Tears stem from somewhere so divine.
While looking at tainted skies
Of reveled streets to more stretching lines
Numbered trails; fresh and heavy
days that are no more
perhaps,
I know not what they mean.
Quarks and energy have become empty texts
Strange and sad that they creased piped rain
Tears caused by no immediate, identifiable grief
still,
I know not what they mean?
Poetry writing
I found a man he seemed so fond of life
He wasn’t merely passing by
I thought we could sit by the Fire
For what appeared to be a new chapter in sight
There all gone without the Light.
Today the rain ruined my umbrella
My hair as if a man had poured sweet wine over, my arms flapped like a native duck.
And It all came back how you would wish a raincoat was sent for me.
Today the rain had broken up in the air and my feet were too idle for everyone’s stomping shoes to get a seat among the vultures in the zoo. But the servant leads like soft rain pattering; leaking through the roof.
Then there are smiles and
Little banter
There are days but no
Laughter
cemented floors and walls
Caging souls inside holes
Trees but no birds are singing
Mini boats of escapism
Hanging close to real living
A way of life or just away
From living?
Dreams are all clanging inside this tawdry piggy bank.
How wonderful if only to spend it in an hour. Arguments could be avoided and spirit would have been lifted.
Blockbuster rose
She might just be a rose with faux mink eyelashes
Blood red petals with everlasting sweetness
Surprise! Surprise! She might just make a great girlfriend
Underneath the redness is a stinging bareness.
She’s a blockbuster rose surviving the harsh soil
Filling fragrance under the same sky or the impossible black hole
The only thing she might not do is to make you pluck her away
From the brown earth that turned her into a thriving rose, a persistent blockbuster.
Every drop of milk is sound against sound. Every time I miss you a thought always glides and I’m reminded that Love is never linear. When I read a book, watch a film, climb the highest mountain and pause to think, I start to dream. When I dream I get so sappy so romantic so enthusiastic that many times I realize that I’ve left my sanity in a different vortex. I’ve once envisioned myself up there, there on top of the mountain, writing names to every star my eyes could reach, breathing every ounce of you along with the whistling leaves of the night, feeling so mighty whenever my skin remembers your fire. I think I could moan better than Madonna by just staring at your eyes. My ears are for love they hear your silly and naughty outburst and I just couldn’t help but give it another moan…
You and I together, let’s be vulnerable to turn the shadows into one single silhouette as we recline.
The world on the sides
Most of the time we stand at the center surrounded by guests. We think full. Today I’m at the periphery where two different ends meet, the sea licking the shore, the river flows and comes out to a place unknown– words jump out of a great thought and my shadow grows taller behind me, risking hyperbolé, to be a better stick.
Love
Love
Is a word to mean everything for someone; the soul can recognize alone.
Loving someone intensely but without haste is such that—–
Like feeling you flesh and bones with zero probability.
Sex with my emotions
My emotions really enjoy having real sex with me– A.M-P.M, how it only gets better casually.
So softly I said to the thing in between my two dangling ears, ” I need no substitute only a sweet niggling truce.”
A composite of me and the universe 