fishnet stockings, denim skirt,
checkered shirt and an enthusiastic smile
wherever she goes she takes a fun house with her
others are living the life
she is life itself
on a park bench we lazed about to share
vino rosso e formaggio
watching the blanket of flying foxes take off
to forage for food at dusk
she converted me to a Sydneysider
time passed
memory faded
we met
we played
we dated
we parted
never fought
never clashed
never debated
never communicated
no sad goodbyes
no turning back
no once more
no foever ever
time passes
memory blurs
walking on the pale sandy beach
spotting treasures in the sparkling sun
enough to whisk away the pensive mind
submerging in such shimmer
daydreaming the clouds to be
a motion picture of happy memories
until the edge of a rock or
a broke shell
cutting underneath her foot
the clouds turn into a violent swirl
brown bleeding out into the muted sand
from a place of torment
empty drink bottles
a monster broken capillary face
wild eyes flaming
savage shaking of a slim form
empty promises
an innocent blood drained cheeks
fearful stare vacating
prey falling off an arrow
how many times those cuts
drove her to the dark shadow
ignoring the brightly shining sun
gossamer waves reflecting off the water
old blood fading away into the saline foam
like the broken shells
in mock dismay
I often don’t understand why people love receiving flowers, especially a bunch of freshly cut flowers.
As somewhat a practical person, I much prefer a vegetable bunch, beautiful colour mix, thriving and ready to be consumed.
You may say that’s extreme. Ok then, let’s meet half way. How about pot plants or potted flowers in lieu of the freshly cut flowers? Don’t you think flowers belong to the garden beds? They look so at home and divine in their natural nursery.
I have had that preference for years, not remembering when did I actually start such weird preference.
Recently I traced back the times I did receive flowers. Sure enough, I finally realised the ‘Why’.
Firstly, in the second year I moved from Guangzhou to Sydney. I answered the door bell. There was Currier service delivery for me. After signing the receipt, I opened the box. There were a bunch of long stem red roses lying in the box. They didn’t make it all the way from Guangzhou to Sydney. They lain in the box, withered, lifeless. I counted there were 11 long stem red roses. I didn’t take them out of the box. I didn’t feel right to disturb them. I put the lid of the box back, neatly tied the ribbon again. It was like a burial. The 11 long stem red roses just lain in their coffin. The bundle of breakup.
Secondly, it was at the airport, I was greeted with a bunch of vibrant colour flowers. It was somewhat a surprise, at the same time, the dread feeling made my inside turned. What I discovered later prove my dread. The bundle of apology.
Lastly, I was at work. The office was busy as usual. I had a meeting out. When I returned, I was told there were flowers delivered to me. My heart sank. I reached the flowers, before I looked at the blooms, I read the card attaching to the bunch. I called the person who sent me the flowers, just in time to catch him out of another suicide attempt. The bundle of farewell.
There was grief relating to the receiving of these bunches of freshly cut flowers. The beautiful blooms, the fragrance, the artistic composition remind me of the tragedy moments in life.
The comfort is there are alternatives, be the bunch of fresh vegetables, be the potted flowers, or at its best, leave the blooms in the garden bed where there is life and pleasure to the viewers.
“It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.”
― Betsy-Tacy and Tib
why do we want to save yesterday
why are we waiting for tomorrow
does it matter today is a flaw
how come I am speechless
how come I am missing a rib
where is the wind blowing from
how is the frost bringing about
all I see is barren land
what can I do about it
what am I searching for
what have I learned
what have I lost
Which heart got hurt
昨天留来干什么
明天又等待什么
今天过得微恙又如何
怎么缺了口
怎么少了根筋
哪里来的风
哪里下的霜
满日的苍然
要来干什么
找什么
得到什么
失了什么
伤了那颗心
The old Ford carried our young souls under the starry sky
slowly rolling into the moonlight cinema
stretched on the worn leather seat
resting my feet on the dash
bubble gum blowing while you tuning the radio frequency to the movie
rolling my head to mess up my hair to
the rock and roll remaining sound
in my head
the sound of your coke can letting out a yawn
woke me just in time for the movie previews
shuffling chips bags and salted cashews
manically getting ready before
the 15 minute preview ran out
“hey Puff!” you called out to me
I looked up through my bird’s nest hair
like a curious new born
you leaned over and kissed the four petals of my lips
my face relaxed and a smile started to bloom
we lazed in the worn leather seats
lounging into each other
a line of wriggling toes on the dash
two young souls
sharing a movie – Fast and Furious
in the old Ford
How many movies
how many coke can yawnings
how many chips and salted cashews
and how many moonlight smooches…
Flicker of Thoughts 