cheeky rain cheeky poem

rain drops 2017 he wants to share the beautiful newly painted white pearl-glo wall
all ready for Christmas and the New Year toll
instead his phone chooses to display a mind
dropping rain drops on his file
why it’s not what I want to send to my love he cries
no it isn’t but this is far better, the phone replies
what, even rain drops on my window pane cliche?
long ago i saw a drama performed on stage called rain drops keep falling on my head
i didn’t understand why my ma sang in swimsuit with pa dressed in sailor uniform pouring buckets of cold water on her head. no, it’s mixed up with i’m singing in the rain with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. not that you nit, she says, I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out Of My Hair.
Whatever you say. he says. She says, rain rain go away.
since i miss the moment of capturing the beautiful white glistening in the rain i just have to send this picture from a mysterious phone and say i love you rain don’t go today. last word he says. rain rain go away last word she says.
cheeky Cheeky rain

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sometimes we just have to go

Sometimes we just not go the Serene way. a way ahead
sometimes we just have to go
often both of us could know
it’s a season to let go
behold all love must forego
for a way ahead
a watershed
not a tear is heard
nor a sound is smeared
because we wear mascara
to celebrate the last gala
dancing to end our tango
no pretense
not perchance
lest we should cross each other’s way
lo beyond and faraway
still in pain
all in vain
deep in love
that won’t just go

a reluctant winter transformation song

a reluctant Transformation song.
snowy
mirror mirror on the wall
fifty years have passed and i don’t even know
with wife always kneading sour dough
i go slow better lie low gentle as a doe
shoveling home this elusive summer snow

see how she could throw the dough
like a magical boomerang discus raw
swinging back and fro blow by blow
at some imaginary crow
precisely striking each moon-lit foe

mirror mirror on the wall
why i never know
that ages for some only stall and not grow
like normal tidal ebb and flow
winter spring with summer fall

roll over transformation onto his next winter dream

Transformation of a nerd
snowy winter
i wake to find this stranger’s face
so close i fear such lack of space
what are you doing here? i ask
familiar yet looking like a wrinkled mask

fifty years have passed and you never notice?
take a look you are not nineteen boy
the mirror is taken aback by my daily ploy
boy o boy you really need less practice

messing toothpaste all over my face
“i love her i love her not i love her i love her not…”
write a proper message of your life
not on mirror marinated with mint and old spice

boy, fifty years have long gone by and you don’t even notice

o wake up boy grow up
looking boldly into the mirror i see snowy ice cream
by chance someone must have overturned onto my temples their cup
not my favorite flavor i sigh and roll over

onto my next dream

P/S: this is a conversation between a dreamy boy who refuses to grow up and a mirror which reflects the boy fifty years from now.

an autumn story: must be prepaid

a Pedestrian
mining town sale
nothing is free son
all must be prepaid
a voice from behind the wooden wall warns.

mind your step son
on real snow must be prepared
as he trips his foot over a thorn

the glassy bottles rattle
as he glides across and prattles
leaving behind many feet long gutter

clash, crash, clatter, smash
gliding rolling sputtering
not to worry ma’am stop hollering

i got cash to pay
boy looks up into dad’s face bathed in bright sun ray

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I took this picture in a mining town which had stopped operation. It is now for tourists and perhaps movies shooting. The autumn had long gone or was never there due to high altitude. But I like to keep the title as autumn story. Why? Because autumn gives a sense of forlorn beauty, a time to let go, mellow down and rest with a good warm cup of _________(fill in your favorite drink) and listen to random poetry reading, good and bad. Poetry writing is a personal thing. But reading is even better because the sound is part of the fun and you do not have to commit anything except some minutes/seconds of your life.

autumn story: a man and a giant pan

old frying panHumboldt is a humble man
he lives alone with a giant pan
minding his business tending his sheep
never lazing or sneaking a peep

one night he counts and finds one short
leaving 99 behind with kind farmer Shultz
he calmly cleans his pan and drinks his port

he searches yonder with a daylight lamp
until reaching the darkest lair
of one ferocious beast that could prey
on his foolish simple little lamb

the monster may roar and paw while spewing names
brave farmer Humboldt lifts his pan and aims
once and twice and thrice he whams
the poor beast has nothing to defend against
this lopsided knock out match launched by
one humble man and a giant pan

(o what a heart-warming dawn, the Peeking villagers all rise and proclaim: humble Humboldt safely home with simple lamb and a giant pan)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I took this picture in an old mining museum. Somehow it turns out that the frying pan becomes the centre piece! So i decide to write a poem for it.