An ocean dream

The rolling waves

sometimes quiet sometimes roaring

like the pleasure in my belly

Your hands are soft like the sea breeze

sweeping through my growing sensitivity

Your caress stirs my desire

The millennium longing lips searching for answers

Singing ancient primal tunes to your being

Gearing to the rhythm of clockwork

Dripping sweat melts into the salty sea

The moonlight reflects the burning amber

flames intertwined

The trembling bodies convey consuming current

unreserved offer and acceptance

back and forth

back and forth

like waves crashing the rocks

broken in splendidness

rebirth in harmony



( image from )

I wish

I could be satisfied with only you

I wish

I could say once in a life time

I wish

I could allow you to touch my heart

I wish

I could tell you ‘you are my world’

I wish

I could sleep sweet by your side

I wish

I could bundle all my disappointment

I wish

I could let it burn in our passion

I wish

I could be all in one

for you

February 14

( Image from )
Violet comes in many shades
Accustomed to how black I feel today
Letting perfect to be its own play
Enter the stage is trespassing
Nothing in life is perfect
Time is certainly becoming my witness
In the remote distance you are my perfection
No smell, no touch, no taste
Euphoria is where wild imagination stays

The math in my mind

What time is it in Texas?


Why in that order?

not a conformer

nor a rebel

just quirky a little




What time is it down under?


half of the halves

still half


( Image from )

It has been a while

her locks are golden brown

before that

were honey amber and chestnut.


I saw her in the mirror

contemplating her glory.

Will I defeat the fear of goth

crown her dark silky velvet?

It has been a while

She is green, indigo and violet,

before that

was yellow and red.


I always wanted to write, always wanted to be a writer, not a published writer, but a writer who just writes.

My life so far splits half China half Australia, being first half in China, later half in Australia.

I wrote madly for 5 years in Chinese, then wrote nothing for 15 years. I started to write in English 3 months ago and I have been writing…something.

Someone asked me yesterday is writing like therapy for me. I wasn’t prepared for the question really, but I answered ‘ when I write, I am me.’ .

Only when I heard myself saying that, I realised writing is part of me. When I write, I am at ease, I feel at home. I make sense of this world and the people in it through writing.

I wrote and posted different flavoured pieces on this blog to explore my personal writing style. I continue to try writing different topics to navigate. When the direction is unclear, I let my muses and keyboard guide me.

I write when curling up in my comfortable bed, sitting in a noisy cafe, on a quiet park bench, in a squashed train carriage, on the picnic rug by the beach…and right at this moment, I am writing as I am walking in a crowded station at peak hour.

Writing is my everyday life, everything is in it and surrounding it…in this period of my life and perhaps beyond.

‘Home is where the heart is.’

Dressing a Wound

Facing a raw wide open wound

I have no magic hands to heal

All that I have I give to dress the wound

in due time

it heals with its own stamina.

Flowing from a pure heart

dripping kind intended words

washing mud, dust and grime

or anything irritating, infecting or scaring

placing tender loving caring gauze

covering with a prayer of blessing

May your wound be healed

with the little persistent gesture I express

I am no nurse no carer

I am a stranger in the cyber space

Only my soul sees your pain and tear

All that I have I give to dress your wound



Cardboard head, that’s the effect you have on me

Cardboard head, that’s the outcome of your torment

The muffling in my brain

The flattening of my occipital bone

The iron board pillow

The tree bark pillow case

The coffin bed

Cardboard head, that’s the punishment you delivered

I rather you punched me in the gut

That way, at least I vomited blood

And I know I am alive.

If I were alive, I would have persecuted you

I would have revenged by snoring,

while laughing in victory.

I would have shouted…

‘Ha! I beat you Insomnia!’

A Kiss

( Last Kiss – painting by Leonid )

Running my finger tip from

your nose, philtrum

Landed on your lips

like a cross

zapped your urge to be funny

Sealing your lips with unspoken words

more gratifying than honey…