If only
you can see the future
You won’t get hung up
on wrapping your arms
around the memory
of your thriving youth
The old self you shed
pushing outward
to form calluses
telling the world
that you are wiser
by counting the rings
of your wrinkles
You never see the future
of your exhausted face
made into sheets of canvas
for beauty to take forms
pleasing to our eyes
and souls
Category: Poetry and Prose
Sepia Love
I waited for you to rise
to tap a poem
while coffee was feeding your word frenzy
We didn’t make it to a thousand day fairy tale
I only made as far as my sanity allowed
The seas and mountains between us
humbled me
They were truly unshakable
Doll
Living Poetry May visual prompt
She is that girl
confined in the mold
they carved out for her
Every bit of her is labelled
categorised and put aside
for the common view of this world
All is in order
But all is out of place
in the creator’s eye
She can’t survive
She can’t shine
She is miserable in nature’s sight
Almost
Almost is a treacherous word
We say that to kids
to encourage them to learn and grow
Try saying that to a grown-up
You almost made it
You have the potential
but couldn’t make it a reality
Almost is a treacherous word
It means
you are
as useful as none
as valuable as nought
Unapologetic
Under my tongue
lie unformed words
like a cluster of emotions
unspoken
hidden in the silence
you so despise
Being
me
is not enough
You demand reasons
for the way I am
Apology is not
a peace offering
that pleases you
I offer us peace
by biting my tongue
to set us free
Community
A Six Sentence Story word prompt – Tree, hosted by Girlie on the Edge
That was a tough financial decision to make about purchasing this old house to convert the front of the house and the court yard into a cafe for all to come and enjoy time together as a community.
It all started from a group of poets and short story writers and enthusiasts wanting a place to meet and share their passion.
We built slowly with just a few small tables and chairs under the giant banyan tree in the middle of the court yard, then a hand craft wooden work bench installed, came the commercial coffee machine acquired in an liquidation auction along with bits and pieces cafe equipment.
My love is the barista on the coffee machine making aromatic beverage with artistic touch, and our patrons write their own orders, pay in the wooden chest, put away used coffeeware in the dishwasher, while I fill in the gap of whatever needs doing.
Surely but slowly, our little cafe is becoming the gathering place for local and international poets and writers to cultivate the art of words, with three prominent groups: the Brother’s Campfire led by Benjamin; the Living Poetry hosted by Batholomew; and the Six Sentence Story managed by Denise, who so fondly named our cafe “The 6 Sentence Cafe”.
Now our home, also our place of work, is filled with like-minded people where the beauty of creativity is brewing with the coffee beans, rain or shine, in this little cosy corner of the old town.
Water Lily
This is inspired by Bree’s recent post Give It A Go
The flirtatious candle flames dancing in the room
Such tempting ambience in the deep of the night
Even the pregnant moon shys away
and hides behind the ruby sky
How about we put off tomorrow
peel off layers of shame
lay off all expectations
Let the satin sheet subdue our fervent wants
Trembling fingertips to steady these urging waves in vain
Your burning lips iron the wrinkles around my mouth
teaching me the secret of blooming and fading
You have made me the only water lily in Monet’s night garden
Deep in the Woods
The woods has memories
The flaxen sun plaited into the canopy of greens
Playful feet dipped in the cool stream
Lilac wildflowers witnessed their promises
The woods has memories
The trees whispered her name
He raged against the tree bark
Broken knuckles, virgin blood
The old well filled with tears
Covered by mossy sorrow
The woods has memories
A lost boy mourned his love
trapped in the woods
stuck in the loop of time
The trees whispered their names
Newness
We sat through
the silence
of the cold sea
in darkness
to embrace the sunrise
She clothes us
with her warm glow
and eternal energy
A new day is born
in her majesty
A Hard Time
It’s hard to write about beauty when surrounded by despair.
A woman is trapped in her flat
for fearing to be found by her perpetrator who has been released from custody.
A man couldn’t afford to pay rent because the persistent rainy weather renders him jobless, and the pending doom of being evicted and losing custody of his children.
An old man had to put down his companion dog because he couldn’t afford the vet bill.
A disabled teenager mourns the passing of her mother, also her only carer.
A young man sinks into deep depression and anxiety because of the hormone therapy side effects.
The stories and events go on, and of course there are also wars which were started by people who bear no guilt of murder.
It’s hard to write about beauty, or see the beauty in the overladen ugly, sometimes.
Flicker of Thoughts 