Cherished

You are cherished

rose print, tucked in my memory

You are cherished

sunset, orange-framed, untarnished  

as sea bore you on ivory

hands, cradled vessel…. till blurry-

You are cherished

Picture credit @  Heaven

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Form for All - Hosted by Tony M ~

Poetry form:   Rondelet:   This is a typical French form that uses a refrain and two rhymes. The first, third and last line are four syllables or two feet, and the four lines remaining are eight syllables or four feet.  This gives a rhyme scheme of: A. b. A. a. b. b. A

On bed of snow

@ SweetLust Blog

lay me down on bed of snow,

nary a footprint nor faded bloom

my breasts empty of secrets,

fingers bare of ink and seasonings

cover my face with salt and thyme,

rub oil and myrrh on my feet

until shadows flee unto the night sky, 

pristine in silver, then maybe (perhaps) 

i will hear the silence of your

restless drum

Posted for:  D'verse Poets Pub - Peace: Within and Without  - I have chosen to write peace poetically.  Thank you Mary for the wonderful prompt ~
Shared with Poets United.

Jamaican rose

She graduated from university, a young woman full of mirth and bold dreams. 

Her two closest friends described her as the one with belly laughter, and vision to change the world.

It was raining so hard that fateful night that the subway trains screeched, metal striking, rousing the commuters blissfully napping.         

Her smiling face framed on the coffin and missalette, she did...  starting with her family and community.     

~0~0~0

She was the second of his three children, and the one who proudly shows her long scar from a heart surgery when she was 4 years old.      

With a robust voice, her father spoke through folded notes and photos:  celebrating her life full of courage, fun, love for music, and most of all, laughter. 

The jaimaican pink rose, cusp of womanhood, bloomed with the sweetest fragrance.

In the funeral hall teeming with unanswered questions and somber suits, the father wore his frail heart on his coat, beaming with gratitude.     

Posted for OpenLinkNight of Real Toads (Monday) and D'verse Poets Pub (Tuesday) ~

We attended the funeral over the weekend for my colleague's daughter (22 years old, after a tragic car accident).

Asleep

color of morning is white
and cold


freezing rain falls on her face unheeded
eyes closed,     


she hears crashing
waves of sea,  sun-drenched words 


leaping, reaching her core in 
unending refrain


she moves closer, marveling
connection 


the string, she cannot cut 
not even in death.


so she sleeps
bubble-wrapped in marble,  


waiting for his rebirth.

Posted for Poets United:   Think Tank:   Rebirth - I read some of the posts and thought I will take another route to the theme.        
And Flash Fiction Friday 55:   Tell a story in 55 words - For the G-Man.   Thanks for the visit.

"In 1987 I was asked by his Widow Christina to carve a figure called "Asleep" in Carrara marble as his gravestone. " 

Artist: Peter Schipperheyn, born Melbourne Australia 1955-  Title:  "Asleep"  carved 1987 Dimensions: 460 mm in height by 2020 mm in length by 800 mm in depth [life-size figure].  Medium:Carrara Statuario Marble. Present location: Mt Macedon Cemetery, Mt Macedon. Victoria.

Story and view of the sculpture in another angle:

http://www.peterschipperheyn.com/asleep.htm   


picture source:   http://imgur.com/gallery/BeefO    

Nostalgia

forget you, i want to
as winter sky curtains my windows


blurring lips, i want to
as spring flowers garnish my garden


fading lines, i want to
as summer ocean warms my feet


smudging mirrors, i want to 
as autumn leaves wither my pathway  


forget you, i still could not  
as winter sky drapes landscape anew 


all our photographs have now
faded into black and white frames,


shadows clinging to wood pine walls,   
wrapped tight in grey still memories, 


regrets, i have none 
though i still hover the window awning 


hoping for a glimpse of your brown cap, 


serene smile, i hope to find  
buried under red ink stains of your letters  



The Gooseberry Garden:   “Photos, Nostalgia, Memories, and Families”,
Poetry Jam:   Past and Future

A peek at the family's album reveals a young solider who went to war and never returned. I am thankful for all those who serve and die for our country.   I hope they can come home and celebrate Christmas with their loved ones.  (I enjoy watching their surprise homecoming and reunion). 

picture credit:  here

Day of the Dead

Beneath the moon’s sinister smile

A long shadow moves purposely

Behind the skull-crossed tombstones

Empty now of mourners, revelers

Leaving marigolds, candles, and bread

Baked for offering to departed souls

Prayers by incense-stained hands to atone

Sins of the dead, hollowed in fiery dust   

Scroundel he is not, as he marks

Each sculptured altar, as in a measure

Of gold and silver coins in his pocket

Purification of souls is his business.

"As the veil between the worlds of life and death is thin on this night, we take this time to remember our beloved dead."


Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.   Doors open starting Tuesday 3pm EST.   see you there ~


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Day_of_the_Dead

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_Souls'_Day


picture credit:   http://cheveuxroux.tumblr.com

Soundless

tears fall

soundless sorrow

boundless despair bearing

wrinkled face; on firm arms of son,

he cries

pleading

his heart away

if only she breathes free; 

he couldn't stand thought of being 

alone

~0~0~0~

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:   http://vi.sualize.us/beuchampniven/sadness/?sort=title_asc

Tree

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:  http://silent-musings.tumblr.com/

Shattered

 

unblinking

still 

gray walls  

tremble

windows  

shatter

into 

thousand 

fragments 

spiraling

falling

into 

dark 

              

bottomless

well

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:   http://shadesofkairos.wordpress.com/tag/romeo/ 

Woman in black

black mourning dress drapes
slim frame like gossamer mantilla 
failing to hide sparkle in brown eyes 
spring in step walking along the road

carrying small bag, she smiles rummaging
contents – lipstick case, wallet, keys, camera
and map – always the map of city. 
finding it, unfolds it slowly like precious

love letter, perusing every inch, line,  
bumps, veins, grooves, towers, walls
smoothing and checking hours, schedules
no detail escapes her warm inquisitive fingers   

burdened with caring for an ailing
spouse, she now stumps city’s streets
like young girl rediscovering a lover
wanting to get lost in his warm belly, deep tunnels
so vibrant and intriguing, making her forget

white walls with disinfectant smell   
memories of spouse’s death wish, 20 years long
when struck with paralysis, he became half a man  
never letting her forget he was once that man.

she now fidgets with gold band in ring finger
just 4 more months until I can wear bright
summer clothes, she says.  Pin sunflowers
straw hat, butterfly brooch in silky dress.

waving the map, I watch her board red bus   
window seat, she presses against murky glass   
breasts heaving against engine's pulse
she breathes in sweat, dirt from lover’s arms,  
her ardor greater each passing day.  

Author's Note:    Posted for D'Verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.    Doors open Tuesday (every Tuesday) at 3pm EST.  See you there~ 

Real life experiences fascinate me so I took a widow's story and gave it my own interpretation.  It is customary for some cultures to wear mourning clothes (of either black or white) for one year.

picture credit: http://gildam.tumblr.com/post/10089886913/photo-by-rosie-huntington-whiteley

In Memoriam

the phone calls that never came

letters and notebooks unopened

toys stacked neatly in boxes

winds blew strongly that day

leaves and flowers wilted on ground

from fires of hate or fervent faith 

i still don't know until now

what i remember still are your laughing eyes

tender touch of hands on my shoulders

childish stories that made me smile

fallen from the tree of life

i light a candle today in memory

of love and gratitude

Posted for D'Verse Poets Pub - Poetics - In Memoriam,  hosted by Mark Kerstetter.   I am not American but on this fateful day, Sept. 11, my heart goes out to all those who died.


Shared with One Single Impression - Notebook and Poets United.


Picture credit:   http://kmrants.tumblr.com/  

Friday Romantic Challenge: Coming Home

My eyes dried out of tears

As you wore proudly

the insignia and stripes

of your uniform

glistening boldly in the sun

My eyes dried out of tears

As I kissed you gently

Reminding me of life’s

Fleeting moments against

The dark shadows of war

My eyes dried out of tears

As I caressed your strong hands
Loving you meant sleeping with danger 
Intense, adrenalin pumping, unpredictable   
But it also felt like a warm blanket,
Smelling of home.      


My eyes dried out of tears

As my hand felt the cold metallic

Glass draped with a flag,  

I heard your voice echoing in my ears,

“Wait for me.  I am coming home.”

As I waved my final good bye,

I opened my hand to see

your name engraved on the tag    

Warm from your blood,  

A teardrop fell on my arm,

as I walked

Home.

Author's Note:   This post is for Romantic Friday Writers - Challenge:  Coming Home.   
Based on the theme, Coming Home, we are to write a story in less than 400 words. 
picture credit:  militaryheroes.tumblr


Shared with Poetry United:   The Poetry Panty #59.   Nice to meet you ~

Kiss me goodnight

your eyes are unblinking 
as you gasped your last breath
your hands are cold
as you trembled in my warmth  


i held your face so pale and fair 
though in the shadow of sadness
tis your courage that gives me courage
tis your strength that gives me strength


my pulse quickened and vibrated strongly 
as death finally embraced you    
your heart, though still now, beats in me
resonates within me, around me


you are free now to soar to the heaven
your pain and aches are gone
don't say goodbye, my love
just let me kiss you goodnight



Author's Note: This is my first entry to the One Shot Wednesday.  Do check out the others participating in this community.


picture credit:   cristania.tumblr