Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Two tankas: Nemophila Harmony

in sea of blue blooms
a million eyes unfold, spring
how do I measure you? 
is it 1 sunrise to 1 sunset 
or is every breath equal to sky?

Hitachi Seaside Park is where 4.5  million blue flowers bloom once annually around April in an event referred to as the “Nemophila Harmony.”


baby blue fields
dazzle my eyes, I'm moonstruck
 under the lone tree
 how does my hand measure time ? 
with tear drop for each dying bloom   

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Time and Time Again Hosted by Mary

Picture credit:   here

Sunday, July 20, 2014

This poem is a selfie, nest and doughnut


This poem is busy
As flock of birds scavenging for food in parking lot
As passengers alighting from subway, clutching their
iphones tightly as if their hands are born with it.
As if ears are sockets, forever plugged with noise.
This poem is a selfie.


This poem is made of twigs
A week ago,  I wanted to play god when a baby robin
fell from the small nest, its wet black feathers broken.
But the woman on the phone said, let the mother robin
decide what to do with her baby.  
This poem allows nature to take its course.
This poem is a nest.  


This poem is hungry
As the people lining up at Tim Horton's take out lane.
Some people are lazy, why can't they just go out of their cars
& get it quickly, someone asked.
Maybe they are looking for comfort, I say.  
Maybe every step is jagged stone.
This poem is a doughnut.


This poem is a socket for selfies.
This poem is a twiggy nest,  now empty of birds. 
This poem is comforting as a take-out doughnut.   

For Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Boomerang metaphor created by Hannah Gosselin
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Blown away

Gravity falls away from my feet
I am lifted like dandelions

white-fluffed, spinning on storm mill
of words

nectar & pollen
gliding over city's concrete 

I hear the browning of leaves
as a baby robin falls from small nest 

becoming a ball of feathers, stilled by cold grass-
I listen to stories from my fellow passengers

where they have been & where they are going-
Their footprints seep into my verses 

Shaping, carving, polishing
this poem, a circle

I let the forest in, wild & fierce
And the forest takes me back 

where gusty wind plays a concerto
each seed pulling upward, framing into a flock of birds

sky's mirror in their eyes 
showing me how to wish & scatter

each single-rounded breath in sky 

Dramatic Stainless Steel Wire Fairies by Robin Wight

If you want to see the moving wire sculpture, check this cool link ~

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Thanks to the community for letting me believe I have wings ~  You have always been my "safe" landing for the last 3 years ~ Happy Weekend ~

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Ode to the Poets

The sum of your words does not equal
a sentence
neatly tied in bow

Its the words underneath your words
tide & undertow
that turns

my two arms
         Into hundred feather wings
my two feet
         Into wheeling stars in the sky

Where would I find myself
If not where
your pen takes you 

Your everglade, unsculptured  
Your debatable peace, a tyranny 
I keen to where

Every space is a hovering letter
Every missed punctuation 
         is serendipity
Your unfinished canvas is my second wind

And even though
between us is a river
of metaphors

I hear your voice
in a seashell
in a raindrop

every turn of a page
is a gift

To all of you
Thank you for your words

Happy Anniversary D'verse Poets Pub !!

Picture credit here

Saturday, July 12, 2014


I catch your amber eyes across mine
Between subway stops & grating wheels
Your braided long-grey hair is
          A hornet's nest

Everyone shies away from your shadow 
Your dusty sandals & clothes showed 
where you have been -
         Scorched by sun

The train track greases by river bend
Gentle as slow butterfly
But nothing moves you, not a flicker       
        Sorrow is a bird

Hiding in your pouch
Too long, it has not flown
Too long, it has not eaten
       Yet it sings, hardy as cactus 

Leafless, spiny & spiky
Coloring your weathered hands 
Lost as your native land.        
       I wonder what grief 

has torn your eyes to silt & mortar? 
I wonder at the sound of your voice?  
Loud as gunfire?
       Or soft pebble falling in rain?
All too quickly, the station stop comes
The afternoon sun wrinkles
our faces as we all spring to our feet 
       except you 

       man with dead-stone eyes.

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Inspired by title Sorrow by Claribel Alegria. I have not experienced a personal loss of my own family so I thought of viewing sorrow from a third person point of view.
and Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~  Happy weekend ~

Picture credit:  here

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Two snapshots

I.   Flash Fiction 55 words

     She sits, pale-flustered on red-cushioned seat of train.

     Across her, young girls laugh merrily, bright in summer shirts, shorts & back packs.

     Day painting job smears a man's pants, boots & pony-tailed hair, silver white.

     A group of jellyfish is called a bloom or swarm.

     I move towards the next exit doorway, carried by tide.

II.  For Margaret's challenge - Life on an Island

     Is a slow drift of afternoon sands
     Is opening the oven to freshly baked bread
     Is watching boats meander, unheeding wind & sky

     Is dabbing the sun's colors on your cheeks
     Is making a list and tying it to a kite
     Is a lost world, filled with treasures no one can count

Overlooking "Teach's Hole" (aka Blackbeard)
By Margaret Bednar

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads
& Poets United
Personal Notes:   The baby robins have hatched and my brother is recovering in his home after a bout with a rare disease ~  Thanks for your kind thoughts & prayers.

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

At midpoint, assessing my life

I.     For Poets United

Stitched on these pages
Are letters written to myself

Their delicate threads 
Mirror the seasons quickly passing by 

In a single knot 
My hands bound the white papers 

The past falls away like brown dry leaves  
Into summer downpour

I pick up my needle & yarn &
begin a new canvas of the people around me-

a young lady stops walking on busy street
& buries her face in pink rose, poking out from wire fence-

a man with long blond hair stands on crowded subway 
& writes furiously on his notebook, one arm around the pole-

two young children eating a slice of watermelon, 
their black eyes full of contentment-

and ....

II.    For Poetry Jam

I write 

on water:
You do not quench my thirst. 

Even on hot summer day
Even on last leg of long journey 
I untie

my shoes & kneel
inhaling space & silence

Even when the day is not ripe fruit 
Nor the night resplendent in moonlight

I write

on page:
Thirst is a seed I am planting today.

Posted for Poets United - Midweek Motif - Half the year
and Poetry Jam - Thirst

Picture credit:   here

Sunday, June 29, 2014

One Sunday morning

Dawn crouches slowly
& strikes each maple leaf
frail as silky web,
each space, silver scar
each word is sepia
knotted by black threads
My fingers slowly unravels
until light
like tangerine
peeling flame & breath
flamboyant as peacock

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Avant-Edge- A Sunday Challenge 
& Poets United - Thanks for the visit ~

Thursday, June 26, 2014

A state of mind

                               Dada is a state of mind” Spread from Fluxion Issue 4
                                featuring the work of LA artist and filmmaker Dennis Woodruff.

Just a veil 
windshield on my crown, I
am kissing a place full of mistakes 
dozen steps behind
my butt 
Missing my shoes 
bridal stained,  there it is-
Without spectacular start up
My mind latching
into another 
Must be no justice 
no little teeth 
Wilting //
              Whizzing //
Aboard, I 
To feathers belching.
Beehives gab like rainy rain.
The flower runs, a noisy car  
Fake summer,
Sway to the
Gown flying, cutting the hands of mannequin;
I am my wreath;
I'm missing legs
& lips 
& street life hell deep from mannequin so blue;
& fire backstabbing walls
& tithe, dis//
                            nected thoughts//
The bus on frozen superhighway  
on graffiti mission for miles & miles
Impossible when
the shark reverses like dead sea.
There's no lamp sweeping of years 
Angel i //

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Dadaism - I wrote randomly and added random poems and placed it in a DADA poem generator.  I edited it for smoother flow.

Picture credit:   here

Tuesday, June 24, 2014


A robin's nest by our entrance walkway
Grace @ Everyday Amazing

Above branches, a robin sits 
On nest of 
Balancing on slender bough
Swaying with wind & light rain
A single rock 
A single storm
Can hurl the nest on ground below

What kind of faith does the robin have
to sit calmly 
to build a home from twisted twigs
to wait for blue eggs to hatch patiently

I think of my sis-in-law in ICU of Los Angeles hospital
awaiting word on the progress of my brother
In the last week
her world has spun
from sure footing to one of 


                   akin to sea waves rocking the boat

My brother didn't asked why fate has struck him
with a rare disease, why God is testing the mettle of his faith-

In a brief wakefulness, he requested 

for the gregorian chants & latin prayers to play in the room
His fingers tap to the beat, reassured
by his religion, now an unshakeable anchor,     
before slipping once more to the drugs tubing

                  his throat, lungs, veins hooked to machines 

                  murmuring a tide, calming as distant shoreline-
Over my kitchen window 
I spy the mother robin's body
protectively covering tiny eggs

                 The sky stirs her wings
                 & orange-painted chest 
                 in contentment
                 Where does her faith spring from 
There is no fear in her brown eyes
There is no doubt
that her labor will bear fruits                   


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Kindly say a prayer for the complete healing of my brother, Richard Friend ~  Thank you ~