September rain graces Klimt’s garden
White, purple, yellow, pink, orange and red
This is not the time for writing poetry
nor painting in water or oil colours
This moment
is perfect for an orgasmic soak
in Spring’s afterglow
September rain graces Klimt’s garden
White, purple, yellow, pink, orange and red
This is not the time for writing poetry
nor painting in water or oil colours
This moment
is perfect for an orgasmic soak
in Spring’s afterglow

Sharing my publisher Lisa Tomey-Zonneveld’s words on the launch of “Dear Heart” anthology. I used my real name “Jia-Li YANG” in this anthology because it means so much to me that every word came from the deepest part of my heart.
I still can’t get a copy yet because it’s out of stock (purchase in Australia from the American Amazon website). If you manage to get one please read it for me and leave an honest review. This will mean the world to me and my fellow writers. Thank you!
Get your copy today on Amazon
“Before computers, we wrote letters. My mother’s letters were like little novellas, several pages long. Her family members and friends loved to get her “books.” Letters from mom were heartfelt and brought tears of love. As her pen moved passionately across the pages, sometimes her clear, blue eyes would well up. Letters were her release. They were her way of expressing herself in ways she could not voice. Occasionally, she would write letters to people out of anger and then tear them up. These could have been to politicians, relatives, and those are the ones I knew about. She would express her heart’s desire, open up her soul, and pour out her thoughts.
While I did not have the beautiful penmanship of my mother, I learned that the pen was my power. Some of my letters were releases which I destroyed. At age 15, I even wrote one about the need for a doctor in our little town. The letter and story was published in the newspaper.
As a writer and a poet, I write as if my words are letters to the world, perhaps to express the desires of my heart. Other times I write to simply write.
When we do express our desires within our heart this has a way of stirring up thoughts and even action plans to make things happen. They could be acceptances of things that can’t be changed, but often are steps toward courage to make something happen.
I posed this question and requested to others: What is the desire in your heart? This is my challenge to you. I would like to read about the desires in your heart in the “Dear Heart” anthology of letters, poetry, art, photography, and whatever ways helps you express your passion.
There was a caveat to this. In honor of my mother, the expressions were to be sent to me via good old fashioned snail mail.
Now, it is my pleasure to bring to you these beautiful heartfelt responses via Dear Heart.
Lisa Tomey-Zonneveld
Contributirs: Alice Taylor, Chyrel J. Jackson, Danielle Martin, Jia-Li Yang, Jill Sharon Kimmelman, Jodi Lynn Nehring, Karen Monteith, Max H. Tomey, Nanci Arvizu, Pratibha Savani, Rebecca Herz, Richa Dinesh Sharma, Robin Klammer, Sarah Ryan, Shiela Denise Scott, Steve Anc, Terri Michels, and Zaneta Varnado Johns.
Special Shout out to Kay Doiron for the cover art and to Zan Johns for her wonderful editing skills.”

If I believe in reincarnation
we will be taking a vacation
in two life times
You will make french toast
and honey lemon tea
for breakfast
to break the spell
of me leaving
I will probably try to read
while nursing a caffeine withdrawal headache
But all these don’t matter
cuz we will have a lifetime
to adjust
until you think
sharing a bubble gum
can be very romantic
Lyrics English Translation
What to do~
Young children are away from home all year round.
My old mother can’t remember anything anymore,
What to do~
Worrying endlessly, what to do when we get together and break up~
I am sixty-eight and my mother is no longer here.
The second brother got divorced and left the baby to me.
what to do…
He said he would try his best while he was still young.
Maybe there will be something different when you return,
I just want him to be safe,
Too many mistakes keep repeating. What should I do…
I was seventy-eight and suddenly fell,
Lying in the hospital bed, time becomes very long,
what to do…
Facing the unknown, I was as helpless as a child,
In front of my wife, I pretend to be relieved,
Said this is just a small hurdle,
The candle of life is swaying in the wind. What should I do…
Didi-tatah, Didi-tatah, Didi-tatah, Didi-tatah,
Didi da da da didi da da da~
Didi-tatah, Didi-tatah, Didi-tatah, Didi-tatah,
Didi-dah-dah, Didi-dah-dah,
I am eighty-eight and walking in the fields,
I saw a little child crying in the wind,
Spring is shining brightly,
Obsession with the past The past is like a cloud of smoke,
There are so many scenery that no one can see clearly.
How can I achieve perfection if I can’t let go?
If life is just a big dream,
what would you do……
If life is just a big dream,
what would you do……

These are the traces
of our immature effort
before breaking free
into a new world
This is the 7th poem written with Bree Leto. It has always been a joy to write with Bree.
Inspiration erupted
when you crashed into my orbit
I should’ve been glowing
and we should’ve been shining
Instead
We are going backwards
and I am watching myself in retrograde
Shrinking into the dark spot
Tainting the silver moon
I wish
some strings were not pulled
some turns were not taken
I wish
the luminescence of your existence
was enough to light our path
Two hearts aligned
should have beat into
a new song of tomorrow
But as you shift forward
I drift backwards
alone
I once was
someone’s love of my life
I once was
someone’s destiny
I once was
someone’s forever home
I once was
someone’s secret life
I once was
someone’s dull ache
I once was
someone’s lousy lover
I once was
real, imaginary or fictional
In the end
I was nothing to them
but a past tense
You fill your fantasy
with me with a whip
in that discreet outfit
ready to pleasure you
Marks of excitement
are visible
all over your body
waiting to receive
No pain inflicted
No scream of delight
I stay on the screen
You soak in sweat and seed
This is a collaboration with Stephen, thank you for writing with me. If you like reading a good thriller, check out his book Beneath the Surface.
Shadows lurk in dark alleys
Death walks a sturdy stride
No sense of guilt he carries
He feels no need to hide
Precious daughters went astray
Roaming White Chapel streets
Outcast in a city so rich
Devoid of mercy, as he seeks
Saying he wants company
Of a woman so fair
As he pulls out his knife
Into flesh he will tear
They say he’s but a ghost
Out to exact his revenge
The law does their utmost
The crimes never avenged
They used to think
they would be forever
written into each other’s poetry
They used to say
they would express
happiness, sadness, fear, anger
in stanzas
But life took them
by surprise
In the end
they expressed disgust
towards each other
in prose