Monday, November 28, 2011

I am out of ideas and distracted. So in the meantime, with regards to poetry, I will just be jotting ideas, reading and just being a sponge.

(Image from

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Hope you didn't miss it.


11:11:11 11-11-11

“and never again for another hundred years.”

A hundred years ago, no clock
displayed time digitally in
, and no clock displayed dates --

A thousand years ago, time is told
by sun and shadow, the turning
of seasons, the movement of gods,
heroes and monsters across the night sky.

I stared at my plastic desk clock,
a cheap thing I got from a thrift store --

dots and dashes
pairs of
ones: harmony
in a time of many di

           I savored the moment,
for I am of the first generation
to see time displayed like this:

11:11:11 11-11-11

. In another hundred years, who knows
what beautiful arrangement of time
I will not be present for to bear witness.

Inspired in part by HVP's photo "Once every hundred"

Posted for dVerse Open Link Night Week 18.  Join us for some great reads and share your poem in this great community.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Oh the joys of email...


A re: for your Re:

Somehow the words
you used before
just doesn't sit right.

Building paragraphs brick by brick,
cementing thoughts behind impenetrable
walls of text; cliches of politeness
punctuate our exchanges; explanations
hang at the end of each sentence
never quite falling into places
where I want them to. Blinking
cursor awaits a proper response;

I check the inbox
again and again
for clarification.


The color of vengeance


She wore red
and stood that the water's edge;
her son held her hand,
his young face unsure:
mother's face and tone of voice
had been strangely threatening.
She had made him wear

that morning when
he wanted to wear green,
his favorite color;
red was for girls.

“Don't you want to be in
the same color as mummy?”

Red --
her dress, mother looked
like some kind of fairy
though boys do not care
for fairies but she did
look beautiful.

Their toes touched the water's edge.
He pulled her back a little, she
smiled, her eyes glistening but
still determined,
“come with mummy. Don't you

want to be with mummy?”
she whispered into his ear,
he looked out to the water,
the grey and black waves
lapping. She picked him up
and he held her tightly,
breathed in her perfume, her
breath, comforted, he nodded.


crossed her eyes. He knew it --
he had said something wrong;
mummy is about to tell him to stop it,
just like the time he thought
it would be cute to pull her arm
when she was on the phone,
just like the time he thought
it would be funny if he hid
behind a counter at the supermarket.

“Daddy will be right along.”

her eyes.
he did the only thing he knew how

“I love you mummy.”

she sighed and smiled an upside
down frown, but at least she was
not angry anymore, perhaps still
a little sad. She held him closer
and they entered the water together.

Poem is based on a true event: I don't have the details, this is only just how I envisioned the emotions. A young mother and her son were found drowned at a reservoir, they were both found to be wearing red. (News article link) It was found that the woman was fighting for custody of her son in an ugly divorce and had been in terrible depression. The chinese people generally believe that wearing red and committing suicide enables the person to return as an avenging ghost. Since their deaths, there had been several more cases of drowning suicide at this location.

To the spirits, I'm sorry for that you felt there was no way out and that it had been so hard that you decided to take this path. Please know that your story has been heard by many, and rest in peace.


dVerse Poetics - Play with Color hosted by Victoria prompted this write, although I don't think it was intended writers come up with something as morbid as this. Please do check out the awesome poets and their works.