands that uncurl
its wire and ignite it with fire.
I am now my own chauffeur,
maid and butler; rolled into a single
dough to be punched down
before the bake.
And I drive while I sleep,
mock by spiders climbing
up my neck and into my brain.
I can hear them laugh as I weave
a yarn in another dimension
and cars zoom past an inch away.
Their web, that black sheet of sky
presses on my life
until I have no feet.
My feet are now bare and aching.
Where are my sandals, that shiny
gold and white, those wings
of a butterfly like a tattoo
on the curve of my ankle
to the tips of my toes?
My mobile remains attach
to the plug on the wall,
missing the hands that uncurl
its wire and ignite it with fire.
I am now my own chauffeur,
maid and butler; rolled into a single
dough to be punched down
before the bake.
And I drive while I sleep,
mock by spiders climbing
up my neck and into my brain.
I can hear them laugh as I weave
a yarn in another dimension
and cars zoom past an inch away.
Their web, that black sheet of sky
presses on my life
until I have no feet.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Lily
Flowers tell a different story.
She loved them. Brilliant red
Carnations are nectar to the eyes.
And yellow fluff balls of Chrysanthemums
vied for top spot. It was always a tie.
Then she sprang a surprise.
Her favourite was the Lily, pastel and pink.
She loved them. Brilliant red
Carnations are nectar to the eyes.
And yellow fluff balls of Chrysanthemums
vied for top spot. It was always a tie.
Then she sprang a surprise.
Her favourite was the Lily, pastel and pink.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Groundhog Day
Some nights when the clock
becomes my heart and the ceiling
a movie screen, her story plays
a midnight series and the wall hums
the background music. Reels are sealed
like cornea to the eye and there's no remotefor rewinding or button for editing.
They only serve Deja Vu or Groundhog Day.
becomes my heart and the ceiling
a movie screen, her story plays
a midnight series and the wall hums
the background music. Reels are sealed
like cornea to the eye and there's no remotefor rewinding or button for editing.
They only serve Deja Vu or Groundhog Day.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Smell of Rain
Ants scurry into cracks of pavement
as rain sizzles the air and drums
the leaves and petals in tuneless melody.
Smell of heat fills the nostrils like a wisp
of ammonia and gutters overflow
to spill crystals formed through years
of only having her stitched into memories.
as rain sizzles the air and drums
the leaves and petals in tuneless melody.
Smell of heat fills the nostrils like a wisp
of ammonia and gutters overflow
to spill crystals formed through years
of only having her stitched into memories.
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