A Mini Poetry Blog
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 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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And life, by nature, is the most lavish feast, painted four seasons combined with five senses, bewitching skies and sweet gardens be my faves, but they are plain without a home and some love. Can I buy a Heaven’s mansion like the gods have? I’d plant dulcet Narcissus and sip summery dews, dance every cloud…
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In vain I flaunted the poetic names of Byron sort, And cited those Shelleys we now worship no more, for Fate has her own say and God must have his way, So dearest, hold tight and see my truths interplay: Of all examples by the shallow world I’d confess, I know pearls, heavenly stars, and…
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The twilight of your face, the unseen meadow in your voice, drew me to your eyes’spring solace. When we hear the din of our aloneness, When we risk the change that creates and destroys, Is this the last incarnation of a sacred living breath? I grieve the deleted passage, I regret the untold truth, It…
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Your hands hold roses always in a way that reaching Far to me, when I hide, doubt, and fail to believing. And when I rise, trembling under lunar and her verdant veil, the effervescent and rainless wind blows off the ancient well, awakes my flaccid face and tears up those terrifying speeches, I feel my…
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Your smiling, or the contemplation of such, is the wondrous life force of the airy earth, Lucent as shadows slowed by wading moonlights, teaches the leaves to pause in cascading languors, And the wood nymphs now must sing and strive to dream. Their hair like willows diffuse the rhythmic monotones, Their gaze towards silken river…
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How fate orchestrates is unfathomable, I come from ancient ocean another shore, The god-forsaken soil and the thorny-land, and you, my friend, the long-known bright world. When I am feeling depressed and anxiously sullen, all you have to do is kindly send me another whisper, and reveal life’s tenderness in its flesh and breath. when…
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Do you know the land, where the lemon-trees grow, Among darkened leaves crimson-lychees glow, A mellow wind swings from the pale blue sky, The myrtle stands mute and the oak tree high? Do you know the house, It has columns and beams, There are the hallway gleams and glittering rooms, Are those marble figures looking…
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Whenever my heartbeats out of rhythm, I secretly blame you, my friend! like a violet in the meadow grew, Bowed to earth, and hid from view: what a strange melody, oftentimes, you’ve sung to my heart’s sentiments. Are you caught by bonny youth By that beloved form and fresh dew, By those eyes seem so…
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When daisies pied and violets azure And mayflowers all milky-white, When cuckoo-buds burst out first yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with your choice of pursue. My friends, the things I do admire In a good life be these, I find: The work decent, efforts spent without pain, The leisure plenty, is squandered without shame,…
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I asked him for help, his wife had been mad, he nodded, with eyes fixed on a shelf full of philosophical books, and that was it. I begged for his support, his wife had been bad, he frowned, the eloquent tongue of a diplomat fell in dead silence, and that was it. I cried for…
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If I am allowed of heartfelt honesty, I cherish neither my profession nor education, they are dust and ash in my truthful eyes; If I am allowed of blatant sincerity, I am of deprived both ambition and direction, they mean nothing to a woman who dwells in infinity of time. If I am to be…
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Softly, in the mist of moonlight, a woman is singing to me, black feet-long hair with a smile so genteel; taking me back down the vista of years, still I see a child sitting behind the grand oak tree, accompanied by the drowsy eyes of blooming leaves, and harbored within a thousand impossible dreams, when…
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I’d love my world be a freshly painted fresco, And I be blessed with the genius of Michelangelo, where I see a fair angel in the marble and carve relentlessly till I set him free; where coloured shapes and misplaced hallows of aged, ineffectual lives melt into white flowers blowing carelessly in the wind, And…
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Beauty are the days that quietly slip away, and night stars brightening never in delay, Velvet blue, silent true, whispering words of long lost lullabies, one shade the more, one ray the less, even my darkest shadow rests now in her nameless grace. When the night draws near, it fills my heart with such dreams…
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The Modern Etiquette 