November has long gone

ran through the broken window

leaving a fragile black cat

alone sitting still on the window sill

all day long ever since

November came back once a year

rummaging through the very same window

ignoring the lonesome black cat,

denying  his dark shadow perched on the wall

inside the shattered room of broken memory

and leaving soon…

 *written for Creative Writing Ink and Gooseberry Garden. Also linked in Poets Rally #57.


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This is an acceptance post written for Poets Rally. Thanks to Ava who have given me the Thursday Poets Rally Poets Award #57. I voted for U Keep Walking Forward.

And here is my haiku:

There is a flower
facing its first time to bloom
clumsy corolla

The wind sings a song
a lullaby of winter--
the flower shivers.


*linked in Perfect Poet Award #57.

The Wish

If that day has come

I want you to remember this:

burry me in the depth of bottomless blue ocean

where neither you can  trace my tomb

nor spread flower petals over it on a chosen special day

also you can hardly find a gravestone to lean on and cry

If that day has come

I want you to remember me as a sweet memory

Thus, burry me in the depth of bottomless blue ocean

where neither you can trace my tomb

nor spread flower petals over it on a chosen special day

for I couldn’t stand it to feel you crying over my dead body

If that day has come
promise me to let me...

#Monday, Nov 21, 2011#

 for Creative Writing Ink October 17. Also linked in Poetry Jam.

The Lady whom She Hates

The lady whom she hates is that lady you love
the lady who you call the princess of your heart
the princess of beauty and is surely lovely
for she is your very type you love her like loony

The lady whom she envies is that lady you admire
the lady who makes you happy, but often unhappy
because this lady was a princess of a lost kingdom
she is now full of doubts and worries of lonesome loomed

The lady whom she is jealous with is so lucky
for that lady is your main reason to be happy or unhappy
while unlike the lady, she can only wish that you happy
though secretly, she was bitten by a weird jealousy.

*linked in Poetry Pantry #76

The Accident

At that very moment, when I realized there was a car rushing into me, I suddenly remembered you!

I reflex dropped my black umbrella and closed my face with my two hands hoping that this act would save me from the car. I couldn’t think of any better way to get rid of the sudden incident. As I heard a sound of a brake suddenly hit and a long ear-breaking horn, a question came to my mind in an instant: What if I die now?

In the meantime, I felt a cold touch of the body of the car on my leg. I fell down. The driver seemed successful stopping the car in time. I was okay, but terribly shocked.

The driver asked if I was okay. Some passersby got closer and did the same. I said no words; rather I sat still on the asphalt—shaking. I knew the answer for their question was ‘Yes, I am okay’, but it was trapped somewhere on my throat.

I felt so powerless and sad that I cried. Thanks to the pouring rain; it disguised my tears. It was neither the pain on my leg, the bruise on my knee nor the blood on my palm striking the asphalt which made me crying. It was more because of the thought—an instant thought coming to my mind when I felt so close to the death: What if I—your secret admirer—die today while I haven’t let you know that I love you?!

*written for Creative Writing Ink.

Red Bench Promise

It wasn't raining that day
Rain was trapped in my eyes

I faked the smile, saying good bye
but I've never been a good liar

Those soothing words you said
I packed neatly along with a handful of hope:
in this park with a red bench, we'll soon meet

On the back of the bench, I sit today
saving my shoes from the splashing mud

as I am worry about them:

how if they get dirty,
then I would stain your jeans

when I run into your warm hug;
isn't it a day for the red bench promise?

The dripping rain streaming down my umbrella

is the only sound I hear for hours

besides another rushing rain, escaping from my eyes
for the red is not anymore the color of the bench...

*written for Creative Writing Ink on October 3rd and Poetry Pantry #74.