Monday, February 29, 2016

Postcard from Jakarta City

The city is steeped in musk & rings of ancient religion.    The mosques against the sky, colorful sarongs and batik, veiled hair of women,  and noisy street chatter made me realize that though I am in a nearby Asian country, I am a foreigner.   I have tried to learn a few words and phrases prior to my arrival but the spoken language is different to my ears.    It is spice on rice congee & noodles, fiery red peppers mixed with rice, sambal (hot sauce) besides every dish, curry & peanut sauce (satay) on grilled meats.   My tongue is not used to the spicy foods & other meats (aside from beef & pork & chicken), that I felt it is always burning like hot coals. 

I have arrived in Jakarta City to train and coach our counterparts on behalf of my company. But it is I who became a student & bought a pair of Indonesian puppet dolls as a souvenir.   Between broken English & Bahasa Indonesia, I found kinship specially during our informal conversations.  I learned that if one looks for similarities, then we will find that we have a lot more in common than differences.         

jasmine white flower
on my lapel, smell of rain-
drops on hot afternoon

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday - Recalling my trip to Jakarta, Indonesia, more than 15 years ago.  Thanks for the visit ~

Monday, February 22, 2016


bubble me with tea bags &
cool black pearls

sip slowly, tongue tangling
with sugar-spiced ice cubes

sun has jellied all the snow  piles
& i am eager to burst

out to spring song, jiggling sky blue 
pom poms,  even if out of tune

picture credit:   here

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Quadrille, a word count of exactly 44 words with word Bubble.   Hosted by De Jackson ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

The room

Picture Credit:   Regine Ramseier

I plant a thousand 
dandelions on ceiling

In the corner
scribble my initials with heart

Peel off the white

walls & splash with school of fish

The sun leaves

its footprints on top shelves

My tongue jams

to music of jazz & reggae 

Today, the room has 
large windows & no door lock 

I put it
atop my head, balancing

like a book or a boat
docking in the islands of white sand

I unfold & re-
fold the four walls in my mind- 

It's clay on my hands
It's steady rock under my feet

my own whimsy 
fickle fantasy frivolous room-

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Room with or without the view ~  Hosted by Mary ~

Thursday, February 11, 2016

He said, she said at the trial

Credit:   Noell Oszvald

You say I lie, but you're a bigger liar
Twisting memories to veil your grotesque heart
You fiddle with words, lace them as art
Then strike me with blows with no prior

Warning, your every kiss is black fire

Waiting to suffocate my throat
You say I lie, but you're a bigger liar
Twisting memories to veil your grotesque heart

Beneath smooth clothes, you are a collector 

Of wicked games, & I, a poor sport
Of your diversions.   Now, I am scarred
With guilt, wallowing in rust & mire
You say I lie, but you're a bigger liar

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Writing to Rondel poetry form, Hosted by Gayle ~   Thanks for the visit ~

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Happy good fortune!!

Fortune Cookie:   A merry heart does good like a medicine.

She said, don't give me a thousand silver keys
Nor sky tangled in red silk threads

All she ask is a single pale rose at dawn
& she'll dance until sun is a twilight of cinnamon-orange hues

She said, don't carve me an ivory vase
Nor a jade bracelet with golden case

All she ask is for a sturdy & steady boat
Filled with salty harvest of sea & shores

I bring her a tang of warm wind & sugary aroma
of freshly made bread & blueberry pies

with buckets of belly laughter, dash of humor & care 

She said, my heart is merry, thumping with cymbals 

Look at all my good fortunes-
I say, Maybe you will live up to 100!

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics hosted by Kanzensakura ~  Gong Xi Fa Cai or Gong Hey Fat Choy – Happy New Year in Mandarin and Cantonese!!!

Monday, February 8, 2016

The lull of the night

Moon hides above yew trees
While clouds drift aimlessly

I don lilac robes & hear 
above ticking clock

A whisper  
Then, call from raven

But my memories are dull
Between vowels
lull of broken refrain

No word appears on my tongue
Another night without stars

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Quadrille - Hosted by Bjorn Brudberg ~   A poem in exactly 44 words.

Thanks for the visit ~

Thursday, February 4, 2016

Awakening spring

a red apple

on soil
a half-world away

pulses of hungry bees & fire-

it's the season of heat, lime- 

pressed drinks & masked

carnivals- i wait

for curl

of first magnolia bulb

& quickening of new


Picture credit:   here

Posted for D'verse poets Pub - OpenLinkNight ~  Trying my hand at Imagism (WCW poems), which I missed last week ~Thanks for the visit ~

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Coming back as a wanderer

by riverside
along mountains trails
my wings are spotted brown by sun

from tree tops
to ground swelling with small animals
I dive steeply with hunter's keen eyes 

A bird of prey, I

bring no papers 
or keys to this lush forest 

Only lungs filled
by salty rocks by lighthouses
my skin is moist with adventures
of lost ravines

With a flash of blue-grey feathers,  
I thrust my striped wings 
to where tea-stained sands

shuffle, slither and leave 
no imprint

of lost bones or metallic grooves

there is only
the wind, warm with mystery-
my constant companion

Posted for Poetics - Coming back hosted by Abhra Pal ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Monday, February 1, 2016

Still waters under the bridge

Picture Credit:   Gabriella

We pass along this way, too many times to count.  Whether in the early morning or late afternoon, we amble along the park content with our short stories and small gossip.  The walk always felt short, tinged with the smell of ripe apples and plums on the ground. Around the bend, we would run home, with our pockets filled with small stones.

But today I don't notice the bare trees nor river tide. Not even the fruits mulched on the soil. Only the empty fields stretching wide under grey clouds.   There were no pigeons or geese nor any children loitering around. There was only this silence, reverberating, swishing with sharp thrust of the coldest air.   

rain trickles down
silver light on webbed twigs -
an owl hoots, unending

Posted for D'verse Poets- Haibun Monday - Hosted by Gabriella  ~  Thanks for the visit ~