The Living Poetry prompt – molt
If we treat love affair like moulting
it is only natural that
we age a little
throw away a little
and grow a little
Moulting
Category: Poetry and Prose
27 July 2020
I set this date as the timeline
to have a plan in place:
a plan in unplannable tomorrows
a fickle evidence of our love
although it sounds ridiculous
so does the safe feeling
in a lover’s arms
Distant Future
I have a habit of admiring the cool moonlight
and making plans to visit you.
I am used to measuring my footsteps
to gauge how much I miss you.
The long distant travel doesn’t bother me
as long as I know I get to linger around your scent.
I keep enduring the absence of your love
watching the moon pulls the tide.
我不是今日才要慕晚月凉，
明天艳阳去寻娇娘，
日子不空只随脚步踱思念，
远行不累，
香气怡人漂他乡，
牵挂着，
断渐爱恋缠又续。
Rosso O Bianco
Rosso thirsts for the taste of raw and gamey meats.
Bianco settles with carefree sea creatures.
Is Red more passionate or vicious?
Is White more passive or benevolent?
To feast or to rest?
A Little Sand Crab
a little sand crab
with a soft shell
shyness makes her bury deep
curious impulse drives her
into the waves
a transient creature surfs
between the aqua and buff
Coincidence
I asked the bartender for a refreshing, citrusy and green drink. He brought me a Southside garnished with a cute mint leaf. I almost heard you say in that American midwest accent, “It is originated from the south side of /ˌɪləˈnɔɪ/ and /ʃɪˈkɑːɡəʊ/.”
Angelic Roadblock
The angel has gone sad
Her halo has gone out
The chaos rained down heavily
She got out of God’s way
He got to do His mighty work
single handedly
Consequence
The Living Poetry – visual prompt
Raging anger burst your artery
Here we are
Living with the aftermath
Impossible Love
I don’t know
why I always love the impossible
Possibly
I am incapable of loving the possible
Maybe
I interpret love
to be an impossible notion
An imperfect soul
chases the impossible perfection
Grandpa’s Roommate
The old man shared the same room with grandpa
in a nursing home close by.
Every time I visited grandpa,
he sat on his bed,
facing the window.
I never knew him,
never once wanted to disturb.
I knew his back view very well,
bald head,
olive skin,
a white tailored t-shirt,
tattooed arms.
That day I didn’t see him.
The bed was empty.
Grandpa said he passed in peace.
“A blind man looking out the window
who wanted me to know
this is not a depressing place.”
I gave grandpa a big hug
pretending I didn’t see his tears.
Flicker of Thoughts 