a work in progress: self-portrait

 

i didn't know it then 

but youth was quicksilver in time-

i still talk to my young self

who is self-conscious, rebellious 

& anxious, as if carrying the world atlas

on empty pockets 

in the mirror

my forehead is now furrowed like my dad 

my hands are wrinkled like my mom

i am aging into their likeness 

though i am also drawing my own portrait

the young girl is still here

curious & resilient with the tides of

work & technology

every day is a day of rising to bloom,

not being a thunderstorm or lightning 

in a bottle, but to be

someone who is (still) finding her voice

between her ambitous knuckles & mushy heart,

striving to merge her excel left brain with her artsy right side

with gratitude, she has

made a house to her own liking

in the wall, she writes a note:

your self-worth is not in your inbox

you are where the light rests

against the winter darkness, it is where your children

find you, serene as seagrass

neatly folding laundry at the end of the day

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetics - Resolving to Resolve, hosted by Punam.

I have used 2 themes/advice for my post:   Your self-worth is not in your inbox.  

At the end of each day fold your clothes and put them away, no matter how tired you are.

Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for joining us.

summer & winter

I.

 

here is an assortment of shells

pink, white, coral, and bones

it holds

sunlit days, rippled tides of spells:

shark's eye, cones, conch, small stones -

king's gold

on a clear fish bowl filled with sands - 

amber smooth as chai tea 

i sigh

for beaches & summer's long hands

when the sky is so blue

i fly

II.

we watch snowflakes spill - glass flowers

on barren fields & woods

calling

we gather light from short hours -

wicks, lamps & yellowed goods

falling

finally the moon is ours-

darkness is a cocoon

wrapping

midnight sky with mulberry stars-

silvering trees, we swoon  

clapping

The above is the example in the dVerse Poets Pub post.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Memento.   Join us when the pub doors open to discuss the poetry form, Memento.  There is also an option to write a free style poetry with a theme about memento, using symbolism as a poetic device.  

brooding over you

 

imagine

red hibiscus by the gate opens  up

minute hand,  moves 

you.... get roller coaster nightmares

(if) they dressed you in cream

red is the torrid skin

my lazy left eye draws

(of) may your summer morning be bright

(but) this city is a chameleon

the wind beneath us

gather the weekday's leftovers

blued, bloodless, brooding

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB:  Finding It First, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.   The lines above are from the first lines of my first poem in each month of 2022.

the (uni)verse

 

why do we allow the frivolous to rust

our mind and spark ill thoughts to stain the night

have we forgotten, we're born of stardust

shaped from the turmoils of black wind's gust

scattering seeds to birth trees & wings to flight

why do we allow the frivolous to rust

our heart to stone, busy with erecting a gold bust

believing in our immortal blight

have we forgotten, we're born of stardust

sundered or whole, we will return to dust

our buildings & crowns will be lost bight

why do we allow the frivolous to rust

our will to froth instead of passion & lust

our warmth to ice, becoming a ghost of sprite

have we forgotten, we're born of stardust 

even if we have lost sight of sun's cradled fire

inside us is an imperishable light

why do we allow the frivolous to rust

us, have we forgotten, we're born of stardust

Posted for OpenLinkNight329 - dVerse Poets Pub - Hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg. Happy New Year!!!!!

my e-calendar 2023

I fill my work calendar with big stones. I organize my activities and set my career goals for 2023.  Family's birthdays and other milestones are colored in spring green.  Also my timetable for vacations & personal days from work are marked  in bright pink.    That block of time is precious, like a gift to be carefully unwrapped, slowly after each tear.  

However for my personal life's goal, the calendar is open.   I welcome the blankness of the canvas because it means new things and challenges for me.  Though I am keen on regularly walking, hiking and reading in my down time,  I invite time to ghost me, while I ponder on my verses & mystery of the night sky. 

mud-stained sky is glum

melting ice by craggy shore-

birds glide, swelling tide 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday, hosted by Kim Russell.   Our poetry community is back! Cheers to 2023!   

december winter

 

I. before the sun sets

sunlight swells as mushroom

above skeleton-boned trees

so warm as maple syrup

yet so brief as a passing cloud

i savor its divineness

breathing in the blessed heat

bestowing stillness

a gift 

II. freezing rain

snowflakes on wooden porch

sparkly white diamonds

that turns into black ice rain

{deadly}

i slipped & fell

as the bird falling from the nest

effortless as a paper, breaking bones

how i wish i could have scooped it up

breathing wind into its wings & eyes

i tread carefully now

missing the birdsongs in the garden

{life}

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Zen Poetry, which I am hosting as our last post for 2022.  Join us when the virtual pub doors open at 3pm EST. Happy Holidays and Happy New Year!!!  

an infinity of endings

 

you....   get roller coaster nightmares

(&) mutiny of blues & fire storm

-perfect for star-gazing-

for this gnarled gardener's hands

you...... forget - life is now - leaps into

empyrean of sunlight on fading grass

with the eyes of a child -

i inhale.... sweetness of soap & sunshine

of solitude 

Sunday is <lost> in books & clouds, forgetting time & Monday

i sink.... into blur lake bottom

you and i mirror yesterday>>>> in a swoop

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB - In my end is my beginning, hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.   I have taken the endings of my poems for the last months, and rewritten them into a new poem.

a feast (a list)

 

my nostrils filled with spicy chicken soup, my fingers warmed by buttered bread

a foggy morning, clouds on my head, dewdrops on my feet

an upbeat R&B music, soft humming of appliances in the house

a winter blue plate, oiled by spices, white painted over cracks

the hush of the room, mess of clothes & accessories, smell of soap & towels

bare garden, a pot of spring seeds, soggy splayed summer leaves

an empty page of the book, unanswered questions, hanging conversation

the silence of trees & birds, scattered fallen leaves, broken flower shrubs

slow drip of melting winter ice, fading sunlight on walls, faint sounds of laughter

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

november

creeps in, a foggy morning

a blur of maple & birch

leaves are falling into heap

weaving colorful & soft bed

do you recall the burning

fires of dawn, or the time we

went bazaar shopping for cheap

clothes, munching on sugar bread

but your face is blank, warning

me that your memories are

sliding into deeper sleep-

this is something we long dread-

in overcoming mourning

you forget - life is now - leap!

           Autumn leaves                    

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - MTB, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  The poetry form is a bref double form, with 3 quatrains and a couplet.  I have used the rhyme scheme of a-x-b-c for the quatrian and a-b for the couplet.  See you at 3pm EST when the pub doors open for more poetry.

travel note - dear sis (aug 1963-april 2018)

 

red hibiscus by the gate opens up

to the morning sun, each petal surging

with glorious energy

the house remains the same

as if you and Dad are still here

your photos, your clothes, travel albums,

Dad's electronic gadgets & records 

still litter the shelves & tables

its hard to believed it has been more 

than 4 years, with the graves (yours & Dad's)

carefully tended

with yellow bells and red flowers, and grass-

i see that the cemetary is being spruced up for

the visitors who will clog the markers & graves

with candles & prayers in remembrance

of the dead on Nov. 1

the tradition is to travel and visit 

with flowers, food, stories & merriment 

laughter will be heard

as it is

indeed a celebration

of happy memories

of friends and family connections

i came to visit quietly and briefly

your travel mementos are still gracing the walls 

your prayer inspired frames are still set up in the bathroom

your Zen-inspired garden outside the bedroom is thriving

though we are all moving on

we remember you and Dad with love

This is a follow up post to my original post titled, may you see field of tulips on your journey.

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Dia De Los Muertos, hosted by Mish.   Pub doors open at 3pm.