I did a guest post

I have done a guest post at Brother Benjamin’s Campfire on a somewhat controversial topic. If you would like to visit to check it out link is here:

Résumé

Pas Ce Soir

Friday night
the city becomes alive

She touches up her red lips
just in time for the stranger’s arrival

The conversation between them are smooth
gliding over her Persian blue silk blouse
and his flattering compliment

His fingertips casually strike out thermal waves
with each intentional brush of her arm

It’s getting beyond cosy warm there
and his scent smells late night passion
He moves closer and whispers desire in her ear

Confronted by his tempting invitation
she pinches herself hard
leaving a mark on her inner thigh
where wild nights used to overstay
and never had the courtesy to pay her with respect

She remembers all that devastating aftermath
So she leans over and whispers to him
“Pas Ce Soir”

Restoration

I have been enjoying jigsaw puzzle again. This is one of the jigsaw puzzles I completed recently. From the experience, this poem was created.

It was beautifully whole
A sudden storm broke it into pieces
I could only make out the outline
While the foundation was crushed

Tracking the fragments by their edgy shapes
my unskilled hands perform no miracles
The only hope in restoration lies in time only
It is the time I invest in patiently
which bonds the shattered reality
and make it whole again

And now the beauty is in
both the holder and the beholder

Summer Holiday

Thirroul Beach, NSW Australia

You used to live by the sea
free like a dandelion
wild like a daisy field

I drove the winding roads
with the car windows down
let the summer sun bite my arm

We picked seashells
like little kids
buried each other in hot sand

We dipped Tim Tam biscuits
in black tea with soy milk
read books to each other

We curled up by the campfire
listened to James Blunt
ate barbecued marshmallows

That was the summer holiday
I spent visiting you
before you left the sea

Storyteller

An ocean corroded sandstone – Photo by Cassa Bassa at Clontarf Beach, Sydney, Australia

Your face tells a thousand stories.
The folds of your skin
capture every storm you endured.
In between,
there are records of victory
and triumph.

New generations keep rising up
to take up the challenge.
You stepped back tide after tide
until you no longer
protect them
at the front line,
instead you watch over them
in prayer.

We look to you for wisdom.
Your face is the evidence
that history doesn’t lie.
If we say
that you are only a stone,
we are fools
beyond the reach of gods.

Bay Walk

Photo by Cassa Bassa at Clontarf Reserve, Sandy Bay, Sydney, Australia

The evening bay reminds me
of an ageing woman
subdued in tiredness
letting go
after many years of
keeping up with her youth

Her face is exceedingly beautiful
under candlelight
soft and glowing
like an intriguing book
best to be read
with a glass of vintage wine
by an antique candelabra lamp

Price Tag

He stopped buying bread and milk from the service station up the road.
He couldn’t afford the price, tagged for the convenience.
He started to walk to the supermarket to shop.
Three months later, his shoes fell apart.
He stopped going out all together.
Three weeks later,
he was found dead by his neighbour’s dog
on his own front porch
at the age of 95.

God Tired

I don’t know how God does it.
He hears takers pray to Him
with long-ass shopping lists
without beginning with a decent greeting,
let alone the whimpers, the whiners, or the whingers.

I don’t know how God does it.
He gave us life and means to stay alive.
He even gave us His beloved Son
to teach and model righteous living.
And yet we keep on seeing the lacks and seeking destruction.

I don’t know how God does it.
He gets so little acknowledgement and takes so much blame.

I feel so tired for God.
He says to me,
“Little one! You are created in the likeness of Me. So you relate to my tireness. But little do you know, if there is even one grateful soul out there desiring to know Me, I Am restored.”