seeing beyond zero visibility

What do you do with zero visibility? A man who posted this in the chat exclaimed that visibility was zero at that point but he was determined to get home in time to cook the family reunion dinner. Yes, a man rushing home from work so that he could give his family of grown up live-at-home working children a real treat.

He loves cooking and has owned food and beverage businesses in the past. His family persuaded him to retire and he has since gone into minor home expansion construction line. But he has not stopped cooking. He treats his own home like a cafe, rises extra early just to cook for the day before he goes out. The wife and children can eat them cold or heat them up after work. The soup and rice are always kept warm.

Daily I read a different menu across the ocean in the group chat. His heart has remained a chef. On special days (reunion, birthdays, Christmas, New Year Eve) he goes home early and cooks for his loved ones and old faithful clients really special dishes.

In writing too, at times, I ask if I should move on to a more leisurely field. Because writing an original story, like a chef cooking, is not a delegable job, and can become taxing as years go by. But then, I know because that is where I have laid my heart, one day, I too, may have to resort to making a menu for writing bite-size stuff for the sake of a few very old loved ones, a handful of friends, and even some faithful stranger-readers I have never met.

2023-02-10

a clear day in 2020 and a mysterious sound

I was fooled by the same sound twice. To date I am still trying to photograph the culprit, in vain. Which is more helpful to a photographer, albeit an amateur, the sight or the sound? More raw/unedited pictures from an old Samsung. 2020 May.

Today my random thought wandered to the sound of things rather the sight of things. Which is more important to a traveler? The sound or the sight? A photographer will choose sight anytime. A video recorder will want both.

For a writing person, we imagine lots of things, from a picture that tells a thousand stories. But sounds may be simpler to work with, like the happy noises made by the local’s children right now in the park!

Nevertheless, I have been fooled too, by sounds. After house (with a park) and dog sitting for a friend for several occasions I spoke as a passing remark on the long distance phone, “you know, one of the houses nearby seems to have a faulty alarm that went off all the time.” I finally solved that mystery much later. After settling in another house (with another park), one day I woke to listen to sounds and found the same alarm go off for hours. So I told the friend when she called to check how thing were in a new place. When I was ready to host a high tea, I invited her. While eating English muffin, I casually remarked, “There it is, another alarm going off and nobody cares!”

The outburst of laughter that followed was remarkable as it was indeed out of character. With tears rolling down her cheek, she finally uttered, “O you poor… bumpkin! Have you never heard of the marvel of a real life cicada’s song?”

I have been trying to photograph a cicada ever since, to no avail. And I no longer pride myself for recognizing sounds of various species/things.

2023-02-07

p/s: What’s black and red and heard all over? A cicada, of course. The chirping and clicking noises of the male cicada are actually a species-specific mating call that can be heard by females up to a mile (1.6 kilometers) away. (Googled)

one morning the sky changed thrice

A photographer never knows what they can capture when looking up. This morning I took a few pictures at random. The sky outside. While working on screenshots I took a cup of coffee and noted the sunshine, which was quite a pleasant change after a number of seemingly endless rainy days (and nights)! But I was delayed and the sky had changed by the time I went out. The first picture was the gloomy sky that greeted the mobile phone. I went back to the work desk and continued my task. After about 30 minutes I looked up and noted the brilliant sunshine all over the yard and park. It was like the sky suddenly decide to brighten up for another coffee break. The subsequent two pictures were taken with the same old Samsung at my second cup of coffee.

There was a season when I was rather keen on taking photos of the sky especially from an elevated higher floor/ground, sitting in the sun and enjoying the view. The pictures show another perspective which we do not normally see when we are in the valley (or at the lower floor level) and tend to be occupied with the clutters down there.

The sky and its vast space can be fascinating. One never knows what one can capture on a fine day.

Looking at the sky and the vast blue beyond it represents can bring a person to thinking of another realm, whether imaginary or real. We can never claim that we know all. We can only see a tiny bit of our own world, and mostly through what others present to our sight. Either facts r fictions. What more worlds and worlds beyond this?

A young person and I like to look for pictures within the sky pictures we take. And we challenge each other to spot faces of angels, animals, and all sorts of stuff, like a treasure hunt. I remember the appearance of a huge heart from a picture I took while walking up a hill. It was a beautiful and well-painted white and fluffy heart in the sky, against the backdrop of a blue sky. it was so clear that no one can miss seeing it. A love letter in the sky. The amazing thing was that it stayed and lingered there as I climbed up and remained there until I started home. I saw it dissolving gradually as I walked down and walked pass that stretch of the hill.

It was a time when nearly all joggers or strollers wore face masks. Some were walking their dogs. The dogs were mask-less. We would normally greet each other with a slight nod or a raised hand from a distance due to social distancing. Some dogs were friendly and had to be restrained from running to anyone other than its owner. When the snow came, often I walked alone as most people avoided walking up due to the snow. Yes, those were days when we had to keep looking down to not slip and fall. And the sky remained unchanged with a grey veil.

2023-02-06

a quiet place where our minds meet -a poem

daily I wait

for your rustling footsteps climbing up the winding path of fallen leaves

by now you must have greeted all wayside gleefully waving daffodils

in size, by name, and of every distinct shade of gold

finding the ever changing doorway to reach our secret garden where our minds meet

for warm cups of freshly brew tea and genuine English muffins

in the tender coolness of many breezy afternoons

we whisper and converse and discourse words and sentences and pages and volumes

at times clashing tiny silver spoons and forks and minds

with frown brows, yet hearts at ease and all in good humour

knowing that this ad hoc assembly of words will be of transient consequence

as full stop daily we halt at the umpteenth semicolon (after we lose count) bidding goodbye and see you

(and remember tomorrow repeating rendezvous)

to this quiet place where our minds perchance meet.

kai 2022-06-24

Weekend Writing Prompt #244 – Cave: twelve boys a coach and a cave (2018 news)

12 boys one coach explored cave with zeal

cave water fast rising

until

Entrapped in 336 hours’ fearful ordeal

no way out but deeper down

still

friendship, endurance exulted triumph beyond chill

behold, all

unscathed.

https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2022/01/15/weekend-writing-prompt-244-cave/

P/s: the poem is based on a true story of a football team of 12 boys and their young coach. They went to explore a cave on 23rd June 2018, intending to spend an hour there but were soon trapped inside by rising water due to heavy rainfall. They were trapped underground for two weeks instead. They were later found to be 1km below surface on a ledge surrounded by water. To reach the boys, divers were used. Total distance to reach the boys: 2950m (1500 on foot, 1450m diving). It was a major coordinated operation involving the locals and multinationals (naval seals, divers, medical, and supplies). Against many odds, the boys survived the ordeal.

a poet’s two ways to dispel an unwanted feeling

on an Amtrak train

When we put our feelings in the boxes of perspective we feel safe. I just read some poems by a favorite poet in past gone years, and this is one stanza that I picked at random,

Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —
because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep. (by Pablo Neruda [1914-1973] )

Feelings are really one of the least safe things in life. How to stop a feeling that disturbs and even hurts? There are two ways. One way is to write a poem, or in my case, write a haiku, short and terse. Then I put away my unwanted feeling into the 17 sounds/syllables. For example, here is my haiku based on the above stanza from the famous poet.

go not a day long

vacant stare waiting forlorn

train not arriving

Another way of stopping an unwanted feeling is to pack it into a box. Label the boxes into perspectives. A dictionary’s definition (not exhaustive) of perspective includes: A particular attitude toward or way of regarding something; a point of view. A picture drawn in perspective, especially one appearing to enlarge or extend the actual space, or to give the effect of distance.  A true understanding of the relative importance of things; a sense of proportion. You can name it whatever (just fill in the blank). And then put it aside.

Actually the key is “put it aside”. Can you do it?

Can I? Well, I have the haiku as a backup plan B. So one day if I find it real hard not to hear from you for a long long time, I may choose one of the two ways like a DIY dispenser of feeling numbing/removing fail-proof actions.

Wordle #261challenge: a limp, a chest of gold and a beautiful lake

2016-01-27 Lake Tahoe

It started with a limp. More specifically it started on the day (a long time ago) when I fell down and sprained my ankle while hiking and met the mermaid in a tank. Here is the ensuing conversation:

Me (The solitary truant playing young person on hilltops): Good day, miss. (Not wanting to be impolite, while wondering which cringeworthy miscreant put her in that misfortune).

Mermaid: Good day, young sir. Can you help me please? I am freezing cold!

Me: (In a display of bravado , covered the tank with my plaid, a huge thick Scottish one) Ok, miss, I hope you feel better.

Mermaid: Thank you sir. I see you are limping. Is it painful?

Me: (Wondering what to do next, with my right ankle swollen and my body temperature dropping without the plaid) Yes, miss. Do you need further help?

Mermaid: Yes, I was kidnapped and placed up here. This is the rendezvous place for the crooks. They are returning soon.  

Me: Where are you from, miss? I might be able to take you home.

Mermaid told me she lived nearby in a hidden lake and her father was the king of the lake which was full of ancient treasures. The kidnappers stumbled upon that secret, intruded their privacy, and found the magic lake on the particular day of the particular month it appeared to the human world and kidnapped her and asked her father for a chest of gold as ransom. She could show me the way if I could carry her tank on my back and limp down the valley on the other side of the hill. The breath taking beautiful lake would manifest to her when in sight.

Being the gallant youth I was then, we made our great escape. Miraculously I limped and somewhat swiveled down that hill and delivered that mermaid safely to her father and received a reward of a chest of gold. They changed the schedule of annual appearance after that. I never met them again. Yes, I did feel a tinge of sorrow when I thought that I would never get to write their story, so here it is, at last!

That explained why I did not have to continue my study or did a day of work ever since then. And that’s why I am writing such “juvenile” story.

What happened to my foot? Healed just as miraculously the moment we reached the magic water of the lake. The name of the Lake? Living Water.

2021-10-14

Wordle#261 Sorrow cringeworthy miscreant hide hilltops swivel plaid Freeze privacy escape mermaid limp

Pastsquares challenge: a time in California somewhere walking

Just a time in space. This picture was taken on February 6, 2016 while taking a brisk walk in a small sunny town in California. There were some lovely birds but I couldn’t make them stay still. I stood very still though, trying to look like part of the static scenery. Alas, they were more lively than I imagined. Anyway I am thankful that this picture is cheerful and colorful enough resultant of a solitary traveler’s quest that day.

Becky’s past squares

Pastsquares challenge: from a traveler’s past

taken from 2019-03-19 travel album (a traveller attending a wedding across the sea, on the eve, looking for a hair salon in an unfamiliar territory, googling in desperation. LOL.)

pastsquares challenge

Ronovan Writes #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge 364 TENDER and Who: a lament haiku

“tender is the night”

“who cares?” not so tenderly

she retorts point blank

……………

https://ronovanwrites.com/2021/06/28/ronovan-writes-weekly-haiku-poetry-prompt-challenge-364-tender-and-who/

The magic briefcase adventure: a random reading of one day

“This is where it all begins. Everything starts here, today.”― David Nicholls, quote from One Day. He never knew how he could ever forget the day they first met and began a strange, out-of-this-world relationship. Looking back now, he realizes how true these words have been to them, “You can live your whole life not realizing that what you’re looking for is right in front of you. Whatever happens tomorrow, we had today; and I’ll always remember it.”― David Nicholls, quote from One Day

He is back now in his own realm (which the earthlings call, planet) and has settled to his light years of taking a break after his earth assignment, an assignment which he will always remember, not only because of its colossal responsibility of a century as a guardian for the four winds, a shield for earth against external invasion, but also for the last task to complete a book/report on “the essence of love” involving emotion and feelings, the energy that drive the earthlings to make irrational decisions and actions.

He has kept a copy of the report, mainly in excerpts as the full set of research paper is too lengthy and detailed with sadness involving him, a part which stuns even a being like him, who has been programed not to feel or be emotive in the earth’s way. Yes, he has been deeply hurt and nearly ruined. And it is all because of just one earthling woman who remains a stranger to him as even now he realizes he has never known her.

While back to his realm, he continues a very disciplined life and switches back to patrolling the earth as a circling light when it is his turn, which is an annual event. He remembers his last farewell words to the strange enigmatic woman, when she was still alive and young, “when you look up the midnight sky on every February 14, no matter which time zone you are, you will see a brilliant white light that lights u the whole sky for an instant, and you will know that it is me.”

After leaving the place he names Snowland, they no longer contact each other. He carried on his assignment for several more decades, until he was allowed to leave earth. He did not know or find out (if he wanted to, he could) where she was and whether she was still alive. Sometimes it is better not to know. As he listens to the earthling’s book “One Day” today, he is stirred to remember her. And his eyes are moist and he feels liquids running down his cheeks. Yes, he has tears. They had some good days together, during the months of locked down up that 8000 ft high mountain.

He never questioned her past. And that was his mistake. She tried to tell him, disguised as narrating the story of a friend, or a project she was writing, but he preferred to stay out of her personal life. He learned too late. He discovered too late that she was not what he thought she was. When she unleashed the force of human emotion based on misguided feelings, he was totally unprepared and did not know how to respond as a human would do. He had never learned how to. It was like a powerful tidal wave with the force equal to 8000 locomotives or 25 million horses pounding against an unwavering cold stone wall. At her uncontrollable raging he continued to think and analyze, “Why does she hate so much? Why do human hurt themselves with hatred?” He could see her pain, but he could not feel. He was merely a bystander in her world.

In short, he does not know human kind of love, or any emotion called love and hate at all. He really cannot fathom how a human can love and hate at the same time, to the point that they want to destroy in the name of love.

Ka,2021-05-04

sensitive silence: a poem.

The silence of the sea. Random music musing. War=Wall between two humans.*

“How lucky you are to live by the sea. What I like most about the sea is its silence. I’m talking about what is hidden. What can be perceived underneath. One must learn to listen to it.”

I want to say something but I just cannot vocalize because it is too sensitive to talk about. Silence is a great wall. Sometimes some music can break through the wall. If only more have ears to hear. Pure music is always without words, without singing. It is a form of silence. The sound of silence. Yet it tells stories that touch the heart. If only more will write the kind of music of yesteryears. Music that can break through walls and wars, time and space. But we each hear a different beat. So there is no condemnation for any differences if need be. We are designed to be different.

Here are just my rambling phrases being strung together in the name of a poem:

<a random rambling poem>

hear the music in your ear

sounding soft and clear

enduring endearing until you shed a tear

will not bend under tyrannical smear and tear

only the strong heart can bear

to the very end

if land does end

yet hope does not despair

hark ahoy a land

ocean’s heart’s prepared

blue beyond

for all anchoring wayfaring sons

not forlorn

surely you’ll hear

a horn

friends or foes

come what may

all sailor men must bear that day

with one heart they do not fear

nor ever by dismayed

fogs will clear

wars will end

at land’s end

for all

adieu

Ka, 2021-05-03

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*le silence de la mer: Bach 8th. Prelude & Fugue – Le Silence De La Mer (2004) [https://youtu.be/-FZhYsfyeTg] (movie excerpts)

[https://youtu.be/UqYAGUc4EmY] BWV853 WTC 1-08 Prelude & Fugue in eb & d# Rosalyn Tureck 1953 mono

Day Twelve: from Dareia to Ecotopia —a poem on time

kai’s photo at Monterey Museum

From Dareia or Dorothea

to Ecotopia or Dyson Sphere

story upon story the legend carves

on shimmering decorated glass windows of old

we view dimly through muse’s telescopic lens

not knowing how it began and will ever end

Magic briefcase adventure: Does he celebrate birthday? Does it matter to her? Or anyone?

Does he celebrate earth birthday? The question suddenly appeared as he glanced at his social network message board. He has never really thought of such matter about himself. In fact he hardly think of himself. In a day’s time it will be another chronological birthday for him on earth. After seven decades, he can hardly recall how he first remembered a special day called birthday that his earth parents celebrated for him, just like any other kids. On that day they normally made him eat one whole boiled egg by himself. In those post-war years it was considered a luxury when the kid was only one out of a brood of seven. The question is from her, the earth acquaintance for a year in Snowland.

It is a surprise to him to read her sudden message, after nearly a year of silence. Does birthday really matter? Of course most parents like to recall that day when their kid came to earth, mostly crash landing with a loud cry of disappointment at the harshness of the external zone (tearing away from their hitherto comfort zone). That is the way he observes things, somewhat different from the earthlings.

She uses a strange new name. But he knows it is her. His social network message board is restricted to a few friends only and they normally do not message or comment anything. It is a silent and dusty board. It is kept there for a purpose which the outsiders do not know. He decides not to reply her strange question. What is the point in the question? They have not established any relation, not even an acquaintance contact. His mission in Snowland has failed.

He remembers last year. She made something for him and ate her portion separately in the living room. He ate his alone at the dining table. He cannot remember what it is now. What a strange birthday party of two eating something in silence in two separate rooms. It reminds him of war.

His earth parents went through a big war. They got married because of the war. The war destroyed his mom’s love, hope, and dream, that is, enrolling into the medical school like her fiancé did, but he was killed by a bomb while traveling north to the university. She had to flee the invaded country instead and ended up in a foreign land marrying another man, and had seven kids during and after the big war.

Why is he thinking of big war now? He is a guardian of the four wind on earth —an invisible shield against invasion by warlords from other planets and zones from other universes. He has failed to finish his report on earthling’s emotion, and is now serving his extended term in a different site (away from Snowland).

Perhaps he will eat a boiled egg tomorrow, to remember his own earth parents who have really shown him the essence of sacrificial love, by rationing their own food and making sure the children were fed well, particularly making each individual kid feel special on his birthday.

Ka, 2021-04-12

simply six minutes—the magic briefcase adventure: “I don’t want to be a tree, I want to be its meaning.”

As he now remembers Snowland and the mystical woman he met up there at 8000ft altitude, he remembers how the trees have impacted him, as he tries to associate her with something they both can relate to without feeling bound. Both of them value independence and privacy above all else, even their strange unique relationship. The have found a few common interests, or rather, safe and indifferent topics to talk about casually. And trees is a safe topic, aside from coffee, deer, and snow.

When he first arrives the trees are green. Within a month the snow comes suddenly. He is shocked. All his past assignments were in the tropics. Snow is a novelty. In his homeland in outer-space, there is no snow or season. They live beyond earth time. While on earth he has always been the guardian of the South Wind which control station is located in an evergreen island in the tropics. This new assignment up the 8000 ft of a mountain in the West (or near West) is entirely different from what he has accustomed himself.

When the snow comes it is sudden and all encompassing. When he returns from an outside assignment he is caught in camera by her standing on the top of the stairs of the sundeck. The deck is steeped in at least 12 inches of snow. The trees are his background. He still has that photo. Green trees with snow all over their branches and trunks. He looks stunned. What a sight!

But it is not so much the sight of the green trees covered with brilliantly white snow that puzzles him. It is the meaning of those trees. Sometimes he compares himself with a tree to the earthling. A living and thriving being with its branches all pointing towards the sky, the location of the light source and life sustenance. Like the earth writer Orhan Pamuk once wrote, “I don’t want to be a tree, I want to be its meaning.” He wants to be a meaning of things. Being a meaning is different from being a physical existence.

He wants to be a meaning for existence. How to communicate this to her, an earthling? They are there together and yet not together, each existing each own meaning. He has had many acquaintances in his many decades of living on earth. But none is like this acquaintance on the high mountain. She is not a local. She comes from the oceanic continent. Is she on a secret assignment like his, guarding the earth? She never talks about it and he is not expected to ask. She does not ask him his too.

So he puts his mind on the trees. They are his great and faithful companions. They tell him a lot of things through the sound of the wind as he takes long walks on the paths meandering through the snowy woodland. But they never talk about their meaning on earth, not the kind he hopes they will reveal. He knows the textbook stuff of course. He imagines there is more —the unwritten ones, the often chuckling and sometimes sighing thoughts deeply embedded in the ancient tree trunks. He has never found out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here is a hauntingly beautiful song for memory sake

I will remember you, will you remember me? I’m so tired but I can’t sleep Standin’ on the edge of something much to deep It’s funny how we feel so much but we cannot say a word We are screaming inside, but we can’t be heard I’m so afraid to love you But more afraid to lose Clinging to a past that doesn’t let me choose Once there was a darkness Deep and endless night You gave me everything you had, oh you gave me life

[https://youtu.be/nSz16ngdsG0]

Weekend Sky #14: city above the clouds (a haiku)

weekend sky #14 January 9th

his daily routine

walking up this mountain clean

scanning sky beyond

Kainotes, 2020-01-09

https://hammadrais.wordpress.com/2021/01/09/weekend-sky-14-jan-9th/

Rise above a storm (haiku Challenge 336 MAD and Sane)

Royal National Lifeboat Institution -founded in 1824 search and rescue

Sane and dignified

help us survive perfect storm

neither MAD nor fried

Ronovan Writes #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge 336 MAD and Sane

just being tattered and blue

wordless: tattered and blue windows

Found this in a back lane as I travelled in Borneo.

Linked to: Beck’s Blue and square challenge

a nursing home blue and a poem

a nursing home blue

the call came

at uncalled-for time

waking in sweat

nightmare? you bet

no, a distant loved one’s quest

to rise from the stone-cold tiles

after a fall

no one recall

how and when and why

no one manages care

from thousands of ocean miles beyond

we come we dare

dear one you are not forlorn

loved one since recovered

what a scare!

Linked to Becky’s Polished blue

blue square and a poem: recalibrate and celebrate

See this window blue-shuttered silence

see the things that can be seen through a lens

but you cannot see the unseen

things like my lonesome way

sheltered in the coolness of the day

why look at the unseen you ask

the seen are temporary task

we tend to forget

and soon to regret

yet framed no longer behold

for i’m well and made whole

today i’ll break out and set sail

biding blue square farewell

o let’s recalibrate and celebrate

to great beyond ’tis well

Midway into the wide blue yonder

July Blues

square in square and they multiply

square multiplies

just square

Just being square and it multiplies.

Remember it has to be square!

https://beckybofwinchester.com/2019/06/22/reminder-july-squares-2/
https://travelwithintent.com/category/challenges/six-word-saturday/

a dancing poet and a lass

a poet’s encounter

She never knew his actual age in an enigmatic bygone life

A somewhat suave soft-spoken man with poetry deep set in his eyes

Are you the poet? She asked when their eyes first locked

Seeing him standing out from the mundane lot

Why, his pupils like deep water reflecting hers

Why are you selfieing my eyes?

And what is that shinning in your palm?

Beg your pardon, lass, raising his right arm

Nothing in his open palm indeed

A magician that’s who you are, she exclaims

No, lass, you do not know who I am

Then tell me who you really are sir, she insists

No need, lass, you will know as you persist

Why, sir, why? She sees the gleaming hand again

I am looking for the poet they say who paints

His smiling eyes saddens shaking his head in pain

No, poets don’t paint, they dance

I am no poet but I too dance, she laughs

Show me your dance steps then and I’ll show you mine

Thus starts the story of two strangers, a poet and a lass who both love poetry and dance

O how they could dance

And soon both have palms that gleam and glow in the night sky

As beautiful words make their light formation on high

Wednesday, February 13, 2019

where the sky glues us

sky meets leaves

sky meets water

sky meets trees

sky meets people

Where the sky meets us

there is a quiet space

if you will just listen with your heart

you will find it not too hard

to love and not hate

to give what you lack

to resist

loathing

to desist

stifling

this super-bonding love

so thickly glues

us

just as the sky

so magnanimously

lavishly

glues

its

blue

on leaves on water on trees

on you and on me

where our lives meet, there is always time

“I haven’t written to you for a long time,” he scribbled in long hand, “it is not because I have forgotten our times. ” The letter came to a halt in the next white space, meant for paragraphs to be filled, stained with patches of water (something spilled?) mark. “It is Christmas Day and I think of you, standing under the tree outside my window, long hair blowing in the wind, with the kindest look in your smiling dark eyes, just as we first met.” Again, white empty spaces sprawled out where words could have spawned. “I pray you will soon read this friendly invitation and find time to meet your OLD spouse, waiting for love.”

On December 27 he received this —— She replied with a short poem/note below.

Where our lives shall meet

there is always time

icy springs to cross

sunny lanes to walk

yonder old hills for climber

a new river dam for fisher

neighboring wood to hunt

back yard red chili to plant

coops to mend

stocks to feed

glittering stars to behold

fluffy clouds for abode

two crystal glasses for us to clink

bountiful gleeful moments in the pink

mirths to laugh

tears to wipe

work to do

sweat a lot

chicken coop

duck pond

love

life

restored time

From me to you with old love.

This month’s photo challenge in square format from Becky#timesquare

#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

time travel haiku and back: just timing

More haste less speed!

sometime ago when in an interval story zone

long ago in another story zone

just timing my time

and yours to savor and chime

preparing our climb

This months photo challenge in square format from Becky is Time

On the 4th at 4minutes to 4

More haste less speed!

Covenant reaffirmed

Covenant reaffirmed

another attempt: the windows are open

from where we stand, on this street, the windows are open

blue screen: windows open

windows of opportunity
open daily
to hearts that tally
and not give up

patiently
perseveringly
waiting for the break

dawns always break
at the first ray of light

come alive
a call
so still and quiet
yet you hear it
high and wide

many years ago
he heard
and passed it by

now the call
again so faint yet vivid
come alive
at this first ray of light

the windows are open
from where you stand

where our lives meet: a poetic attempt in blue

there is a quiet space where our lives meet

where we meet though not often
there is always space

where you rest your soul
and I rest mine
behind a pale blue glaze

quiet
does not mean tired
often it’s a triad
you and me and space

why blue?
you ask

a task?
a mask?

neither
hither and thither
though our souls may flutter
as two young turtledoves
prematurely caught
and set
on each side of an ancient blue vase

posing in a quiet space
one looks in while the other looks out

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

if the words won’t come to this river of waiting poems

a river of waiting poems

If I sit by this river of waiting
and you won’t come
while this whirlpool keeps churning
my heart turning buttery white
a catbird would whine
like last summer’s sigh
on a lonesome winsome night

“The shape of your heart” you murmured
one day looking at our sky
“fluffy white with tender blue stripes”
seeping your compliment I smiled

It is your poem I miss
and words won’t come
three moons adrift
with no mail in sight

So my sorrow would pine
for our lost midsummer’s ride

“Because I only write”*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* this last line is quoted from Anne Lee Tzu Pheng’s ‘Because I only write’)

a river of parting poems

Securing a second page to restart
running this cold steel ruler to mark
a boundary, a demarcation so hard yet tender
in souls that had been torn asunder
cutting heart to heart

If you gaze enough
upward and beyond this gentle
starry night, you will see this river by which every poem must part
glistening as ever
blue as steel

Good ideas and great coffee: a good start

… the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.- T.S.Eliot

afar and near in perspectives: two pictures

I chose these two pictures because of the rather interesting perspectives. USA is full of interesting scenes even though I took these pictures at random. The people too. They are apart and dynamic and yet blend into the static presentation as parts of an integral whole. I can imagine individual stories in each small segment and yet I acknowledge that the sum total makes it a unique striking picture! The advantage of bigness of space —— near and afar.

CB&W CHALLENGE POST: sitting next to a lover of books

Sierra Scenic Train & tracks -taken when I traveled in 2016 January using Amtrak. The scenery was spectacular. The company too. I sat with a very nice lady (in her sixties) who loved reading books and was on-route to take care of her mom (in her nineties) who had a fall.
Quoted from online source: https://www.sierranevadageotourism.org/content/railroad-snowsheds-of-donner-summit/sieD35C8025FC46F75CB
“The building of the Transcontinental Railroad changed commerce and the ethnic diversity of California, and the country, forever.
In the 1860s, hundreds of Chinese laborers braved freezing temperatures, blizzards and unbelievably hazardous conditions to drill the 1,659-foot-long Summit Tunnel near Donner Pass, enabling the Central Pacific Railroad to move trains over the summit even in the worst of Sierra winter conditions. The train route follows major wagon routes of early emigrants that preceded the booming railroad era. And, hidden in the rock near the tunnels are ancient Native American petroglyphs, a testament to the importance of Donner Pass as a route for the first people of the Sierra Nevada and those explorers and pioneers who surmounted it to find a new life in California.”

This is my first attempt to participate in the following:
CB&W CHALLENGE POST
Here is a list of the instructions:
“Then add a link to your blog in my comment box.
To make it easy for others to check out your photos and post, title your blog post “Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge” or (CB&W) tag.
Remember to Follow My Blog to get your weekly reminders.”

Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Trains and Tracks

CB&W BADGE

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

knowing
time
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

favorites: Don’t look back, she says, I am not there (love story)

The goodbye is too harsh and I can’t resist another post of more of my All-Time Favorites of some of the pictures I am sentimental about (which original stories/poems you may find in this blog by clicking on the caption below each picture).

only way is up

this is a letter I will not send

this morning I fly alone: a haiku

another shore beyond 1

another shore beyond 2

Don’t look back, she says, I am not there

how fleeting is evanescence?

alas, the waiting was too long: for all that jazz

An interesting list of the above original captions (from my earlier weekly-photo-challenge posts):
the only way is up
this is a letter I will not send
this morning I fly alone: a haiku
another shore beyond
Don’t look back, she says, I am not there
how fleeting is evanescence?
alas, the waiting was too long: for all that jazz

random love, favorites for no reason

All-Time Favorites

these are some of my favorite memories
though you insist
I must say sorry
to have collated at random
with no momentum

here a story
there a story
too many
if any
perchance you remember too
just as I do

pictures
are good for goodbye
as time goes by
a rhyme you may find

forlorn love
hidden cove
once removed
now restored

so long
farewell
goodbye

the day a liquid troop marched past my window

a poem for the Liquid big splash. 
One day I randomly looked out
and caught your timely pauses
horses after horses
men with pointed noses
all glimmering in gold dust
what a sight what a sight
a troop marching right outside

Lines upon lines we part

Monterey Bay Aquarium

Lines upon lines
steps solder steps
fences enfold fences

protective parapet
alloting you and me our part
ocean to seagulls
land for sparrows

whereat
we part

prolific snowfall rhymes

Prolific snowfall
nature’s carpet wall to wall
daybreak to nightfall

wherefore do you come
and go
blow and show
paint the crow
no not me to know
for sure

awakening old sweet love

Awakening old man’s heart
old wife fills his cart
with sweet warm tart

a long day ahead
make sure my hat is on your head
she bids goodbye
peering through the steamy dye

he grins as he chats
how can he forget her hat
last April’s gift
of old wife’s art?

Surely Spring has come
but why has this snow made its home
and won’t let go?

old man steadies his hand
firms the rein
never mind
a long day must end
and soon I’ll leave this cold
and be home with sweet warm wife.

pacific love song

sometimes I watch you Rise/Set
not knowing you come or go
ebb or flow
love or hate
leave or stay or just get set

somewhere in time we rhyme: a poem

Out of This World we tread

we plod and pound
and set
each foot
by foot
careful
not forgetful
of what we leave aground

each minute
petite
particle
too gentle to form an icicle

yet it means
somewhere in time
my art
your heart
we rhyme
as the distant bells chime

Always more

A Face in the Crowd

Wordless

Just the way I see you sometimes

Effortless

Nothing less

Always more

beloved, this day you shall not fly alone (updated)

this day I shall not fly alone
with new hope and not forlorn

living
dreaming
planning
parting

leaving behind
my depressed mind

stepping ahead
as my spirit heard you said

do not fear
for I have wiped away your every tear
go forth
as I have come forth

behold
here is My heart
as always of old
ever
never
leave

beloved
you are loved
so deep

so Sweet
this day you will not fly alone

Note added: a famous Christian man who lived for 99 years and is known to perhaps millions in this world died on 21st February 2018 . This poem was written and posted on the 16th five days before that day while fasting for Lent.

Beloved and a poet -a poem in a dream

waiting for my Beloved

Because the sky is so blue, the trees are so green and the clouds are marching pass, he just has to write to his Beloved.  So here comes the poem someone hands to me in a dream about this old love of a beloved and a poet.

I have to write to my beloved
before this song of spring kisses my heart
like countless encounters shoved
mercilessly repeating its depart

I can hear your distant song
clear as bells from yonder hill
here is my heart please don’t stay too long
though you must go, rest awhile, for all your dreams refill

You sing of life
you sing of hope
you sing of every dream I claim I am

I have to write to you my beloved
but I cannot say
what I have prepared for perchance
my head starts snowing
and frights away last year’s wee birds nesting
pulling out my roots from rooting
yet my lamp is still burning
my heart is never quenching
to dream the dream of immortalizing

winter’s paradigm shift: another perspective variation

another winter Variations on a Theme -marriage life
silly man stole my cat
where you’ve been hiding in your chat

not in syn my photoshop on my head
woman don’t be mad

hide you may
I don’t care
out and no
with your game of GO

woman woman not my fault
cat loves hunting with them snow
hear here she comes in now
meow meow meow fresh with last year’s sod

o plump kitty come to mom
get a hot bath snack from pa tom
rest your paws stay in bed
that’s my pet

old wife is content home has cat
me I like chat
game of GO
yes or no
wife replies no no no
while I say go go go

NOTE: The poem is as usual an impromptu piece of clean fun (with no hidden improper meaning) to go with the picture to break out of the winter paradigm. I used sections of three pictures initially and later reduced to two. I have changed the combinations many times until the scenery picture stood out and turned itself upside down and I logically moved it to the centre place. It significantly changes my strategy and flow to meet this week’s photo challenge.
Go is an abstract strategy board game for two players, in which the aim is to surround more territory than the opponent. The placement of a single stone in the initial phase can affect the play of the game a hundred or more moves later. A challenge to keep your brain active like other classic board games.

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

Growth

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

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.

cheeky rain cheeky poem

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