The Melancholy of An Old Tree

There's nothing special here, in this park
but an old oak tree:
the branches are shivering
being hugged by lines of autumn rain

Up above the sky, a blue moon
watches over it suspiciously--
catching our names
beautifully carved in the cold of its trunk.






*linked in Creative Writing Ink and Hyde Park Poetry

Slice of Longing


This fresh thought came to my mind
when I was drying the carpet under the morning Sun:
there was a slice of longing
slipped hesitantly in the sloppiness of Wednesday--
and I didn't want it

I hit the carpet hoping that the sudden thought
would be blown away together with the dust
in the crispy summer wind;
rather, the dust made me sneeze

I tried to remember the dream I dreamt last night
it was you in my dream, we sat together talking nothing
I shook my head, then shifted my eyes
to a glass of water I put in the terrace--
an effort to forget that dream--
but my eyes caught the light blue table cloth:
the favorite color of yours.



*linked in Poetry Pantry #108

Is There Anybody There?


When you are posing right under the rain of light
you got blind and deaf
of the look of the truth and the song of love

When you are now in total darkness
you hear all those voices you used to ignore are fading away
and begin to be so worried that you cried:

Is there anybody there?




You Jumped; I Jumped!


Photo courtesy: Roxana Munteanu

We jumped into the unknown world

The not-knowing was such a mysterious pain:
We saw colors and darkness in turn or at once
We moved and swam the style we’ve never given a try
We tried to hold on something we could't trust
And the doubt was always the faithful shadows 

The not-knowing was also a chance, however:
new colors would fill our souls,
the song of wave would soften our moves,
and trust would not be  a sweepstakes to fight for:
for they were grants for the brave soul which once had lost

We jumped into the unknown
and different world
And thus, that’s another bitter pain.


***




Tomorrow is Nine

Tomorrow is nine
may it be a sign:
the new path is flooded with warm sunshine
is chilled with lines of dozens of pines!

Tomorrow is nine
is mine!



* linked in Poetry Pantry #91 and Poets Rally #63

Past and Future Chocolate

I got a sweet little present:
a bar of wonderful chocolate
from a far away friend
a friend I might miss a lot

The chocolate is neither too sweet nor too bitter
it's fair sweet and little bit bitter
it's carved beautifully with a picture
a picture of the past and the future

I wished I could keep it forever
but alas, it will soon expire
have no choice but eat the chocolate
so I could feel it close with the string of my heart

Do you think I'm crazy?
Well, maybe!



*linked in Think Tank Thursday #85 and Poets Rally #62

Dear Yellow Leaf


I always believe that green will always be your color. I always cherish your color of green; the symbols of life, spirit of life, beauty. You used to be up there hanging on a certain branch—so high that I hardly can reach you. But this makes me always longing to climb up the tree and touch you. As simple as that. I have never think of picking you and then putting you between pages of my favorite book, so I can have you always. All I want is to see you staying green on your branch, lively, and fresh as morning dews or rain drops in the afternoon wash you through.

Up to this day, I have never climbed that tree and sat on the branch where you belong. I’m too cowards to give it try. But this morning, I picked a ladder in the backyard--it seems that my father used it yesterday to cut some trees--and encouraged myself to climb the ladder and climbed on your branch. The ladder is too short that I couldn't go further, closer to you. But this was the first time I could see you this close. I sat on the lowest branch. Since I was afraid to climb higher, I was quite happy to be that high, that close to you. And I am sure, you could feel and hear me. Right?

Uhmm, what do I expect, anyway? Sitting there for a while and doing nothing! When I was thinking about this, all of sudden, I was worried about you. I wished that you were different leaf. I wished you wouldn't change color as typical leaves. That is why I stood up and tried to get you. Useless. You were just so far away up there. The morning sun was shining on you--on your wet surface because of morning dews. You had never been looked this fragile and attractive at once. I suddenly knew that the time was coming soon. You slowly were changing color into yellow. It made me sad. But somehow I felt pleased for I had tried to reach you. If tomorrow the autumn wind fails you to the ground, I won’t feel so miserable—I hope.

It was raining cats and dogs this afternoon. The wind blew harder as it used to. The sky was far from blue. Then, I just knew it; it was the time!
When the rain stopped, I rushed to the yard and there I saw you. Yellow and wet.

Adieau

***


NB: 
No matter what, you were my green leaf. Ever.



*for creative writing ink (January 23rd)


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