2030

This poem was published in Social Justice Inks Anthology by Lisa Tomey’s Prolific Pulse Press, available for purchase on Amazon.

An old woman took her granddaughter to the mall. 

She wanted to buy her little girl a lollipop. 

The shopkeeper asked her to pay at the facial recognition machine. 

She was too poor to own a digital device,  

too helpless to be tech savvy, 

and she only scraped by using the money in a biscuit tin. 

The shopkeeper told her that business could not accept cash payment anymore, 

for the public health order said it all. 

She pleaded with the shopkeeper saying they were clean and healthy. 

All she wanted was a good old days’ reward for her granddaughter. 

The little girl looked up to her tear-filled eyes, 

“Nana, you are the sweetest thing in the whole wide world, 

more than all the lollies in the shop. 

Our papa in heaven knows we are clean. 

Let’s go and play in the sun!” 

Writer’s notes: This poem is about the future of digitised technology and human passport segregate the society and continue to drive vulnerable group of people to be the outcast. 

Caged


I read her like a fascinating book.
I look at her as a piece of intriguing art work.
I watch her in a black and white nostalgic movie.
I imagine how she would sound in all her shrinking presence.

Cruelly, you picked her out from the wild
With contempt you isolated her from her family
All for your selfish needs
You gratify from her beauty
You covet her freedom
You punish her for her silence

A songbird gave up her will to survive
Not for a pair of clipped wings
But for a dimming voice

Lucky Strike

A six sentence story Word prompt – Strike

When Lucy grew up, the world was a lot different; kids were allowed to buy cigarettes and alcohol in the local grocery stores, mostly for their parents and relatives.

Lucy used to skip down the street in her red plastic flip flops, tightly held the money in her little hand; when she arrived at the grocery store, she reached her hand to the much taller counter and said “A pack of Lucky Strike please”.

The shopkeeper was curious to find out where was the sound coming from as he could not see any customer in his store; “A pack of Lucky Strike please for my Papa.”, this time the little hand was waving the five-dollar note to attract the shopkeeper’s attention.

“Ah, hello you, little one!”;
“My Papa said five dollars to you and two dollars and seventy five cents change for me.”;
“Your Papa is right little one.”
The shopkeeper took the five dollar note, handed back a pack of red Lucky Strike and two dollars and seventy five cents in change.
“Thank you sir!”;
“Oh wait, here is a sweet for you, for being such a good girl.”

Red has been Lucy’s favourite colour which reminds her of being a good girl in her red plastic flip flop, red Lucky Strike in hand and a raspberry red candy on her tongue, a sweet memory of her childhood.

To Keats

This is written based on Living Poetry music prompt.


My bed is soaked in the aftermath of night terrors
My body is weaker than the candle wick

Wisdom sings joyful tunes in my waiting ears
reminding me
God has blessed me with gift and talent
Then why
A young man with an old soul deserves no life

My heart wails like an owl
knowing the night won’t come
My eyes are going blind
knowing the sun won’t rise after dawn

Sorrow is the hemlock I drink up
fade, flake and fly away

自由鱼 He Set Her Free


他说
天上的星星不亮了
因为你带走了光环
他还说
水里的鱼儿自由了
因为你剪断了情丝
可是
我不是很相信他
因为
他每天都漏网捕鱼
他每晚都抬头望星


He says
The stars in the sky are not shining
Because you took away the halo
He also says
The fish in the water are free
Because you cut the love thread
But
I don’t quite believe him
Because
He fishes with a broken net by day
He looks up at the stary sky by night

Pure Heat

Living Poetry prompt – Summer


Your perfume hits me
before the summer heat

You walk through the door
while peeling off a work day

Your tan skin busies my eyes
through the shower screen

I race toward you
just in time

Before the cooling water cascades down your toned frame
I bury myself in you
unleashing a full day’s longing

This Used to Be My Playground

*This poem was published in May 2020 in The Poets Symphony by Raw Earth Ink.

We never had a photo together
yet I remember every expression of you
I have never returned the books you left on my book shelf
the only ones without dust

Silent night has never been peaceful
since I heard your car burned into flames
on the highway with extra snow
buried your seventeen years old charred body

This used to be my playground
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to whenever I was in need of a friend
Why did it have to end

I have never been able to say goodbye to you
maybe that is why nothing good had been with you

You left me a letter before you boarded the plane
You know I have never opened it to this day
Nothing matters really since the day you’ve been gone

This used to be my playground
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to whenever I was in need of a friend
Why did it have to end

Nothing is as pure as childhood sweethearts
No love is sweeter than sweet sixteen

I dream of you still in black and white
Your linen shirt flying on the swing
Your manic laughter on the seesaw

This used to be my playground
This used to be my childhood dream
This used to be the place I ran to whenever I was in need of a friend
Why did it have to end

There is no he will ever replace you
in the land of the living
You are my perfection
my first
and my destiny

Beyond The Horizon

The rocks lie still letting the sun comb through their rugged form

The shadows of the trees line the path with whisper of old stories stalling me from walking into the sunlit serenity

I wonder if the pelicans will be my eyes to survey the island far beyond the horizon

*Photo taken by Cassa Bassa at Green Point Foreshore, The Central Coast, NSW, Australia