Category: Poetry and Prose

Origami Souls

A collaborative effort of me and Benjamin Grossman.

The bountiful lilac purple wisterias curtain our bedroom window
The humidity of summer and the sound of cicadas wake us

My breasts swell in the cup of your hands
The curve of my body lazily responding to your offering

There is only one line you fit between
Fold me into origami with nothing but your tongue

Our bodies contort into a paper crane
Loving for 1000 years till we turn grey
Our souls take flight through the lilac purple haze into the flush blue eternity.

There is No Karma

She got the news that her abuser died in peace after had been bedridden for ten years.

All the pots and pans were swept off the kitchen bench. The noise echoed off the tile floor. She torn the t-shirt that she was wearing, exposing her flesh. She gripped her hair with both hands until she felt the pain of her scalp. Thumping her fists on her thighs like a downpour.

She was angry. She was savagely angry.

You didn’t deserve to die. Died in peace? What’s that? What is that? You scum of the earth didn’t deserve to die. You deserved to rot in your own putrid karma. I deserve to die. I deserve freedom. I deserve innocence. Your death robbed me of everything, everything!

She felt empty after emptying out all her rage. Desolate, numb, nothingness, still haunted.

A Broken Home

Wisteria in late spring
Lilac purple like your heart
Falling
Falling
Embroidering the front lawn
You won’t leave now
You can’t
Your heart embedded in our garden
Will rot with my tears
Or burn in the summer sun

Anal-retentive

The Living Poetry prompt – Flustered

3pm is the worst time to start rearranging the pantry

Remove all the bits and pieces

Check expiry date and discard

Clean all shelves inside the panty

Clean pantry doors and frame

Clean all bottles, jars, packets, tins and cans

Recategorise all bits and pieces

Children have just came home from school wanting snacks and drinks among the chaos

Feeling flustered and losing control

My blood is boiling, scalp is heating up

Shouting, “Pack your bags and go back to school!”

Children stop

Then bursting in laughter, “Mum, you are losing it.”

History Will Tell

“People are not what they say but what they do.”

Often our emotions and feelings deceive us. We put our logic aside.

We will be brianwashed if we don’t look beyond the slogans or intentions, to see the proof or evidence.

If we were presented a future but there are no concrete steps on how to get there, it’s merely an illusion. Marketing sells an illusion rather than reality. It’s wise to not fall into the trap.

History will tell.

Pointless On Point

Poetry is a redundant trade.

Freedom of speech is a lost expression.

Little do I have to say.

Silence is my every word in protest.

Silhouette

I had no idea till you told me that you had cried for over a year for the filth and shame happened in the old house which was covered in ivies.

I had no idea till you told me that you decided to break the silence because you couldn’t bear to see your son withering away with collapsed veins.

I had no idea till you told me about the sin and crime committed for three generations still robbing you and your children of a chance of peace.

I had no idea…

Now I understand why you appeared to be over sensitive, defensive, jumpy and sad all at the same time.

Now I understand why every time I saw you off, your silhouette in the street light is always frail and heavy laden.

Now I understand.

*This piece is written based on The Living Poetry prompt word – Silhouette

清明

春天
我踩着绒雨
向山里走去
脚下的黄泥
混着树的翠绿
沉淀着天的灰蓝
故人的墓地
栖息在满地的黄菜花
我舍不得扒开
这么娇美的装饰
就如你出嫁时的抚媚
你洞房的红烛还在弦乐舞蹈
我按住竹篮里的沉檀香和衣纸
害怕美好的回忆被打扰
更怕我的眼泪勾出安息的你

In spring,
I walked on the velvety rain and headed for the mountains.
The yellow mud under my feet mixed with the green of the trees and the gray-blue of the sky.
The grave of an old friend was covered with yellow flowers.
I couldn’t bear to tear them apart.
Such a beautiful decoration reminded me of your wedding day.
The red candles in your bridal chamber were still dancing with string music.
I pressed the sandalwood incense  in the bamboo basket.
I was afraid that the beautiful memories would be disturbed.
I was even more afraid that my tears would evoke you who was resting in peace.

Numbered

Magnolias broke out at below zero, blushed, hung on naked branches.

For one long year, half heartedly, I accepted defeat over the quarter you bet wearing a devilish grin.

With satisfaction, you drew an infinity on my wrist with wet finger, marked the beginning of a decade’s promises.

A dozen yellow roses wilted on the teak table where conversations, laughter and passion are still lingering.

The bare magnolia tree, shamefully, stretches out towards the winter sun.

Struggle No End

I wanted to work
I really did
Earning a living
Putting bread on table
I desired to work

I turned up for my new job
At lunch time
I got nervous
Eating two pieces of white bread
With butter and jam

The last straw
Was by the watercooler
They asked about my recent holiday
I freaked out
Sweating profusely
Embarrassed
I fled the building

I wanted to work
I really did
I tried and tried
Still failed the 7th time

Sitting on my porch
Pating my dog
She will be due soon
I desire to work
To feed her and her cute puppies
I really do