Sunday 30 October 2011

Halloween treat

above skeletal and orange spooks
adorning blackened ceilings,
you and I cozy up
in big leather armchair

you, dashing in hunter's garb
me, sultry in vampire sheath
we listen to Frankenstein serenading
as mermaids echo his baritone voice

under cobwebbed chandelier, 
werewolves perform their magic tricks,   
ghouls dance as a hairy beast plays 
grand piano in pumpkin-fest ballroom

this is the eve of all hallows day, and
everything extraordinary is norm
lines blur as our worlds collide        
the unexpected and deadly, a treat

like your kisses, warm on my neck  
scorching my 200-year old body 

Posted for The Gooseberry Garden:   The Halloween Special  
and Imaginary Garden for Real Toads:   Open Link Night

Happy Halloween ~

Thank you for the award~ Thursday Poets Rally 

I nominate Adura's Eyes for the next award.

picture credit:  discretelycharming.tumblr 


i heard your sharp


saw your eyes misty,

soft lips quivering,


racing heart against mine  

tell me what is 
on your mind ?

you are stepping
on my foot.

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics hosted by Claudia.  Prompt is call and response.  
This is based on an actual conversation.... reality check, okay.       
and Sunday 160 - write a post in exactly 160 characters.   
Shared with Poets United- The Poetry Pantry.

Picture credit:

Thursday 27 October 2011

Under the block

i search for whiff
of your warm breath,
speck of dust from
cold pale skin,
just any part of you
even your shadow
behind grey roof

during grandpa’s funeral, 
grandma roasted a fat pig,
chickens for the guests
amidst murmured words,
i heard yelps by  
animals in back kitchen.

heart attack-
i was told.

Author's Note: Posted for Poetry United:   Writer's Block  - the first part of the poem.

And D'Verse Poets Pub- Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft - Conflation.  Hosted by emmett wheatfall.

  • Write a poem that is constructed using conflation. This means the poem must possess at least two different, wholly unrelated themes package together.

  • To challenge you further, the two or more thematic aspects of the poem must be revealing about yourself. 

  • Also for Flash Fiction 55.   G-man, joining you today.   

    picture credit:  Adam Martinakis (Greece), here

    Tuesday 25 October 2011


    beside brick red fireplace
    we click cold beer bottles 
    banal, polite conversations
    of weather and cellphones

    swirling around rented plush suite
    cramped with eager beaver smiles 
    braving niceties, we snort noises,
    all considered politically correct responses

    cocktails before dinner, warming up spiels,
    karaoke bars, team sessions, until
    near the program's end, we sneakily
    slip away, with a red bottle of wine 

    laughing until we stop at my doorstep, 
    lamplight fusing our shadows
    you take my key and gently nudge
    me inside, without a word

    we hang up our black tailored coats
    unrehearsed, unscripted, we embrace
    awkwardly,  fumbling, entwining     
    in imperfect symphony  


    Author's Night:  I attended a company conference last week as part of my induction to my new job.   It was interesting to meet my new team, but my social skills can only take so much pleasantries.  The activity though provided great inputs to my writing. .. a part of my life that is unchanging still.          

    Posted for D'Verse Poets Pub - OpenlinkNight.   Doors open every Tuesday at 3pm EST.
    picture credit:  here

    Sunday 23 October 2011

    Until now

    i walk along in my faded sweatpants 
    slender trees along the river framing 

    clear water rushing downstream
    beside the long abandoned farm mill

    a blanket of solitude, thick and blue
    wrapped my cold shoulders this morning

    i thought i heard your footsteps
    follow my trail towards the thick forest

    glades we love to get lost and camped, 
    just the two of us, don't you remember?

    but no, it was just the hoot of birds
    and swish tail of the frightened deer

    your footprints were long covered
    by mulch of shrivelled maple leaves, 

    fallen apples pecked by black crows,  
    mud of travellers searching for solace,

    answers among the whispering winds,
    wild flowers, black bats kneeling in prayer  

    still, i take these early morning walks
    autumn has arrived, but until now,  

    i don't understand why you left 

    without saying 


    Posted for The Gooseberry Garden:   Poetry Picnic Week 10: Nature, Forest, Rivers, and Mountains

    Shared with Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - OpenLinkNight Monday

    picture credit:

    Saturday 22 October 2011

    The other family

    pale faced angel, i smile 
    innocent in my charm and guile  

    medium built among the four sons
    my brown eyes and tilt of nose

    hints at the same side of the river,
    spilled by the lust driven man

    Dad or old man, as all the children
    call him affectionately, without disdain

    for his humble work of hands, unpretentious
    affections for women; he welcomes young girl  

    his daughter, me

    given away by my mother, simple maid, 
    too ashamed of her deeds or sins of flesh

    the young boys peer at my thin shoulders  
    almost malnourished, they hold their tongue

    in great respect to their mother, forgiving, 
    brave of heart, still loving her wayward husband

    the eldest son offers a candy to break the ice,  
    i take it with a grateful nod, my small hands

    eagerly unwrapping the simple treat, as if
    discovering the meaning of home and family

    lineage i discover today, arriving with my 
    beaten up bag and old pair of shoes, my only pair

    hunger pains ebb with thoughts of:  roof
    over my head, and a man called "Dad" to care for me   

    shyly, i bow my head in deference to my "new" family
    as i am told that i now carry the family name

    politely, i nod as conversations continue
    with or without my murmurs; i try not to stand out  

    with my coarse clothes and blistered hands,
    simple words from years lived in shadowy guilt   

    later, alone in my small room, i unhook
    locket with a picture of my birth mother

    though officially, she is "dead" 
    her reckless passion flows in my veins   

    i don't belong here. 

    not today.   


    Posted for D'Verse Poets Pub - The Other.    Imagine that person who is other than you, and think about how you might construct a dramatic monologue in poetry. Hosted by Mark Kerstetter.   For this prompt, I thought of writing about meeting "the other side of the family" - she is my unofficial half-aunt, if there is such a term.    

    Happy to be linking up today.

    Monday 17 October 2011


    tears fall
    soundless sorrow
    boundless despair bearing
    wrinkled face; on firm arms of son,

    he cries

    his heart away
    if only she breathes free; 
    he couldn't stand thought of being 



    she prayed 
    soundless words, pleas
    forgiveness for her, him
    face of devotion, she submits

    God's will  

    Poetry form:   Cinquain - 5 lines of 2,4,6,8,2 syllables.  
    Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Monday.  Do drop by for great readings.    
    Shared with D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Please drop by Tuesday at 3 pm EST for great company.

    This post came from my visiting my family last week.  The first part is seeing my dad, a proud man, crying upon learning of my mom's grave condition.   The second part is witnessing my mom, praying before her procedure.  She is better now though she is still in the hospital.    

    picture credit:

    Sunday 16 October 2011

    The call

    pale ghost  
    laughter fled, tears
    fell edges soiled laundry,
    unopened beer cans, as call came:  

    come home  

    Posted for:   Imaginary Garden with Real Toads :  Use the form cinquain:   5 lines of 2, 4, 6, 8 and 2 syllables.  An interesting form to use.

    Poetry Jam:   Your Assignment:   Use words laugh, laundry, ghost, edges, beer

    Picture credit:

    Saturday 15 October 2011

    Still beautiful

    i set aside my green bag  
    containing red rosary beads, 
    spare change, plane ticket

    unfolding white coarse sheets
    i spread it across lumpy bed
    too small for both of us

    jagged mirrors on ceilings  
    collage of past diversions,
    or maybe transgressions 

    we both ignore as we 
    kiss gently at first trying to 
    remember how it was, were

    heated embrace, bodies fitting
    as we rock to familiar rhythm, 
    each vigorous thrust an imprint, 

    amidst crowded narrow streets,
    beggars, hustlers, mayhem traffic, 
    uncollected garbage, polluted air  

    warming satiny skin as your tongue 
    probes, taste my pink buds,  until
    gripping arms, i cry out  ...   


    bitter sweet tamarind, red yellow papaya,
    palm trees decorating brown walls
    dividing, segregating rooms; we unstick

    labels stitched on our foreheads, 
    revelling in our bodies pulsating, still
    an unbroken refrain despite oceans apart,  

    then with gentle warm fingers
    you cup my pale face, saying 

    i am still beautiful

    tracing lines under your tired eyes,
    i kiss your rough, blistered palms
    whispering softly, 

    no, you are ....

    Posted for D'Verse Poets Pub - Poetics.   The prompt is to write about a Taboo Subject - How to be Fearless and Nothing Else.    This post came from visiting my family in another part of the world. I spent close to two weeks there, happy and sad times.  Though I am presently living in Canada,  it saddens me to see the country mired in greed, bitter politics, and poverty, despite the "progress".  Nevertheless, it is my motherland, a beautiful place for me.         

    Shared with Poets United:   The Poetry Pantry            

    Picture credit:

    Monday 10 October 2011


    i walk up the sloping hill
    summer heat prickling pale skin
    fallen frangipani petals on ground

    mango tree stood at the crest 
    same spot for last five decades
    now bare to the bones, drooping

    grimacing at each labored breath
    dark lines under arms, draping
    tubes of oxygen, unwanted leis 

    small brown roots, shrubs peek 
    under long shadows, tender shoots
    vibrant green, facing the sun

    nearby a narrow river flows
    red stone lantern gazes serenely 
    gray stepping stones, rock garden

    bonsai, mosses hush in eye of storm
    boulders of white pebbles stack
    neatly like rosary beads in my hand

    Author's Note:   I traveled last week to visit my ailing parents, specially my mom.  Yesterday after her surgery, she is now recovering, and hopefully out of the woods.
    Hope to visit you soon~

    Posted for D'verse Poets Pub-OpenLinkNight and Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.
    The Gooseberry Garden: Poetry Picnic Week 8: Friends, Relationships and Everyone around

    Picture credit:

    Thursday 6 October 2011




    gray walls  






    of tears

    Posted for The Gooseberry Garden:   Theme is Love and Loss. 
    The scene is from classic story of Romeo and Juliet.

    I have been traveling, back to my roots, for urgent (not so good) family matters.  I hope to visit you soon. Please note that my haiku/senryu poems for D'Verse Poets Pub- Form for all is here.

    Picture credit: 

    Sunday 2 October 2011

    My face

    i wipe Estee Lauder mirror 
    have to fix myself first 
    before we meet and talk    

    rearranging my features
    i draw Maybelline brown pencil to  
    highlight wayward eyebrows, a definition 
    then, splashing Revlon light hues around
    make my eyes larger, almost mysterious  
    powdering nose so it doesn't shine 
    pinching cheeks to give it a sunny glow 
    smudging pale lips to make it shimmer 

    Mary Kay covers my distinct mole at side 
    Lancome nude blush buries all traces that 
    makes me stand out in a crowd, no that won't do 
    i need to blend in so clip my mouth 
    into a straight clothesline, mute my grief 
    no smiling or even a grin showing as it will
    give me lines and make my eyes small

    have to look natural looking   
    exude beautiful CoverGirl
    like the ghost of a girl of 
    my Vogue magazine
    well now, i am ready 

    i look like


    Posted for D'Verse Poets Pub - Poetics  hosted by Victoria Ceretto-Slotto.   Prompt is Pop Culture:  Chose a cultural phenomenon, a product, an icon/idol or mass medium as the subject of your poem.  To be honest,  I had a difficult time connecting to the prompt as my mind is pre-occupied with family matters.  Anyway, I thought I would take a shot at the "face" of pop culture which for me is like a walking advertisement - that is make-up of course.  My apologies to my male readers for the girlie talk and promo words  ;-)   In real life, I hardly wear make-up though.

    Poetry Jam - hosted by Margaret.  I think we are never happy or content with our face.  

    Happy Sunday ~  

    picture credit:   here