Stuck

Photo is from here.

I stared at the sky
my mind flew high to the moon
stuck among the star light









*Note:

Haiku is a poem of 17 syllables divided in three lines: (5-7-5).

First line consists of 5 syllables, second line 7 syllables, last line 5 syllables.

--contributed to dversepoets.

Taste of Summer

The taste of summer
is humid. I hear the sound of
timid hullabaloo.






Note:
linked in Poets Rally.

We are Books, We are Stories

Photo by Bethan

We are books, we are stories
falling on a green green grass on a valley
dandelion clocks welcome us kindly
make us feeling like homey

We are books, we are stories

falling on a green green grass on a valley

the valley may soon be our tomb

and dandelion is our bloom

We are books, we are stories

falling on a green green grass on a valley

lost yet happy

in each other's company!

*Note:

The photo is a prompt for a contest held by Figment.
That I was late for the submission but in love to the photo promt, I kept writing this poem for the prompt.

In addition, I linked this poem for Jingle Poetry.

A House of Stone

I build a house of stone
on a rock by the sea
not to fight the coming wave
nor to prevent it
flooding to the seashore

I build a house of stone
on the rock by the sea
to challenge me
to stay calm hearing the sound of the wave
and remain strong when the wave beats me

I build a house of stone
on the rock by the sea
to find a me!



*written for Creative Writing Ink and Poetry Pantry #58

A Beautiful Boy on a Hill

I could never be able to read your mind. You have big brown eyes--crystal clear. Having those big beautiful eyes, it should be easy to enter through them and then read your mind. But, I don't know what or why I have never been able to read you, not to mention understand you. 

You always come that way: running up to the hill as if someone is waiting for you and you are late. I can feel the spark of hope every time I hear your footsteps getting closer. I think the wild rabbit can also feel that. This rabbit—I don't know how you are connected with him—will also come here as you arrive. You will take him, kiss him, and talk to him as if you two are best friends meeting to have an afternoon tea. But, there is no tea here, no laughter, but the song of birds and certain bugs. Sometimes, you bring carrot for the rabbit. I always wonder if you know that this rabbit doesn't live here, he comes only when you drop by. 

It is always at dusk every time you come here. At first, I thought it's because of the rabbit. Lately, I know or I supposed to know that it's not about the rabbit, nor about the beautiful sunset you can see from this hill. Your beautiful eyes will always wander about the paths leading to train station in the foot of the hill. It’s on the opposite site of where you come from. Sometimes, I see you closing your eyes tight and then saying prayers—I guess. I can tell it from the move of your lips and your hands' language. Afterwards, you will open your eyes slowly and then eagerly stare at the far paths. You will wait a moment and then get disappointed. Once a while, you seem contemplate while staring blankly to the far yellow-reddish sky. The rabbit will stay next to you, eating grasses or simply resting or accompanying you—unnoticed. 

I guess you are nine or ten years old. Most boys your age usually play a kite or play in park or watch TV at home at this time. But you are not typical boy, I think. I know it by looking through your eyes or from the way you stare that path and sunset and those birds flying home. Your eyes hide something I couldn't even guess. 

As the sun slips into the far west, the light of your big beautiful eyes will also off.  I can feel that you are so sad that I want to hug you and say nice words to ease your feeling. I have never had that chance.

You will walk down the hill after kissing the rabbit. The rabbit will soon run and disappear among the bushes. I can hardly feel the spark of hope you bring when you're running up here. 

Seeing you walking down the hill that way, I always wish I could tell you that the time will come. Someday, you can meet someone you're waiting for. You only need to be patient a little bit. When the time is right, everything will be okay, so you shouldn't be that sad. You are a little boy, beautiful boy. You don't deserve to feel the pain. The pain I've never known but I can feel it so strong. Or oftentimes, I really want to let you know that I'm here next to you—that you are not alone. But thinking about it, it makes me even sadder. I'm nothing but an old tree on a hill.

*Note:

written for Creative Writing Ink

The Shapes of Shadow

I've never bothered about a shadow before
if it's darker or shorter or longer
under certain moonlight
or shafts of sunlight

That night when we walked by Mediteranean sea
under the moonlight so round and big it looked little bit eerie
you told me about the shape of shadow in that city:
"Our shadows here look longer than usual, can you see?"

Oh yes, I saw it and I liked it
I like the idea of paying attention to it
ever since, it's kind of my new habit
to scrutinize and compare the shadow we can build

Now, that we're so far away
that talk on shapes of shadow makes me composed
as it will always remind me to that day
when our path had once criscrossed!


*Note:
written for Poets United and Poetry Pantry #60.

The Story of the Elephant and the White Dog

This is a story about a white dog and a big elephant
who like playing together among the wild bush and plant
they walk or run or jump or scream
all fun they can do under the moon beam

As the sun rises they will separate
the elephant used to feel desperate:
the white dog should run home as a good pet
leaving the elephant to hide in a cave until the sun sets

tonight, the dog don't come to the hiding cave
the elephant wonders the trouble his friend may have
and then playing alone up in a hill
hoping the dog would soon come up and join him the chill

maybe the dog is sick, to himself elephant said
it has been three days since the last joy they had
or he must have a very big trouble
that he couldn't go for mingle

Elephant considers maybe he should go to town when the night falls
so slowly and secretly walking on tiptoe between the walls
as it has been a week
the dog didn't give any news let alone a lick

That I and the elephant don't know where or why or what happen to the dog is
could you do us a favor and be kind please
to help the lonely elephant in finding out
what makes the dog just couldn't hang out?


*Note:
This Narrative poem is written for Bluebellbooks' Short Story Slam Week 6--Children's Literature.

Update:
I got the award for this post. Check it here...

The Courtesy of the Wooden Mask

Photo Courtesy of Tess Kincaid

This beautiful wooden mask

hanging on the wall of your past

It never once betrays you or me or us

for it only shows the real face of itself

not the real you or me--

not the real us

Now that you and me

want to see each other--

the real us

we're suddenly in doubt, worried

for we may betray

the courtesy of the wooden mask!

*Note:

Written for Magpie Tales #74

The Broken House

Raspy whisper of wind is still rumbling

through a house fallen into a ruin

one night storm made it rubbles--

salient proof of fall.

I now rare to know,

if resiliency

will rummage

the broken

house!

*Note:

This Nonet is written for One Stop Poetry. 

Nonet is a form of a poem with a total of nine lines. The first line must have nine syllables, second line eight syllables, third line seven syllables and so on until you end with one syllable.

You Can't Grow a Tree in a Kitchen

You can't grow a tree in a kitchen

on a dining table made of glass

for a tree needs to grow its root

deep down rooted in the earth

You can't grow a tree in a kitchen

where the sun is blocked to enter

for a tree needs shafts of sunlight

to make a food in its green leaves

You can't grow a tree in a kitchen

but you don't believe me and listen

the smile in your face make me worry

for it will turn to be angry and gloomy

as the tree will soon be weary

You can't grow a tree in a kitchen

but you don't believe me and listen

as well as you won't understand

that we should sometimes be kind

to let something go for peace of our mind

You just can't grow a tree in a kitchen

but you don't believe me and listen...

*Note:

This post is written for Thursday Short Story Slam Week-5 Children's Literature. Photo is taken from this website.

Besides, I also submit this post for Thursday Poets Rally Week 48. 

***

Update:

It's surprising that I have won The Perfect Poet Award of Week 48. 

The following is my award. Thank you for the award, Poets Rally.
Find my Haiku for the award picture as follows... :)

***

The Summer is Ready 

dandelion clocks fly free 

as light breeze blows gently 

Oh, summer is ready!

***

I vote for Cherlyn!

*

I See This Girl and Guy

This picture is a work of Bonnie.

I see this girl, a particular girl

standing in a corner of this gallery:

she looks so worried or weary

I can tell it from the swing of her earrings from pearl

I see this guy, a guy in all black

I can't tell how he looks or feel

he just seems so amazed he stands still

in front of the big painting of black

I suddenly realize it

this girl can't take off her eyes from the guy in a black

who can't take his eyes off the painting of black

I then wondered, but please forgive me for this thought:

if this is a story of love triangle in a modern world--

between a girl, a guy, and this guy's beloved artwork.

*Note:

This poem is written for Friday Poetically with Bryan Miller who provided three artworks of her friend, Bonnie, to be picked one as an inspiration of writing a poem.

Thanks to Bryan and Bonnie for this week's prompt... :)

In This Little Summer House

Van Gogh

In this little summer house

I sit still and browse

through the vast field of wheat

remembering how we first met

The big yellow sun shines 

the birds sing in the far pines

I listen to their voice

giving me such strenght to rejoice

How much I miss you, how could I tell?

You're just so far away, I couldn't trace your tale

*Note:

This post is written for Mag 72 by Magpie Tales.

Besides, I linked it in One Single Impression #183.

The Sad-Looking Stranger

I could only wonder:

What's there crisscrossing your mind

I believe it's not that clear as the plain water,

but black as the umbrella in your hand

I could only stare:

What's there in your look

It seems you long forget how to smile

no strange you look so crook

If only I could take a look to your mind

as easy as I open and see inside your big blue bag

maybe I could give you my hand

to find soon your lost luck back!

* Note:

This post is written for Writing Exercise (Monday, 4th July) for Creative Writing Ink.

My Phobia and You

Yes we know exactly that I'm phobia of heights. Acrophobia, they call it. So, it's not a secret that I will avoid doing anything which will trigger my phobia. I hate balcony. I avoid stepping up second floor let alone looking through the window glass from a room in a second floor, not to mention in a 13th floor and so on. There's no strange that I hate apartment. I prefer spending more hours trip by bus to travelling by airplane. That's why I've never gone that far, unlike you, the most adventurous man and passionate backpacker I've ever known. Maybe, this is one reason of why I fall in love with you. People say we tend to fall in love with ourselves that we see in others, but apart from that we tend also to fall in love with someone who will complete us as persons.

I don't know where you are right now. The last postcard I received from you telling me that you are somewhere in Asia. You said you fall in love to the beautiful scenery around you, the fresh air, the singing of birds you hear every morning, the tropical atmosphere, the local ladies, etc. You even wished that you could live there with me for the rest of your life. You also said that you can't wait to do climbing in the near mountain the next day. You showed me the track you will pass to that mountain; it is on the postcard picture. This bridge--I even couldn't believe people call this frail piece of wood and rope as a bridge--will lead your way to the mountain and to find the climbing spot.

The last line you wrote was a joke saying that next time I should pass this frail bridge to get me you. Smile emoticon. Full stop. Your name.

It has been two months since I received your postcard. You've never made me this long waiting and wondering your story of where you are now, what you feel, where your next heading or plan, the local food and girls, what you do to get some money, how you get lost and find new adventure, how  the rock climbing was, etc.

This postcard is the most read since one month ago, although I suffer from a headache and I always tremble every time I see the picture.

And those symptoms are getting worse when I read your last line words.

***

I don't know what happen to me this morning. When I stared at the bridge, I felt like I will be able to pass this bridge for you. I felt no more headache, trembling, or nausea. Yes, for the first time in my life: I want to pass this bridge, a frail bridge. This thought made my blood rushed faster. I will be able to go by plane. Maybe I need to meet psychiatrist first, but it seems not a big problem. I've never been this brave; I will try my best to pass it, if this bridge really could get me to you.

But, how could I know that you are there waiting?

*Note:

This post is written for the Writing Exercise by Creative Writing Ink and The Tale Teller #3.

The Vacation of Two Angels

Black Angel    :      Do you think somebody will notice that we're angels in disguised?

White Angel   :      We're too old for angels. 

Black Angel    :      Ha..ha...ha...

White Angel   :      Just don't let somebody see our faces.

Black Angel    :      Okay, White. I will listen to your words today. I won't let them.

White Angel  :      But actually, I'm wondering if this is weird to have an umbrella in this beautiful twilight. I'm afraid this umbrella will attract somebody's attention

Black Angel  :    That's okay. People can stand weird strangers more than beautiful angels. It's more dangerous to stand here without umbrellas. They will notice our strangely beautiful and magical faces trapped in old-ladies' bodies.

White Angel   :       Ha...ha... You need to train your magic, so next time, we won't look this weird.

Black Angel     :      Alright. If there's next time. We will be young and beautiful ladies by the seashore.

White Angel   :       Great. I've never known that you can be a good company.

Black Angel     :      Hey, what does it mean, then?!

White Angel  :     You know what, I do enjoy this one-day vacation. Though, still, it's just ironic to spend holiday with an eternal enemy. But I have to admit that I enjoy your company. You can be such nice angel. I hope it will last longer.

Black Angel   :      What will last longer; this holiday or my good behavior? I don't want to think that this holiday has made you forget that we're born as an enemy. You are the good and I'm the evil. It's violation to destiny to change that fact. 

White Angel  :       Don't start an argument, please. Can we just be friend for one day? It's a blessing that God let us to have a little rest. Why don't we enjoy it?

Black Angel    :       Okay, sorry. Hmmm... it's unbelievable I say sorry.

White Angel   :       Black...

Black Angel    :       Okay, White. Okay, as you wish. 

(Silent)

Black Angel    :      Look! The sky is getting redder now. Beautiful, right?

White Angel   :      Yeah, so beautiful. I can't wait to see the sun sets in the vast ocean.

Black Angel    :      Me, too. Well, if I may say the truth, I will never forget today's sunset ever! 

White Angel   :      So do I. It's the best and most beautiful sunset I've ever seen.

Black Angel    :      Don't say that it is because of my company. Huh?

White Angel   :      Ha...ha... I have to say--well, yes... It's one of the reasons.

Black Angel    :      Oh no, I don't like this kind of scene.

White Angel   :      Oh come on, Black... 

Black Angel    :      Yeah, whatever...

White Angel  :       Black, I know it maybe sounds weird to you...; If in the next coming days we're involved in hard battles, can we remind each other about today? So... umm...--I mean...--we shouldn't that hard fighting.

Black Angel    :      What?! What an idea! Do you think I'm stupid? You're trying to make me giving up easier! Unbelievable!

White Angel   :       Black, please... I never think that way. I just hope that you don't that hard on human... on  yourself…

Black Angel    :       So you could win more battles...

White Angel   :       Black! Oh okay, it's my fault! It's so stupid to expect the good Black in an extraordinary day like today, let alone in normal days.

In the meantime, the big red sun slipped into the ocean.

Black Angel    :      Beautiful, huh?

White Angel   :      Yeah... I feel so happy and sad at once seeing this sunset...

Black Angel    :      Well, I feel the same. 

White Angel   :      ...

Black Angel    :      Why starring at me that way? I'm a born evil, White. We have to remember this.

Note:

This post is written for Writing Exercises by Creative Writing Ink.

Road to Walk

long long road to walk

high trees barricade the path

my shadow hides deep

Let Me Believe What I believe as True

The Senseless Morning

The bird's singing in a wet branch of rainy season

but I pretend not to hear the songs rushing into my ears

the morning fairy blossoms a flower out silently

and I'm still in doubt to admit its beauty this early

Where will this senseless morning lead me up to?

while the darkness of night still wrap the sunshine in the far east

how can I clear up the veiled sky of mist?

when I cannot help myself from being cold in a corner of my room

The senseless morning, where will it leads me in?

when the sunshine wins the battle and thus clear the misty sky

then the evanescences complete the morning beauty,

for what I feel is nothing but pain and doubt:

how to enjoy the burned sunrise without threatening

the presence of morning dews...

The senseless morning,

give me a clue to pass this through...

Friday, March 4, 2005

Note:

photo is taken from here

A Pale Moon in a Shining Winter Afternoon

I was once walking in early afternoon while staring at the pale moon.

But couldn't stop looking back to see the shinning sun in the opposite side.

Then, I heard the solid snow cracked beneath my black boots.

Hey, it's a pale moon in a shining winter afternoon!

What a combination!

You know what? The day before I said to someone that there won't be the sun and the moon at once in the afternoon sky. Well, yes, sometimes we see the moon still hanging in the early morning sky but not in the afternoon's. And in early morning, the sun is not so bright and shining so the moon wouldn't be threatened.

I was so amazed for the moon that I stopped walking and looked at the half moon and the sun by turns. It's just such extraordinary moment for me so I stood and enjoyed it. It "disturbed" me that the sun and the moon apparently can share the sky in the same time.

It was December 31th 2009--approaching a new year's eve or the German used to call it "Sylvester". I was on the way home from Hamburg-sightseeing with friends. It was my first new year's eve in a far away country. It should be a great time; don't you think so? But, it wasn't.

At night, the fireworks filled the sky, but not filled my heart which was painful of the intense sobbing. The fireworks lit the sky so it's full of lights, but my eyes were filled with tears.

I won't tell the reason for the intense crying. It's not the point. I wrote this only because I want to remember the moment and most of all to remember the things I've learned in that very last day of year 2009.

I wondered if I was no different with the pale moon; let say it's extraordinary to keep existing during the day time. But what's the importance? It's no use to shine in the shining winter afternoon!