My Autumn

Have not written anything for the past couple of month, but now I"m back (sort of). Here another poem that I hope you all like and Happy Thanksgiving!

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My Autumn

Staring at the maples, I wonder
what kind of secrets the trees know.
Being in one spot all the time
they must have seen everything
in this past couples of year.

And if I could,
I would ask them,

if by chance, they have seen you walking by one day.
If like me, you have made a stop here
at one point on your trip
just to have a conversation with the trees.

I would ask them
how are you doing?
and tell them, to tell you, to meet me here
on this spot a year from now
- or tomorrow.

But things are never as easy as they seem
and irony love to play with us
like some sort of puppet.

In fact, seeing you in my dream
is far more real and far more aesthetic
than any memories.

Because these memories
are just like this Autumn day.
The cool wind that marked the end
of the long Summer vacation,
and the dried leaves,
the dried leaves that are scattered everywhere.

Sakura

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Sakura

It was not that long of a train ride,
but the scenery on the other side of the window
moving by in a slow motion
made the ride longer than it need to be.

The way the city lights flicker
from window to window,
as if I am watching a montage of my life.
Each panel, one after another
show me a memory I had with you.
These images seem like a still picture
out of some scrapbook,
or a cheezy line from a poem
out of a letter, which I wish
I had given it to you years ago.

It is not that sad,
sitting here watching the train entering and departing
from station to station.
The petals of the cherry blossom outside
seem like a pink snow flake falling in Spring,
serving a remainder
that there is still a hint of Winter
remain in my heart.

To Search for an Angel

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To Search for an Angel

To search for an angel is not an easy task.
You must look far beyond the Once upon a time,
the place filled with faeries and knight-in-shinning armor.

Because in your own little corner,
you will not find a map or a guide
that will lead you to the missing glass slipper or the cave
where the wicked witch have hid the poison apple.
In fact, finding the lost Holy Grail
is by far easier than anything in the world.

So you don’t need to stay up all night
and wait for the stars to come out,
for a chance to connect them like a game
of connect-the-dots,
hoping that it will lead you to the Big Dipper.

Because while you are doing your own thing,
she is locked up all day in her cold tower
staring out her window at the clock tower in the distance,
watching the second’s hand move,
waiting patiently for the clock to strike 12,
wondering if you have lost your way somewhere,
or got stuck on some bridge riddling with a troll.
Hey, who said this was easy?

So bear in mind that
to search for an angel is not an easy task.
You must look far beyond the sad fairytale ending,
the happily ever after.

The End.

Ode to The Shadow

Ode to The Shadow


How often do you bike
around your neighborhood?
The laughing children by the jungle gym,
the old couple on the bench,
the jogger with her dog,
and the dog with his tongue sticking out
are all images that passes you by
like some sort of black and white slide show.

How often do you find yourself
biking out of the busy city,
and into the quiet countryside?
The trees bend and hunch over,
perhaps they were touched by the storm
that blew by the night before.
The wheat dances and waves at the passerby.

And who are you?
For not joining them.

Stop for a moment and let your shadow
stretches his leg out.
Give him a pencil and a paper.
Let him dance with the wheat
and climb on the back of the tree.

How often do you get
to see you shadow laughing?
Instead of being attached to your body
Like some sort of slave.

But don’t worry though.
Because even long after you leave,
your shadow will still be here,

in front of the audience of stars,
singing a lullaby for the moon.

A Poem on the Pavement

A Poem on the Pavement

Give me a chalk,
so that I can write my name on the pavement.
Throughout the day I would watch,
strangers walking across it,
placing their foot right after another,
as if they were walking in a slow motion.
One after another, they would leave
the image of their footprints-
forming a trail of memory.
Their sole and heel will scratch the surface.
There is even a smear where
the letter A used to be.

What can I do?

Maybe I can leave it the way it is,
so that they can see the aftermath
of what they called time.

Or

I can just create rain,
and the water will wash it all away,
and tomorrow,
I can start over again.

Wake Up

Another haiku,

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Wake Up

Lazy tortoise sleeps
by the river - when awake,
the leaves all gathered.

Metamorphosis

I have not been writing any new poem lately so I decide to spend sometime looking at old drafts and editing some of my work. Because I have just finish like 3/5 of my finals, already I got sometime to write and work on my poem. I'm still working on one of my poem, but I did find some haiku that I wrote a year ago. So I decide to wrote some haiku first, as a warm up. Here it is.

(Also: not relate to the poem but: http://www.blurb.com/my/book/detail/654948

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Metamorphosis

Flowers blooming in
the field over there - while
The snow melts away.