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thing about me was the emotion on my face? Art pieces being realized as shades of colors fade into one another - the hues of thematic 'to love yous'. Or a graphed curvature of lips and eyes where two points meet and split over and over in patterns predicting the trajectory of us. It doesn't matter anymore though, whether it was you or you then. I have seen in the lawful depths of my universal soul murky and blurring at the edges in tangling wisps you. It was you I saw in my dreams last night was it not? The same, only better because you knew enough to love me and say so or maybe it is me who has changed and know enough now to love me. Labels: my poetry in the most mundane of documents on the most tedious of topics. when identified by a singular emotion it is too easy to push away and decide on something entirely different despite understanding balance. how long has it been? the erosion of parted lips releasing breath in contented sighs sensual and spiritual. erased by lapping darkness stealing pieces away with each undulation and carried into the middle of somewhere nobody has ever seen but everyone knows. i will graft roots of loveliness into shifting sorrow and drop anchor into deep joy by raising a salute to faithfulness. a reminder to myself today to smile often in the most mundane of days on the most tedious of topics with ever a hint of red. Labels: my poetry then write and write and write even when i feel there is nothing to say. merely a case of tense submersion waiting for the clouds to hang heavy so they can rise and break the surface with ripples of compressed beauty. what? for now i suspend buoyed by the strength of 10,000 unsaid and waiting weighed down by 10,000 already living and breathing, tangled like strands of hair tossed by a night of sleep waiting for quivers of sunlight to slice through bonds and gnarled knots of meaning i cannot run my fingers through just waiting. and what if i spend my 10,000 hours waiting and still remain under - a case of subterfuge? submerged. cheated of a promise. there is no alternative. in cultivating a strange addiction to this form of weightlessness 10,000 is not enough enough is enough. Labels: my poetry
"am i good enough?"
"what did you say?"
"did you like it?"
each pocket of silence swells and swirls,
the stretching surface
of a bubble about to
pop
and if you were too close
soap suds land on your tongue
and you recoil, frowning
at the aftertaste.
but sometimes,
after the dissipating vapour of silence has
finished with its airy frolic
the breezes pays a visit
quietly
and lands next to the ear
with a soothing touch and
a whispering reminder
"yes."
Labels: musing, my poetry, personal in the midst of a tempest raging at the line where thought and feeling rise and fall. and lightning flashes to snapping synapses for a drumbeat making its way to the eye of the storm and stays oh it stays. wrenched from momentary calm by thundering words with a preference of pain and a targeted discomfort that wells oh it wells. a soaring wail that silhouettes itself by streaks in slow corkscrew descent buoyed by the warmth of a quiet whisper. Labels: musically inspired, my poetry isn't it? unless the chaos of voices is beyond decipherable and the growing din clogs the nerves like traffic at sundown till all that is left is numb suspension, and a toxic stench. it is a simple matter of pretending, isn't it? unless pretense is just a cover for anguish that begs to be recognized as more than ungratefulness and asks for leave to be at its very worst and still be beloved. and all the question marks chase me down the street as though i left something important and they need to return it but the closer they get the meaner the intention and really it is a snatch-and-run about to happen and what is important was in my left back pocket until a moment oh. i must confess Father, that when you say i love you. i don't know what that means at all. i love you yeah. i know none of those words. and i am ashamed. this taskmaster, Father is particularly cruel. his whip splays across the surface of my heart and rips in cracks that grow and snake till a whole is wholly not. or. maybe, this is the price paid to say i love you? Labels: faith, my poetry, personal
wrapped up in words so extravagant
in power, flaunting an edge so sharp it pierces
right through the bone and then all
i have to do is
wrench
for it to snap and then a complete
disarming that gathers its
uncertainty into an ugly little dragon.
yes, you.
you,
with a quiet silence tantalizing
noisy hearts, vocabulary slipping among
folds of sophisticated intellect and then
delivered with a gentle
wrench
in the gut as its contents proceed in
disarming so completely and
powerfully an ugly little dragon.
yes, you.
a scene full of disj o in te d p le asu re draws onto itself
the attention everyone else is busy deflecting.
no.
the answer is no.
we shall be honest with our needles and clothing.
we shall unclench our fists and untwist our fingers.
oh lovers, oh beloved, oh renewed,
how now?
shall we be our ugly little dragons,
or extend a necessary grace?
Labels: my poetry between stars and concrete in a zig-zag pattern with a hazy look. it is not hard to fly it is much harder to stay to tread on the edge of the skyline and wait for a moment of union where two sides meet crossing the void through the firmness of lips. no, not a kiss a whisper at most or a frantic yelling in some acrobatic prose. it is not hard to try it is much harder to prove that it was really she running and that there was use for her. Labels: my poetry 想保存的記憶。 不過，照片里，也常常捕捉到 与我們不相干的回憶。 或是，我們不再參與的事情。 你的照片，讓我的心多了一份安心， 也讓我多了一點思念。 因為，我的世界里，依然有你的陰影存在。 每年的這個時候， 好像特別的想念。 或許是因為，熱鬧的氣氛，永遠都讓我有一股不自在。 融入不了的心態，卻是最真實的自己。 照片里，看得見我的不自在嗎？ 面對相機的那一秒，頭要轉一邊，展現最燦爛的笑容。 一秒過後呢？ 一秒後的一年呢？ 我又在看照片了。 你好嗎？ 你們...都好嗎？ 又一年了。 Labels: my poetry
because it is what has always been done.
the question is,
whether or not what i have to say is of any real importance.
the question is,
will it be buried deep into the sands of time just like i will be.
the question is,
why me?
so the question is less about the words now, so it seems
and everything about the space i inhabit
and the words that will map out my existence
and render it
permanent,
if to nobody else,
at least to me.
i have lived.
i am here, i exist.
i be, and be coming.
yes.
hemingway says "bleed" but i think i think i breathe. no these fingers, these fingers they paint me to me, for me. and in the perfect act of self-love, i kiss me and love or self-destruct. Labels: musing, my poetry, personal it is merely the inability of words to unentangle themselves from a greater fabric of circumstance and inevitability, to change the course of direction or maybe to make it a little more bearable. like an unsuspecting prey that flies into a vacant spider web and cannot be relieved of its torture, without hope even of instant death or a morbid sense of usefulness in its passing. so slip into a languid posture to avoid the struggle and wear the unsaid words knit tightly around the body to wait only for a hopeful moment in which a corner catches followed by an unraveling. Labels: my poetry i spin cocoons of solace to nestle down into, like a butterfly-to-be going through growing pains. knuckles whitened over gripped knees in a silent, constant anguish that fills up and engulfs without discrimination. a drowning and a feeding all at once. i disintegrate into a stagnant watery stillness of unexplainable subsistence, as flesh and bone are reminded that dust is their true definition and even that soon is consumed by the voracious dark and re-emerge wholly new save for a remembrance of the moment when my back split into two slits - in anticipation of wings. Labels: my poetry
幸福後的我，當然幸福著。
但幸福与幸福之間，
我好像失去了甚麼。
又或許，
失去，也許不是少些甚麼， 而是多了些別的。 多擁有了。 多瞭解了。 多面對了。 多心疼了。
也許只是又長大了。
我的
你的？
是的
空的？
剩的
破的？
新的
真的？
他的
對的？
好的
不了？
不了。
Labels: musically inspired, my poetry, personal
there are certain afternoons,
(and this is one of them)
where i am supposed to be productive,
but wind up instead,
frolicking in certain activities that i usually do not engage much in.
and the way these shafts of light
fall across my path, seem
like steps to a better way where
the end is a me
as beautiful
as delicate
as powerful
as present
as a rose in the springtime
blooming with a knowing mind
of a breath that's new
of a grace unfair
of a love that promises
a place with you.
Labels: my poetry, self-portrait, spring
today i remembered you
and it brought a strange effect.
what does it mean to let go and move on?
what does it mean to place a period and turn the page?
it is horrendously unfair,
the way i've treated you.
looking back is like facing a mirror of complete and utter brokenness.
so smashed into shards, as though beyond any kind of repair.
you took the hammer, but so did i.
we smashed me together, and then we smashed you.
so,
who is the victim and who is the offender?
we were.
i have been ashamed, and i have felt guilt-ridden.
i have pled my innocence, and i have fought with indifference.
i have used words as a deference, and i have flushed tears through my heart.
and still, and still
there are all these traces of us.
it hurts, to have to face all my brokenness inside.
but oh,
it will be a better day tomorrow.
我們就到這。
no more.
Labels: musing, my poetry, personal
to not have to say
to not want to say
to not need to say
that is what it means
to have you love me.
a temporary pocket of stillness,
a quiet
some sort of rest.
captured between your fingertips
and a cool touch
behind my ears.
like the first drops of
a morning rain wiping old tear-tracts
clean.
and the warmth between my sheets
is no longer as alluring
as the comfort that
radiates from somewhere
between your
shoulders.
you
are what it means.
jaded too long
cynical too long
bitter too long
when the going gets tough
i end up trudging.
heavy stomps,
weighted footfalls
slamming again and again into the pavement.
thud,
thud,
thud.
and when it gets tired,
its easy to collapse and lie where i fall.
the pavement feels cool against the heat of a strained body,
and it is calm and quiet,
except for the heart in my chest
thud,
thud,
thud.
but i have been lying and resting,
paying attention to the rise and fall of my breath.
wondering on the hard "whys" and figuring out the tough "hows"
in trudging, losing sight of that which i started out for to begin with
in resting, finding i was sick of looking at my feet all the time.
the blood pounding against the back of my skull,
thud,
thud,
thud.
stalling too long
delaying too long
avoiding too long
reluctant too long.
i am waking and stretching,
its time to
press on.
Labels: faith, my poetry, personal
at a page on a book,
and see the faint mark
of a tear-stained spot
wrinkled and faded,
cynical and jaded,
the only proof of
a tired heart.
that you say i make
and there is the more
that i leave unsaid.
there are the moments
where i have to choose
and decisions made
as if i had nothing to lose.
there are the things
that you accuse me of
and there is a me,
rebelling with a cause.
there is a shadow
the sign of an unwilling flight
so the tears won't be exposed
beneath the streetlights.
truth be told.
i am sick of it all.
of unceasing judgment,
and callous word-call.
to throw up guards
by building word-walls.
tired of sucking it up,
tired of the fall...
snowfall
footfalls
tearfall
heartfall
i fall.
today,
mis understood
and
lone ly
me?
who says?
i didn't say.
Labels: musing, my poetry, personal
after the party has gone away.
the quiet of the heart,
after the busyness of day.
the intake of a breath,
the pause between the exhale.
the clench of the jaw,
the sentiment un-revealed.
happiness and fulfillment,
the restlessness of right after.
a secret sort of comfort,
and dissatisfaction muffled.
tonight i am full,
of inflections and innuendoes...
of you,
and the want thereof.
Labels: musing, my poetry, poetically inspired, Wallace Stevens |