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...