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.

***

NB: written for Every Photo Tells a Story: Creative Prompt #12 and Poets Rally #74

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)

A Package of Friendship

Just call it a package of friendship. Sealed.

Picture by Nia Janiar.

My friend is inside. My friend was free, sound and fun. But this box, unavoidably and unexpectedly trapped and wrapped a friend of mine on that very day. I said hello, but hardly could I hear a sweet answer. I wondered if the box and the seal which made it hard to hear any voices from inside. Or simply there was no answer.

Errr… hello?

I kept trying. Sometimes I felt so tiring. Boring. Even angry. I missed this friend in those past days—free, sound, and fun.

Errr… hello?

I heard something, murmuring. Then I knew this friend was there. Inside this box. Sealed. I had tried to open the seal, but believe me it seemed it was locked from inside also. I couldn’t help it myself.

Errr… hello?

No answer. In this moment like this, I wished I could abandon this box and just go away. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t! How I wished to see this friend free, sound, and fun. Outside of the box. Then, I could walk away happily.

Errr… hello?
***


#  for D.

The Entrusted Dream

Photo courtesy: Nia Janiar
(A railway which will lead the old train to the blue sky.... ;)....)

I have entrusted this dream

to an old train, leaving for the far away sky

Let me pray that this dream
will safely arrive in the far blue sky

and cannot trace the way back home;

for it only causes pain in the heart of mine

to nourish it myself in this earth of mankind

Note:
Written for my friend Nia Janiar, who took the above photo and asked me to make it a photo prompt for a poem. This photo was taken during her trip in Cepu, Blora, Central Java, Indonesia.

*Linked in Jingle Poetry and Poetry  Pantry #79 and Bluebellbooks for Love in Creativity Project

Today's Wish

________________________


In his eyes, trapped a line of rain
wish this rain would soon stop
and a rainbow rises in them....

_________________________



* Linked in Poetry Pantry # 79.

Thick Longing

pic by Simon Howden

In the darkness of winter
I was wrapped by a thick blanket of longing

while shivering, I began to wonder
if you have the same feeling




*written for Carry on Tuesday #134 and Creative Writing Ink.
Also linked in Poetry Pantry #78

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.


*****************************************************************





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.

I Hear the Silence

Picture courtesy: Nia Janiar

I know it’s not easy for you, so does for me

we used to hear voices:

happiness and laughter

sadness and silent cries

in the small package we call friendship

We used to find each other’s eyes

for they keep a naked mystery, all memories,

as mystery is always about curiosity

we find joy living in it, make fun of it

As now the mystery speaks the truth itself

we are unavoidably speechless, we cannot rephrase it;

you pretend not to hear a thing

but prefer sitting alone listening to the silence,

I of course hear nothing (from the silence),

but I understand more…

#Sunday, October 23, 2011#


#Note: written for Carry on Tuesday.

Haiku: A Seed of Sunset

This haiku is written for The Poetry Palace which has given me a Perfect Poet Award for Poets Rally Week 52.
Thanks to Ava for choosing me and The Poetry Palace for the award... :)

***

***

Thank you, Poets Rally. Now, I nominate Jesse S. Mitchell

The Window

Photo Courtesy: Nia Janiar
(A window in Museum Konperensi Asia-Afrika—Bandung, West Java, Indonesia)

When I look into your eyes

I feel like sitting in a small and dark room

with a small window

Through the window, I see the world outside

From the window, I get a shaft of light
—but it's limited to a square of windowsill

How I wished I sat in a room

with many of windows

To see more, to get more

#written and linked in for: 

  Carry on Tuesday#122, Thursday Think Tank#65, Sunday Scribblings #284, and Poetry Pantry #66

The Rain of Cold Memories

Image courtesy: Creative Writing Ink

In the darkest of rainy night
a street lamp found a girl
standing under a nearby tree—


—the rain of cold memories washed her through and through...




*Note: written for Creative Writing Ink.
Also linked in Poetry Pantry #64 and Thursday Think Tank #67.