A Mini Poetry Blog
I once saw a galaxy of grass knitting the mountain top, strongly, steadily, expanding and claiming territories. From there grew new suns, moons and fresh constellations. They reminded me of you. Your face and your smiles, I only vaguely remember, But Dear, I need not see you to know you are here. Your breath of…
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How the time of youth is to be spent? One day in despair and another in dreaming, One step to heaven and another to the cliff. Yet no spring beauty nor summer passion has such grace in the harsh face of your pestilence, for these wrinkles tell a story of fever wishes, and our righteousness…
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I was born by the river in the caress of snow mountains, in the season of dead lotus that had driven out most saints, Seagulls lamenting the icy cold and the angels sliding away. while the aged oak trees loyally stood in the rage of winds, The dusky of liquor blent in wintry rainfall and…
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I want to be an Alba rose this summer, genteel, pink, intense, and translucent. Freshly born out of soft dripping rains and untouchable thanks to my hefty thorns. As I turn around, million shades of golden hues form a corsage in orbit around my watery waists, they contain unconquered territories in the hearts that sing…
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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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When the great fear came, I grew muted- When the great sorrow came, I grew muted- When the great success came, I was muted- When the great love came, I was again, muted- Oh yes, I lived in a muted marble castle, with only the language of wind and the melody of rain. And the…
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Happiness, how much do we owe to it? When Mom and Dad in my nightmares every time I closed my eyes, I wanted to be a daughter of the rain dripping down my windows, cool with mellow jasmine scent, coming down from moon-lit clouds, I then float and wreathe and brighten with robes of silver…
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She could be in my dreams or a yellow-paged painting, the smallest girl staring from afar with her freckled cheeks, her sun-burned face red as ripe tropical lychees, her hands always hide behind blue chiffon curtains for she never tells you what she thinks, but her heart pounding hard in rhythmic sonata On Christmas,cold and…
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Love is in your eyes, sitting silent by my side Going on, holding hands, walking through the night Hold me up, hold me tight, lift me up to touch the sky Teaching me to love with heart, helping me open my mind I can fly, I’m proud that I can fly To give the best…
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With me, life is bitter sweet, I’ve been a stranger to myself, and I’ve been to deceptive hell. Yet I still believe the songs of childhood, that innocent tears rolling down my cheeks following me through the kettles of ages, echoing arrowheads of words in silent hours. I believe that one day goodness will come…
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It seems I’ve deviated from your gaze, Hiding safely inside April’s coy dews, Longing for a crystal world of my own. Smiles, tears, dancing all my life, dreams as the north wind blows restlessly, to bleed, to rest in penance ever willingly, and to wake at dawn still, holding a fragment of life’s lamenting song…
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What chapter are we at? Sometimes I am numb, Sometimes I am touched, Sometimes I feel dead, Sometimes I see hope. Are you still here with me in my youth, my breath, my silence, and those of our stubborn faith? Sometimes I wonder what they see when again probing and staring into my eyes? For…
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It is true that every time I write, I want you to be near. So close and so near, I’d drop two poppyseeds in both of your eyes, one is lilac-purple, another be Christmas-red, See they grow and bloom, pollinated by my gaze, showered first in morning rain then evening breeze, Next summer, I’ll come…
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In synchronicity, We found one another. In escaping, We were encircled by Shadows. When the dark ships move through melting shores, When storms surge tenfold flung up endless cyclones, I see again my bright ironical names in capital letters. In this shimmering, ever glowing and peace-finding voyage, Which wave on her way will stitch my…
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In sweet gardens each lily bright and shine, How they did spring, bud, bloom, wither and die? oftentimes, the past is just a breath away, what has named invisible is a floating sonata, persisting softly on trotting a memory awaiting, as if we’d live to all Eternity with all becoming. Yet there’s no words found…
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The Modern Etiquette 