Sunday 30 December 2012

Shaken by your beauty

                                       i am awakened by beauty
                                                          crystal flake & sunset -
                  tangerine bloom, speckled pink cheeks 
                                       i gaze, basking your scent  
      by joy, keenly taken
                                                   i speak     
                                       no words, as if lightning 
                         arrowed my tongue, piercing ruby-    
                             heart to burst into spring  

                                         you fall by the crackling coal fire 
          snow drift of seeds and pines -  
                         alabaster skin turning gold
                                         i dream that you are mine   
like a leaf,  deep aching    
                            to fold    
                                         my arms are lengthening 
                 to cup your spires, hollows and flare
                            until there's us - ripening

Posted for OpenLinkNight of Imaginary Garden with Real Toads & Poets United
and Sunday's Challenge - based on form of  Robert Herrick's poem - To Daffodils

x x x x x x x a                                               Inspirational quote:
x x x x x b                                                    “You lethargic, waiting upon me,
x x x x x x x c                                               waiting for the fire and I, 
x x x x x b                                                     attendant upon you, shaken by your beauty.
d                                                                  Shaken by your beauty.
x x x x x d                                                     Shaken."
c                                                                 ~William Carlos Williams 
x x x x x e
x x x x x x x a
x x x x x e 

This year has been a productive year of writing for me.   I have written 132 for this blog, and another 176 in my other blog, a total of 309 for 2012.   Thank you for all the support and encouragement.   Happy New Year to all my blogger friends.

Wednesday 26 December 2012


is finding old photographs
you & me

smiling carelessly 
by beach and island cove  

moments seized & held
like south pearls in farm


as youthful cheeks, reckless  
of stolen kisses         

dyed-orange wrap & caps
glows like summer sky 


on sepia, burnt golden & 
amber, flickering  warm       

as white sands fade, 
falling into dusty albums


me & you  

Posted for Poetry Jam - Happiness and Flash Fiction 55 - For the G-man

picture credit:   here

Saturday 22 December 2012

Red Christmas

Outside -- 

cold wind rattles glass windows 
maple trees are bare of leaves 
               & snowdrops 

Inside -- 

presents still unwrapped 
Christmas carols waft with herbs 
              & fragrant fruits  

Under -- 

neath the sheets, 
I snuggle to read words - past, present 
             & possibilities 

the morning 
gifts rebirth, joyful and bright as red 
            (&) poinsettias

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics of Presents/ce ~ Hosted by Karin Gustafson 
Wishing you a bright Holiday & Blessed Christmas ~  
Thanks for all the gifts of encouragement and support for the year ~ 

Red poinsettias here, white blooms in my other blog.

Picture credit @ Scarlet Verses

Tuesday 18 December 2012

December morning

comes in all shades of blue
in the city sky   

light-grey to midnight purple,
painting melancholy for all things

past - simple & wrapped in red ribbons, 
bright faith of star lanterns along church street & 

smell of freshly rolled rice cakes & 
children's carefree laughter -

a father's heartbreak echoes in the wind,
shading dusk the bleakest canvas - 

we are silent as the sun rises 
on its toes,
slow richochet of orange spirals & pink pools, 

dispeling the mist, softening the hard-
ened skein of maple trees yearning 
for leaves --   

the pavement trembles 
between my pale cheeks and stomach -- 

suddenly, the sun is in your eyes - bright as  
we munch on sugary doughnuts & sing lyrics  

from the radio, we scatter 
love notes along the way, happy just to be --


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - every Tuesday.  

I am happy to share with you that my poem  Bottled Memory is part of the Winter 2012 Issue of Emerge Literary Journal.   I had originally written this based on Painting: “Bottles” by Borg de Nobel (picture at the left). 

Wishing you Happy Holidays ~ 

Tuesday 11 December 2012

At the Italian Cafe

air - scented with red-spicy sauce
clings to leather jacket & gypsy hair.
inhale --    

crisp buttered-bread in dipping oils,
garlic sauteed mushrooms, in-between butterfly
conversations & sipping periwinkle-iced wine.   
listen --

voices of people,
ubiquitous holiday carols,
grinding pepper mill,
crackling spice seeds,
clicking of cutlery,
heels on linoleum tile.
soak -- 

for a moment the thick air. 

bring it home with you.
do not wash it away, 
instead wear it to bed.
stain your sheets, 
alabaster-silk pillows,
your lover. 
kiss --

indigo-inked skin,
slowly as you would savor freshly
ground peppercorn, olives, basil &
spices sprinkled over the pasta noodles -
fiery, orangey-lit, sweat rolling backside - 

serendipity or synchronicity -
words brim from lips.     
& you --

are never the same again. 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight -  Guess who is helping tend the bar ?  Smiles ~

and Real Toads: An Ink-Stained List - Thanks De ~

Thanks for the visit.

picture credit:   here

Thursday 6 December 2012

On autumn's last day

I.    For Flash Fiction Friday 

You smell of sea tide this morning,
Rough, unpinned edges, eager to soar away
Stretching wings in grey-blue sky, hearing only heartbeats from warmer shores

But I am unlike those geese migrating southward 
Season after season, roots dig deeper, leaves huddle closer 
For the last time,  I taste the plump pomegranate seeds you offer me    

II.   For D'verse Poetics

I will wait here by river's edge -
Wrapped in heated blanket of us
Sunlight flickers low in white mist
Maple trees still, breathless statues

As winter drapes like bridal veil 
I will wait here by river's edge -
Writing poems and letters to you
As you sail, wingspan gliding wide  

The days and nights collide like dream -
Icy crystals drops, snow castles -   
As I wait here by river's edge
Writing songs, words flowing like wine 

Ferments the anticipation
My hands weave our pictures and words
Into the emerald-spring frame -- 
Here, I will wait by river's edge

Posted for:   Flash Fiction Friday - Tell a story in 55 words - For the G-man.
And for D'verse Poets Pub - FormforAll - Quarterns - Written in 4 quatrains.

I was driving the 10 lane freeway yesterday and saw a flock of geese flying southward.  Winter, though light, is upon us in the city.   Thanks for the visit.

picture credit:   here

Monday 3 December 2012

Not I

Snowdrops (Model: Jane Morris)
Dante Gabriel Rossetti: Creative Commons

White snowdrop is gentle
Not I – a shrub with heartless blooms   
Dark secrets brew from my kettle
Spells of love doom                            
Adorn these walls of scentless leaves and nettles

Morning sky is faithful
Not I  - reckless as the sea tide
Searching for fruits – sourly brittle
Uneven sides
My words knife your chest – hush – death is gentle  

Poetry form:  5 Lines of 6-8-8-4-10 syllables and rhyming scheme of a b a b a~  

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Open Link Night and Sunday's Mini-challenge ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Saturday 1 December 2012

Missing you

first blush of snow
fell this morning 

 - the color of sadness
   is white -

bereft of sweat, and 
memories of your hands  

rough as brown soil
trailing my inner thighs

your soft lips
opening the core of me

stains the bed sheets
stormy sea and darkest sky

- the taste of black tea 
  is spicy - 

devoid of secrets-
the room becomes just another room 

white walls, full of unopened boxes 
cabinet shelves, bare of cutlery   

but aches - sealed tight in jars  
and papers - inked by echoes  

of your words, slow gentle rain
on my face, canvas of longing

- without you, 
  all seasons are the same -

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub - Missing You -
Hosted by Stuart McPherson

I am happy to be on-line and devoting more time to writing ~ 

Thanks for the visit ~  

Picture credit:   here

Saturday 24 November 2012

Preparing to fall

fear trickles
slow descent 

of black and red 
dewdrops, pale sheen

reflects diminishing energy    
under duvet of gathering night 

rusting slowly, i recall 
fleeting moments like taste

of curry powder in choco-
late mousse, arching

of limbs in deep pleasure,
sated lips under the sweet rain-

waiting is short -   
before i could soak earthly flavors -  

the first frost falls,  
its white and delicate hands heavy on my throat -    

no mental preparation is adequate
for the sharp cut of separation, raw-stained  

pain stinging eyes, water rising 
and flooding the fragile chest --  

bare of seeds and thirsty blooms,
now crumbling faster than sands-- 

it was never a question of 
if and when, but how

in grieving and accepting,  
i fall with a graceful sweep--

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics:  Preparation is the key ~ Thanks for the visit ~ Sorry if I am slow in going around but I can't seem to see the D'verse Mr Linky :-(  

picture credit:  here

Saturday 17 November 2012

Autumn lilies

Picture credit:   Terry

i gaze across autumn lilies    
speckled orange and delicate 

it is mid-November
and sunrise is muted blue 

my fingertips trace the edges
serrated pink and curled 

i hold as we make love - lingering 
slow - amidst drone of subway 

running fast and furious as days
turn colder and fades 

in the brushstrokes of twilight -
mulched of seeds and fallen 

strong is the scent of darkness    
like grounded coffee beans   

i hear your words underfoot 
shaped green, restless moon 

sweeping changes, never far   
touching our feet, which keeps 

for another fragrant sip -
my stem clings to damp dew 

anchoring our love, muddy warm - 
in the coming winter 

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub: Poetics - Photography by Terry S. Amstutz - It's Saturday - Time to break away from my work and studies to write and visit blogs ~   
Thanks for the visit ~   

Wednesday 7 November 2012

When the night falls

when the night falls,
i search for you  

bare cusp, 
trembling like last leaf on branch 

my fingers run along the shape 
your face and torso

warm like red purple skies
as you hold me

in the evening cold
your real colors - smell of earth  

paints my pale skin golden sun,
lips wet as ripe plums    

the autumn window
makes me restless and eager

to behold twilight's awakening
sweeping the river gorge

electric blue, succulent grapes 
it is majestic  

as your serene eyes draping mine
when the night falls

Note:  My posts this month will be few as I will be studying and taking my certification exam by the end of the month.   I hope to visit you when I can.  Thanks for the visit ~  

Saturday 3 November 2012

On forgetting the details

Photo credit:   SueAnn 

when you kissed me
under the darkening shade  

i forgot
how soft and tender the night can be

blurred of lines,
empty of violent shapes and crisp-

orange burns of sun and searing sky--
i imagine us

melting away in pit of darkness
but its only late afternoon

i have to catch my station train and bus,
cook dinner and - all the details -

the possibility of escape tempts me 
underground, away from the city crowd 

i look for the missing key
and find it dangling by the doorway 

but i am a creature of habit and old ways,    
so when i stammer to say goodbye --

i suddenly remember  
how hard and brittle cold the floor tiles are 

on my face -- 

Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub:  Poetics - Through the Artist Lens - I don't know why this picture prompted me of domestic violence ~  Oh well, thanks for the visit ~

Thursday 1 November 2012

The ghost of you

-moonless night-
not a leaf nor limb
swayed in breeze 

I heard you breathing at the window

-stained ink- 
mug beside empty chair 
and upturned book

At first the goodbye had a lilt to it—
maybe just a couple of months—
but it was a beheading 

-sword slow motion-
crumbling inching-bit,     
i wanted 

quick death

Lines from Ghost Elephant by Jean Valentine

Posted for:   Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Hallow's Edge
and Poetry Jam:   Choices
and Flash Fiction Friday - a post in 55 words - for the G-man 

                                                               picture credit:   here

Sunday 28 October 2012

At masked ball

i wear the night
silky purple & silver star 
under  the  peacock  mask
mysterious as blooming moon flower

i dream the dance - violin strings and trumpet beats  
under smokey lights - basking lavender scents and drama 

where anything can happen:
tangos, twists, or trysts

at masked ball 
Willow Manor 

My dream dress: Zuhair Murad

My dream date:   Hugh Jackman

Posted for :   5th Willow Manor Ball 2012  -  My first time to attend this ~ Such fun ~ Grace

Saturday 27 October 2012

The fire within

i wake up to pitter patter of rain
and bare sight of you --
bereft of leaves,
dark limbs jutting in the sky window

how quickly cold dawn has sapped
green and fresh colors --
i see spidery lines,
delicate russet edges,   

small scar on my left knee, 
one-inch stitch on left breast,
frail back, slight bump on forehead -
all reminders not to jump on impulse
and throw caution recklessly -  

in time
i have become 
more of a tree
than a carefree spring cloud-  

slightly drooping 
eyebrows, tiny freckles under eyes,
bearing fruits and laughter lines,
with small mole on right cheek,
which still keeps growing -

i wear them all - 
120 pounds,  long wavy hair -
in graceful acceptance of season's passage 

but not forgetting 
to rise    
every morning (specially work days) 
and run
after the fire dream --
your feverish breath on my face --- 


“As if you were on fire from within. The moon lives in the lining of your skin.” by Pablo Neruda
Posted for:   D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics: Self Portrait - Thanks for the visit -
Shared with Poets United~

picture credit:  here

Saturday 20 October 2012

Dreaming of pumpkins

I.  Late Spring

On  the  warm  soft  soil
I lay, pale pumpkin seed 
By garden’s edge – I bloom
Orange cheeks, bee stung lips    

II.  Mid-Summer

I thirst for rain  and  sun   
To drench dry olive skin
Bend me over several times   
Growing round and long vines

III. Early Autumn

Fragrant, ripe - you pluck me
Peeling layers to taste cream
With sweetness of golden pears-
You come like swooning leaf

Iv.  Winter night

Hold  the  core  of  me
Dry and cold, sealed envelope  
Amidst  white landscape, I sleep  
Dreaming of spring    --  and you 

Posted for:  D'verse Poets Pub - Its About Time - I made pumpkin soup with Bosc pears - heavenly ~ and Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Sunday's Challenge - Chinese poetry form is Jue-ju 

Line length: 5 words per line
Lines per stanza: 4
Theme: Often suggestive of erotic love
Rhyme scheme: couplets or unrhymed

Picture credit:   here

Thursday 18 October 2012

Weeping willow (Complete- this is a long post)

October 18, 2012
Prince of Wales Hotel
Niagara-on-the-Lake, Canada
9:00 pm.

Anne looked across the party room, 
resting on the face of her fiance, Ben

Around her, chimney fire and voices swirled and crackled
with secrets and haunting stories of people who have lived and 
died in this land over 200 years ago - the Watcher, 
Sophia Shaw and General Isaac Brock. 

Torn and razed to the ground, this town was
the battleground between British and Canadian soldiers, 
against the invading American forces.    

October 1812
Fort George, Niagara 
7:30 pm

your face is cold but your lips 
warmly scented with coffee and cream,  
silky soft as the night, now quiet from gunfire burst        

tomorrow is uncertain, much less dawn's light  

the blustery wind is fierce, as is your ardor for 
battle of our soil and water, for our Motherland  

so give me the kiss of forever - 

stinging bite of intoxicated bee, 
lush taste of forbidden plump fruit 

that i will savor again and again

on my tongue, sweet nectar and rain
on my limbs, musky earth and autumn leaves    

i gather - fiery storm, impetuous clouds -   

for this night, unclasp my bow, lift me up 
that i will remember how strong and brave

you are, my soldier 

and when they bring me your body   

stone cold, gunpowder and bloody mud on your red coat of arms  
i will weep

a broken petal, lost soul  

along the cobbled streets and blue lake,
beseeching for your return

October 19, 2012

BrockamourManor, Niagara-on-the-Lake
5:00 am

Morning coffee, fresh and black, warms his chest    
as he waits for the service car to bring him 
to the airport for an early morning flight for business

Perhaps it is the lack of sleep or too much wine

but without warning, a prickly sensation like an ice drop
on his nape, startles him into awareness that someone might be 
behind him -- 

Ben turns around quickly but it is just 

his shadow and silence of the house, circa 1809, 
nestled amongst the gardens off the main tourist road
Hearing the door closing along the corridor, he calls out quickly,
probably a staff, “Thanks for the coffee.   I really appreciate it.”

But there is only the wind

now rising like sand storm, whipping the fallen leaves
into a frenzy, straining the sounds
of someone crying

Sounds are coming from the second floor,
heartbreaking in the pauses
after a moment’s hesitation, Ben goes up the stairway
leading to the bedroom where Anne is still sleeping

Midway up the steps, he feels the energy -- 
pull of strong currents surging past him, like someone rushing
downwards in a hurry
He is taken aback for a moment and sees a shadowy tail of
someone going towards the foyer
He follows the movements and notes that the main door 
is now ajar in the cold wind,
the mist from the lake, giving the house an eerie vibe  

Slowly he walks outside and sees in the murky darkness
two outlines:  back of the woman standing near the horse 
and the horseman on the saddle
The blurry shapes confuse him and for a moment, he feels like an 
intruder watching an intimate farewell scene - a replay of that fateful night,
200 years ago.

Quickly the horseman in coat of arms, gives a nudge to the horse and is 
gone in the whirling fog, in the dark dawn, towards the main road
where his destiny and choice will collide

Ben shivers as the galloping hooves hit the dirt road, making it all too real for him.  
The woman’s back is steadily looking at the horseman until he is out of sight.
Involuntarily, Ben murmurs in admiration, “He is a brave man, our hero.” 

Slowly the woman's back turns towards him-- 
her profile now clearly visible --
she is wearing a long dark dress, cloak heavy on her shoulders, but  
it is the expression on her face -- eyes -- 
that he will never forget.

Then in the blur, she fades in the mist  

October 1812
Queenston Heights
7:04 am

under the blood stained blankets,
your face is cold, as well as your hands
fearless soldier, hero -   
you have fallen where you wanted to be –

fighting valiantly in the cannon lit dawn
one hundred yards west of the road of Queenston
leading the battle of 49th men,
not caring of your personal safety

your voice a bold call to arms
thundering like hard rain in hearts of the enemies
you stood on the crest, fatally wounded,
until your heart broke into a thousand pieces 

falling down on autumn leaves, moistened tears
and trampled heads of wild-flowers,
you lay in the organ notes of the battle, shouts
and shrill-war cries of the Mohawks

I wept under my heavy black veil, 
For all the days that could have been
For all the children that you and I could have raised   
And the willow trees wept along with me  

October 2013
10:00 am

Ben opens the car door to help Anne in the backseat of their mini-van.

After the fateful encounter with the ghosts, Ben had gone up
to check on Anne, who was still sleeping in the bed. 
Though they made plans of getting married next year, 
the specter of death and separation became heavy in his heart.
The face of the woman haunted him-- no, he decided not tell Anne
nor anyone what happened to him.  
Instead he prayed silently - a vow - that he will try his best 
to make her happy --
every single day and moment of their lives.

“It’s so beautiful here.”  Anne said, gazing at the autumn leaves and blooms.   
“Yes, it is.”  Ben smiles, marveling at joy and serenity on her face.     

She had insisted in visiting the manor house again on their way to Niagara Falls.     
“After all this is where he was conceived.”    
He is their baby boy, sleeping contently in her arms.  

Posted for Romantic Friday Writers:   House of Horrors - Word count - 994.  This is probably my longest piece.  Please check out the other stories in Romantic Friday Writers ~ MPA - Feedback is appreciated - which part is your favorite ? Thanks for the visit. 

Loosely based on love story of Sophia Shaw and General Issac Brock.   Brock was the great general of the British, and the most important strategist for Upper Canada's resistance against the Americans.  They were devoted to each other but Lady Sophia's parents refused to allow their marriage. Though an elegant hero Brock was not born of nobility. Their affair continued and General Brock swore he would return to marry her. Tragically, the general was killed in battle on October 1812.     Sophia never recovered and stayed true to Brock, never marrying. For those final few years, people in town did not see Sophia.  Instead they would only hear her cries from a second floor bedroom in Brockamour.  She is commonly spotted wandering the halls of the manor house crying in despair, longing for the man she loved. Her sobs are heard reverberating throughout Queen Street, giving her the name "Sobbing Sophia."  Source

More on the Ghosts of Niagara-on-the Lake here

Picture from the Movie -Pride and Prejudice