Golden Autumn

Fall is here
Tingling of dew and winter air
The smell lingering in the breeze
That blows my thoughts round and round
Larks sing a tune of sadness
Chrysanthemums bloom gay
Green turns to orange
Then in turn, turns brown
Coldness brings freshness
The artist picks up his palette and dots
Explosions of gold and still brighter hues
Onto mother earth’s sleeping figure
He saves the brightest of them all
For the last rays of sun
That glare through the trees
For a second…
And disappears, silent as a ghost
And everything is still

Menial Ordeals

I’ve smelt it in the air,

I’ve seen it in the passing cars,

the mindless pigeons and the shapeless clouds in the sky

I have been looking for that originality.

It’s there, I’m sure of it. I see it show itself sometimes,

sticking out a tongue, poking round its head, lurking in the shadows.

It’s hidden in the depths of my brain, at the tip of my tongue, in the steady stream of ink that my pen exhausts gripped by my frustrated fingers with fruitless fervour.

I grew up with words, the kind of words that make you want to string together to form pretty bracelets that you can show off to your friends,

that sparkles iridescent when it catches the glare of sunlight and that mean beyond its simple letters.

I swallowed quotes and punch lines, adages and idioms in foreign languages. But what could I make of it all? I could only sit in front of a computer screen and try in vain to form a sentence, a paragraph, an essay for an English class.

Ideas float around like dandelion seeds that I couldn’t catch because the wind only and always carries it off to plant in some other lucky fellow’s head.

Like bubbles, sentences pop too quickly, are too delicate to hold and to be inspected further.

When everyday of your life passes the same way

You lose the excitement

Missing social cues

Missing deadlines

Missing the bus

Missing...home

You look towards the end of the river, over that mountain

And into your computer screen…

When will it ever end?

How did it begin?

Types of Candy: Metaphor Poetry Part 2

There’s a candy in this world

It’s not called Smarties or Aero

This candy takes a long time to chew-and just when you think it’s finished,

It surprises you with a new burst of flavour

One you’ve never tasted before

To some people this candy is soft

To some, it is hard

To some, it’s a sweet reminiscence, to some it’s a bitter reminder

But to all, there is only 1 such candy

No matter you wealth, no matter how hard you try

You can choose to spit it out early or to chew it through till the end

There will be those who will feed you false words of flattery, empty sighs of praise

But there are also those who will give you their courage, undying support and empathy

In the end, this candy is your own

So think wisely before you chew

A Song without Words: Metaphor Poetry Part 1

My family is a piece of music

My mother is the paper

Upon which we scribble reminders and

Imprint our countless mistakes

She is not impatient but

Bears with our pencil marks,

For all mistakes can be erased

My father is the chords

Sometimes in dissonance

Sometimes in perfect chordal harmony

Like pillars on a page,

They provide a root

For my brother’s simple melody,

For his notes that are sometimes bossy

Never in perfect pitch

But makes up for with enthusiasm

My grandma is the aria

Once dazzling

But what beauty time took away

She replaced with elegance and grace

Finally, me, the overly ambitious ,

4 voiced part that never sounds right

No matter how hard I try

It’s a tune that sounds like a little

Of everything put together by

The careless wave of a distracted composer

But if you listen to it closely

Put your ear to it, for it doesn’t wish to be heard

You might discover the beauty

It hold underneath

Sonnet IV To a Hummingbird

Sweet featherlight in morning’s airy grace

She trembles at the glaring heaven light

Go quickly, fly, oh princess leave no trace

The day is warm, oh gentle breeze, high flight

The Bleeding Hearts she greets intangibly   

Thy life above forever far from me

Thy ruby coat of emeralds admirably

A Nature’s jewel favourably be

Yet on the breeze of purity I lie

Your tender heart will beat away, don’t fear

Wherever you’ll be I will dwell near by

Upon these boughs where lovers meet each year   

You echo my touch at the end of breath

So warm you make me I am chilled by death

To Time's Eternal Loss: free verse

How the ink flows from my pen

like the oxygen to my breath

Thoughts like bubbles leak unto my fingers

Words fall from your mouth turns to gold

Like a feather I caress your fleeting

O grieve such beauty light will never hold

Until I see you, next lover’s meeting

But when I dream in new morning’s light

The moon hangs in solitude so timeless

I see Time’s eternal chase of the night

My words cannot stop tomorrow’s mindless

My love etched upon the sands of time

There will be no more summers

Of lovers kissing after dark

Question Mark: an Acrostic Poem

Quickly now before you forget

Until the answer is found, you

Express your inner doubts

Shouting out to the night wind

Talking to the ocean at high tide

In case you were wondering, I was too

Only those who really know me would understand

Nobody gets it, why?

Maybe I’m not expressing it clear enough

Attributing, inferring, making an educated guess

Rescue the poor soul in search for an answer who has a

Knack of finding out what things truly mean