for a girl named Peace: a haiku and a prose

A girl named Peace

He nearly passed her by. But something inside his heart prompted him to turn back and went over to look at this flower. She is a tiny insignificant thing presenting herself alone in the cold. She is the only flower in sight. There is a flaw on the outside of the petals. He would have walked by without glancing back.

Yet he turned his head and looked and then walked back to her. He looks at her from another angle and takes some shots. He keeps taking until he finds a perfect angle. Then he walks home.

He has not come this way for 1825 days. This time he comes for a break from the snow land for the warmer weather. This morning he decides to walk. And then he sees her.

She is beautiful from one angle. So is a woman in the snow land. She appears in his scene awhile ago. He has captured a perfect shot of her in the camera of his heart and stored the precious glimpse of her soul in his treasure chest.

It is just a morning in November and they have only met for two months. Someone says it is her birthday and he asks her whether she wants a meal or a present. He merely asks casually out of polite goodwill. She replies that she wants neither. She says a breakfast will do and she will provide her own tea. He can provide a cookie.

A day before that morning he walks to the pharmacy and buys her a Disney Pooh’s card on enjoying the little things in life and be someone’s reason to smile. He then decides to make her a proper gift. He googles and finds a picture of her holding her beloved dog (who has reached his full age and died a year before she comes to this land) and pastes it on a piece of A4 paper. Then he finds and pastes on it a Rudyard Kipling’s poem on “The Power of a Dog”, using human friendship (with a dog) to illustrate the inevitable sadness of parting after an investment of sentiment.

On her birthday she brews Starbucks coffee and butters a croissant for him. They sit across the breakfast table (in a house shared among three housemates) and he gives her the present. He says, “Be prepared to cry.” She cries. He never asks her why. He knows why.

Then a stormy relationship attempts to develop and they both crash at the take off runway.

Like this flower he finds by the roadside now there is a taint which is so glaring in one angle. Yet like this same flower there is a great beauty in her that more than covers whatever taint she has.

I will remember you. He says to the corner of his heart where he keeps his treasure of pictures of momentary glimpses of beauty. Will you remember me? He asks in silence.

Does remembrance really matter? He tries to remember all the women who had tried to love him before. But he could not reciprocate their passion, unlike the playing cards which he handles so well. Which card is his heart, spade or heart or diamond? Then he remembers the lyrics of a song, That’s not the shape of my heart.

She gets very upset when he doesn’t say he loves her. She wants him to say it. But he can’t. It is a life and death issue involved and that’s why he cannot say it to any woman. Can she not see in the sadness in his eyes?

Somewhere someone says, there is no greater love than this, laying down your life for the one you love. No, he does not know the size of his love, if any, and certainly not to the extent of laying down his life for someone, even a woman.

So here he is sauntering down a gentle sunny slope with a deck of new cards, and she, lost, two oceans away in the city of biography and reminiscence and childhood dream, none laying down their lives for one another.

He walks home slowly and sighs, “This flower is beautiful to behold, but there is a distinct flaw. ” Still he has decided to keep the two pictures, to remind him of this sunny morning and his encounter with this flower. “I love you. Come home.” He whispers in his heart to the girl named Peace. (To be continued)

a girl named Peace 2

a haiku for a girl named Peace

coffee croissant shared

thug life mug handled with care

ignore or beware

“#Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge, #CFFC

#timesquare: the time of a dog traveler

#timesquare: the time of grace

Time to cross the square

heeding gentle beckoning

of time calling grace

This months photo challenge in square format from Becky is #timesquare

another letter I shall not mail: a picture and a poem

Without the weekly-Photo-challenge some of us are feeling a bit lost regarding where to hang out and what to take a photo of. Admittedly many of us have lots of photos in our stock so we are not exactly all dry up and out of ideas. I have discovered that the world is not all that big and soon one traveler just runs out of a new place to go. Maybe I am just not motivated to move…(LOL) Of course I have the excuse that I have been busy with a practically round the clock project during the interval between the end of the daily/weekly prompt and now when I realize that my project is over and I do have an empty space in time into which I may slot a photo or two. Alas, the photo is just nowhere to be found.

So here I am looking at my old stocks. In my farewell post (weekly photo challenge “all times favorites) I inadvertently titled it “don’t look back, she says, I am not there.” A love story in suspense. Yet, here I am, looking back a bit. Maybe a picture and a poem to continue…a story.

2015 October

doesn’t ever glance backward
yet i stand here gazing forward
as if she may chime
a bell

no matter the distance
i shall keep my stance
in position
in case this station
will be called to mail

her call
i shall not refuse
or bid adieus

to love: this is a song I will not sing to you

a song of winterspring song


this is a song i would not sing
because the song has run away in sync
with other days i shall not bring

this is a song i should not sing
because its lyrics have bloomed into an early spring
here here i call in the midst of freezing
into a laboriously sculptured thing

there there replies the happy song to dare
unyielding crusty earth to break forth today
to quench upon the outpouring heavenly dew
that refuses my lingering sad adieu

much as i want to tell you about a cold alienating bland ordinary winter
my song rebels and sings of a fiery bonding love in many resplendent splendor
instead of decrepitating into ashy ice
my hibernating heart wakes to early rise
by your twin spade of starry eyes

no i will not say goodbye you say
no you will not say goodbye i say
yet this is a song i will not sing to you
the song is rewriting its lyrics anew

as i go
you grow

favorite poem rambling song to end 2017

summer snow

2017 Favorites.
they call to compose an official song
to cherish entrance of wintry solace long
why they never know it’s an impossible task
anyone with brain would always ask

how long is winter to be long
haha you must be joking all along
how wide is winter to be white
is he the old guy with snow whiskers uphill hiding a wife

she’s beautiful so so much
to be goggled at by many eyes
old guy loves wife so so much
he vows she’ll not be seen by any more disrespectful, aye

you want to hide Winter with her light
brilliantly glistening deep at night
or reverse her silky white waterfall
Nay, even Spring won’t do impossible chore

he cannot remember now
how she grows her pure white snow
when his matching whiskers start their show
It seems just yesterday they were both stage-fright-voices
so simple in love in spring in songs in dances

Rumors say of late a celestial laser show persistently brews on them
with dazed drooping eyes he now lisps new sounds
decked in red digital coat and virtual hat and geeky boots and all
i give you the official winter solace rap
nothing more nothing less on
eight foot long
as my elementary AI sleigh tap
with laser beaming Reindeer Day
begin our show show show
starring L E D Pivot Stel and Winter Wanda La La La

Note: Towards the end of 2017 I switch to write funny/dramatic/satirical experimental poems telling a story. Is it a new direction? Or is it just an intermission? I would like to think it’s both.

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