the crimson prison
of rock that talks
bones guard
blood flows through like water
sound no longer found
at nightfall
of rock that talks
bones guard
blood flows through like water
sound no longer found
at nightfall
|
Like a glass beauty
You sat in high up I, like an anxious dolphin Swim below and around Nothing, O Nothing I can’t reach an antique I ran
both sides moved so swiftly, like fast trains blurred, I did not nor did I stop to find out what I stopped had to my legs were weak I wiped what’s dripping down my face but I could not I saw my mother my father my mother was rocking me gently I recaptured a voice so familiar I recaptured love I woke found myself among beds the one to my left had bandages around his head the one to my right I was too shocked to describe I was drowned in Pain Hatred Anger Sadness Helplessness… what had happened to this world? aren’t we supposed to acquire civilization? why should there still be wars? why should people suffer for politicians’ follies their ambitions, their greed, their religious beliefs, their manipulations? their excuses are inexcusable and they pretend to bring peace but how many peace talks have been sincere when every participant is selfish when none trusts none Nobel Price for Peace Ha! It was given to Obama tell me just what he has done to deserve it money is sent into the sky money is fired into people’s body money falls from above just to kill those down below money that can be a treasure money that can build a beautiful world now goes in vain Fight for Peace and not against each other! money turns to ashes
buildings into rubbles people roaming poignantly grieving over destruction, destruction encumbers peace, devastation subsists shadow of her next to you
like finger nail scratching and scarring me your lies set me on fire I dream of her lips open wide and close bringing laughter to you I never could why of all people it’s her someone I do not consider an equal love and anger swallow me standing closest to the waterfall
polka dots of water on the spectacles news on the radio scenes after scenes from photographs confused, dispirited about to jump shriek of baby’s cry brought a silver wakening return courageously to face responsibilities I was down and depressed
She walked in and lectured me Telling me what I should do What could help me Bla, bla, bla, like a parrot I did not even have a chance to cut in She got on my nerves Shut up woman Why wouldn’t she just listen That’s what I really needed Her theory of pessimistic And that of optimistic Was none of my business What to do now Shut my ears No need even to pretend listening What she said was not recorded the jealous wind scrapes the peelings
off the tree like a shaving machine the tree’s soul sends out beautiful poetry the sound of wavering leaves the expression of outstretched branches the poems come out in series now tell me can the wind destroy what the tree creates |
AuthorI started late to become a writer, after I graduated from the University of Auckland at the age of 57. It all began when one of my articles was first published in Muse, a magazine in Hong Kong. I just finished my first novel Tree which is about Chinese immigrants here in New Zealand. Being bipolar it hasn't been easy but I'm proud to have broken the vicious cycle and begin to enjoy life. I'm glad to have survived to this age and be able to live a most fulfilling life. Categories |
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