MORE TO COME ✍ ✍ REMEMBRANCE

I wrote this poem on 7- 8- 1999; but this is an aberration of my youth, when I was a young teenager; when I didn't know much

about life and despondency that was part of it. This was perhaps my very first heartache, when I had no idea that as I grew older many more wretchedness, sorrow, and suffering would come face to face with me;

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"I reflect the feeling of yesterday;

I was young and had no dismay.

School and other things were in my mind;

Not the sorrow that today I find.

My heart was engulfed with sorrow;

Thinking what future would bring me tomorrow!

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Yesterday's thought makes me feel,

A sadness that is hard to deal.

I think of the one who possessed my heart;

Our destiny ruled us to be apart.

I can't forget that handsome face;

And how he took his life for my disgrace.

I said my farewell with desperate rave;

For I was not allowed to say it at his grave.

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That night, moon had only a wan light!

My face reflected a dark shadow of fright.

I stood in a deadly silence to hear

Any emphasizing word about my dear.

But no one knew, no one did care;

That we had promised each other to pair;

That we did not want to part;

Such was our love so certain in heart.

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Now I think of those limited days;

How sweetly they burned me with blaze.

Hard days have come, hard days had gone;

And I always for those days long.

He is gone, and I have his memories

I am painfully alive, he is happily dead and at ease!

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MORE TO COME ✍ ✍ PROBE

Occasionally we all wonder about life and the meaning of it, some people

more

than others. I captured this wondering in a POEM, named "PROBE" on 5-18-1999. I was not satisfied with it; therefor changed it more than once; and put it in a back of my mind. One evening in my poetry group, I was suddenly asked to read. The person who was supposed to read that evening had not come. I was not prepared, yet I never say no to this kind of opportunities. I read about an hour; this one among them. I got very high marks for it. Here it is:

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"Life, you, I explore, to find out more

That you're vain, you bring pain.

Do I stop to grow, or run from woe?

✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ The answer I implore!

My earthly cell, burns like hell;

Because you're wrong, I must belong

To blue sky above, filled with love:

✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ And filled with rose smell.

You, I seek, days and week,

You, I dream, never extreme!

Holding your hand, where I stand,

✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ So you can see me unique.

I am pale, telling this tale,

Songs I hear, from far or near,

Desirous flame, written with my name!

✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ Hopeful sparks, I unveil.

I regret the day, I did dismay:

Angrily I did look, my head I shook;

Didn't know you stay, I go away!

✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ Like water that flows away!

Oh, life, in your class, I am like glass!

Feeling fills my heart, from your generous art.

Should death looks at me, my face disagree!

✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ ✐ The black color comes to pass!

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MORE TO COME ✍ ✍ A WORD MUST BE SAID!

Don't you feel that sometimes you just want to say things, but in the last second before opening your mouth, you close it and don't say a word?

I captured this in the Poem "A WORD MUST BE SAID". It was 7- 6- 1999.

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"Is it day light or night's regret?

No, friend, it's an endless sunset;

When in windy weather, birds fly,

And their existence, you can't deny!

You're unsteady and suspicious,

Like the howling of wind so vicious!

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A word must be said-

That how much I'm afraid

Of so many wants of my heart;

one is to couple with dark somewhat!

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Oh, there is nothing there in my head,

Except the storm of color red-

Which is darkened like night;

And is down cast with fright.

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I think of moon;

And of words in a poem I wrote in June!

I think of a stream

And of the earth's fear of its dream;

And of the rich smell in the shade;

And of the legend of a food called bread;

And of the innocence of a child's play;

And of the long highway;

And of the moon without light;

And of the earth with all its fright.

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Bravery is gone from my page;

Like old soldier, once he had rage.

Love is lonely, why?

I can see no lover close by!

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Dreams are lost in a winding maze;

In the pathways with many doors and maze;

The doors are all shut!

Always, always, the haze stays about.

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I think of a home which has keys

to coziness and breeze;

Where the lights are always on;

And it has fearless nights of fun.

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Work, work, work...

Without a relief,

Without having any belief,

Into your coffee's wave-

Like a boat caught in a storm's rave-

And in the horizon high-

The cigarette smoke is seen by eye;

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A word must be said...

A word must be said...

At dawn, there is a moment which stands

Like the feeling of maturity that commands.

It's a sudden mixture of something unknown,

When heart doesn't want to be alone.

It wants to surrender to dread;

It want to destroy or evade;

And it wants me to say:

No, no, not ever to dismay.

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Let me go, go, go ...

A word must be said though!

In the endless sunset of woe

Let me go, go, go ...

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More TO COME ✍ ✍ Growth

Do we ever grow? Do our dreams and hopes come to a standstill? Is hope what make us to go on and not give up?

These questions always occupy my thoughts and feelings. I wrote "GROWTH" on 11- 22- 95. Many years have passed since then; and I still ask those questions. This is a published poem and I received an award for it. Meanwhile my hair had turned gray.

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"I have been a prisoner of my pride!

And a prisoner of what people decide!

And what they say, whom they side?

And I don't know when I put these aside!

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If a day comes that I'm strong and brave,

I can free me of my body's cave.

Then I rescue me from jail keeper's grave;

Which is myself in a cage of rave!

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I often feel a growth, a break.

My wondrous soul and I fight the ache.

I never know what I want, I shake;

Frightened of my ambiance, I quake.

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But they all say I am a fighter like a blaze;

I'm tired of listening, so I amaze;

Then I speak and loudly raise

My voice to break the shell, the vase.

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Is it too late for me to grow?

I've seem many crises and woe!

But will I take the growth and new show?

Yes, I will, just to see the rainbow!"

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I said "I will to see the rainbow", but instead I've seen only woe!

More TO COME ✍ ✍ THE EARTH

Earth is the mother of all things. Without it nothing can exist. Human, animals big or small, pretty or nuisance, even the insects, plants, all kinds from trees to flowers and weeds, they can't be without the earth. I wrote "THE EARTH" on 6-13-95, a long time ago; but still feels like a new poem to me.

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"Crisp cold disdains the power of land;

Ferocious earth, an unscathed seed, and a sun- burned hand.

Inherent reminiscence arrives as a guest.

Earth bows, then turn to rest.

Fruit flourishes out of a bloom.

Magnitude appears at the time of the gloom.

Up there, in horizon, day and night collide.

Down here, on earth, the incident echoes like a tide.

Far, very far, sky and earth connect.

The magnificent colors have no defect.

Azure is blue, orange is red.

In the quarrel of sun and moon, no one had bled.

A single, delicate bloom of a fruit tree,

Graces the governing dusk like poetry.

Any breather brings joy and sorrow.

Tangible entity praises tomorrow.

All breathers see the joy and the hurt;

When their times comes, they go to the bosom of earth.

Tragedy is not the beginning, but the end.

Dire sound of awareness kills the trend.

When disappointment is at the rise,

The GOOD EARTH takes us all by surprise!"

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MORE TO COME ✍ ✍ EPIPHANY

I had an Epiphany. Whatever it was, it made my fate stronger. The best place I wanted to Publish it,

was a journal by church; so I did. It was 8-26-2009. I named it "EPIPHANY".

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"The Best beautifier for lips is truth,

For voice is prayer,

For eyes is empathy,

For heart is love,

And for life is friendship with LORD.

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No one can go back and make a brand new start;

Anyone can begin anew and make a brand name ending.

God didn't promise days without pain,

Laughter without sorrow,

Sun without rain.

But he did promise strength for the day,

Comfort for the tears,

And light after dark.

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Disappointment is like a bump, they slow you down a bit;

But you enjoy the smooth road afterward.

Don't linger on bumps for too long,

Move on.

When you feel blue because you didn't get what you want,

Remain firm and be resolved;

Because God has thought of better plans for you.

When something happens to you, good or bad,

Consider what it means.

There is a purpose to life's event;

To teach you how to laugh more or not to cry too hard.

You can't make someone to love you;

All you can do is to be someone who can be loved.

It is better to lose your pride to the one you love

Than to lose the one you love to your pride.

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Never abandon one whom you love;

You will never find one to replace him.

When people talk behind your back, what does it mean?

Simple! It means that you're two steps ahead of them.

So keep moving ahead in life!"

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More TO COME ✍ ✍ TRACE

This is a dream, a dream about a Bird, and a man. I may not make sense to some, yet it may certainly make sense to others. For me, It is a dream of a child hood tragedy that I've never spoken about it. It is too abstract to reader to know what the tragedy was; that is the way I want to keep it. I named it: "TRACE". It is written on 2-3-2001.

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"A door with small windows

Is between me and the wind.

The glasses are sheeted with dust.

The obscure wind has a howling tonight!

Though I can't hear it;

As hard as I tried to listen to its moan!

Dust assembles on glasses,

More and more in front of my eyes.

I arise from my hallucination,

When I see a man is dead,

When I see I was making love

To a bird high in fly.

To see it was wind,

The howling wind which put me to sleep;

Then I close my eyes and see,

They're carrying the man

Out of his home.

he is wearing his glasses;

His full black hair is shinning;

He is wrapped in a white sheet.

They put him in a box;

But the bird insist on making love;

And I want to follow the trace

of what that man has left behind!"

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People say I write depressing poetry; I say happy poems are not poems; they are vignette. I write poems. They are sad, but they are poems. This one is published and I've gotten the best poem of the year award for it...

MORE TO COME ✍ ✍ SUN OF TOMORROW

Is Tomorrow better than today? Has loveliness completely disappeared? Where is the love? Is it only want, need? "I want this; I need that; You must do this for me!" What happened to hope? Where did it go? What happened to togetherness? Where is it? There was a day that they all existed...

On 6- 28- 99 I wrote "SUN OF TOMORROW". You judge it for yourself.

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"The color of dusk wraps around sun.

A lonely tree in the vast lawn,

Craves water, and finds none.

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From the gloomy sky, flees light

To the far horizon with spite.

Rain of light pours of red tulip of night.

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The gray night opens its wing

To carry life on its ring.

Wild winds in darkness run and swing.

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To a silent humming, cities retire.

On the roof of night, stars inspire.

The wine of moon light, I desire.

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It's midnight, and a cloud in vast sky

Abuses the moon with its threat and sigh;

And the old crow mock beautiful butterfly.

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In the bosom of this night, I get a surprise.

The glow of your eyes becomes a prize;

Like Sun of tomorrow that I never despise."

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More TO COME ✍✍ I FOUND MY WAY

Visiting Rome, Italy, on Christmas of 1999, and the new year of 2000, my husband and I went to the Vatican, as many others times that we had done so. But this time something happened. Standing in St. Pittsburgh Square and looking at all the lights and decoration for Christmas, I looked at the sky; to my amazement, suddenly a vision came to me. I did not know the meaning of it, or the purpose of it. I thought my eyes were playing games with me. I blinked a few times, Closed my eyes and opened it; and looked again at the sky. It was a sunny day; around noon. The sun rays on that warm day for a cold season were dour; nevertheless I saw the same vision. This REVELATION came to me a few more times.

Nine months later, I was attending RCIA (the classes for becoming a Catholic). Why did it take nine months? I was puzzled with my vision (Revelation). I had to think about it and feel it for a long time. I did not say anything to anyone, even Valentine, my husband, all those NINE MONTHS. However I was talking to Father Don almost every day either on the phone or visiting him. I came home from work one day, nine months later, and the first thing I told my husband was: "I'm becoming a catholic!" His response was: "What!?"

I wrote "I FOUND MY WAY" on 7-24- 2001, which portrays my my vision and revelation and my choosing CHRISTIANITY.

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The beautiful eagles, who flew,

Over my head slow;

And sank into puffy cloud

With disturbed thoughts, but loud;

Their sound like a lance,

Travels into horizon trance.

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They all know

That I saw the garden glow.

From my cold, stern abyss.

They saw me pluck apples with bliss.

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Everyone is afraid,

But I'm joined with no dread

To water, sky, and light.

And I am not afraid of any plight.

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The gossip is not about my look;

Or reading an old, holy book.

The gossip is about my hair;

And the flowers flourishing from my air.

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The color of my skin, nude;

My feeling have different mood.

I ask the jungle dark,

The wild sea of indifference and lark,

The pearls inside the seashell,

The young eagles, who turn.

What do I need to learn?

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They all know,

The dream of eagles have no woe.

In the garden I find the grace;

In the sky, eyes of flowers, and embrace.

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The gossip is not of dark.

It is of day and spark;

And of open window, fresh air;

And of vain things burn by fire's flair;

And of pregnant earth;

And of completion, pride, and birth;

And of my discovering the light

Into Christianity with delight!

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More TO COME ✍ ✎ HARSH BLOW

We Come; we go; we thrive; we fail; we fall in love; we fall out of love; we stay; we leave; but one thing always stay the same: No one stays forever. Youth goes, then they call you middle age, as if it is something heavenly! They call: "You're at the top of the hill." From there it is all downward.

I wrote "HARSH BLOW" with that concept in mind on 1-16-11.

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"Night and the silent fiction,

Full and gloomy with abstraction;

Miles of sky and forever alive;

Somber and doleful, always thrive!

The growing man, the aging woman,

The weary lives, minds full of plan.

Big, empty homes, roads covered with frost;

Sunset that fades, dawn we can't trust.

Sky so eternal, beautiful, yet full of offense!

Showing aging woman nothing but suspense.

Youth had broken away, like a wild thing!

Once it had bloomed like a first flower of spring!

The wasteful youth, its harsh blow;

Or wild desires, colored like rainbow!

Now the old woman hums, hums with fright;

With a closed mouth, in the dusk of night."

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Neither this is the first nor the last that One feels "WHERE DID IT GO". Have you ever had something so dear to you, like a baby, who hangs on to her pacifier, or a toy, or anything until she stops crying and falls asleep. It's hard for the baby to let go of them; and you can't replace them; she'll know. This is not about me, this is about some irreplaceable people in my life when you see their photos only, like Seeing the photos of mom and dad, and their aging, their becoming frail a little more everyday, specially when you just see pictures, and nothing else. You hear their voices, you notice the change a little more every week, as you notice your own change...

MORE TO COME ✍ ✎ NATURALIST

I Wrote this poem in a stormy day of Dallas. There is a saying that Texas weather changes with a blink of an eye. That day was a sunny, warm winter day. I walked outside with a tee shirt; enjoyed the caress of breeze on my face. Suddenly a dark, almost black, huge cloud came from nowhere and I witnessed one among others of worst stormy day of Dallas. It was 1- 3- 96.

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"Immense wind whips every tree;

Sweeps back and forth the torrents of rain.

Branches crash down in the dark bosom of entity.

Dazzling power of slashing blast howls in plain.

Shimmering rays have already disappeared with grief;

Where the sky at the end smiles.

Nothingness of storm deprive quintessence like a thief;

The iridescent rain pours in all isles.

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And here we share a profound woe;

A provocative presence no one can bear.

And here we deliver a magic, a show;

For being human with a sympathizing tear.

And the divine storm on the bumpy roads,

Shrinks to startle animated course.

And human carries a bundle of many loads,

A solemnity to lull the roaring force."

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This was not the first, nor it be the last that I saw Texas weather goes completely crazy. So much damage, so many broken trees at the top of the cars or house, including my own.

More TO COME ✍ ✎ RETURN TO LOVE

I wrote this poem on 6- 20- 1998. It was one of those days I felt so nostalgic, so lonely. A day that I wanted to see people, not any people but my people. I sat and imagined that day:

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"One day I will return,

I will bring with me a message.

I will pour lights in veins.

I will talk loudly.

I will fill the bamboo baskets with orange, the red orange of sun.

I will return.

I will give a red rose to the peddler.

I will tell the blind man about beauty.

I will roam the alleys.

There is no alleys in the land of free!

And I will scream: 'Dew on green leaves!'

A passerby will say: 'The truth is in a dark night!'

I will show him the sky, the stars, the blue moon.

I will cut the insult from lips.

I will destroy all the walls.

To the thieves I will say: 'My belongings are only my smile!'

I will tear the cloud.

I will tie the eyes with sun, hearts with love, shadows with water, trees with wind,

I will tie the dream of a child with a humming.

I will water the flowers.

I will return.

I will give friends the green grass of caresses!

I will return to plant a whipping willow on each wall's shadow.

I will sing a poem beneath each window.

I will ask people to make up.

I will show them new friends.

I will return.

I will walk.

I will inhale light.

I will exhale darkness.

One day I will return.

I will return to love..."

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When I wrote this poem, its effect stopped me of writing for a while. Then suddenly I realized this is something everyone should read. I entered a contest. Not only I had it published, I won the contest.

MORE TO COME ✍ ✎ OH, IF WE WERE CHILDREN

What is the difference between being a child or an adult? We do wish sometimes that we could go back and become children again. We think by doing that we would do things differently. But no one knows. This subject was what inspired me to write this poem, "OH, IF WE WERE CHILDREN". I wrote this poem on 12- 20- 2010.

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"When we were children, we had big hearts;

Now that we're grown, our hearts are shrinking and will become to nothing.

What if our hearts stayed as big as when we were children!

What if we were still children, so people could read words in our eyes!

What if we didn't need speaking to talk!

What if only our eyes could Speak!

What if our hearts were painted on our face!

But now, no one can hear us even if we scream!

So we must choose silence when we grow up.

Look at this world!

When we were children, rain always poured from sky!

Now that we're grown, rain pours from our eyes!

When we were children, people noticed our rainy faces!

Now that we're grown, no one can see our sobbing.

When we were children, we were not ashamed to cry!

Now that we're grown, we cry in solitude!

When we were children, no one could break our hearts!

And if they did, it was just for a little while!

Now that we're grown, our hearts break and stay broken.

When we were children, we stretched our arms to measure our love!

Now that we're grown, our love is little, or too big, or nothing in between!

When we were children, judgement was not in our horizon!

Now that we're grown, our judgement blocks our love!

What if we still can stretch our arms wide to measure our love!

When we were children, our fights were short and not lasting!

Now that we're grown, our fights last our all lives!

When we were children, our desires were small, our wants were little!

Now that we're grown, our smallest desires are our biggest wants!

When we were children, adults listened to our small pains!

Now that we're grown, our pains are large and plenty and nobody listens!

When we were children, we were children!

Now that we're grown, we're not grown, and we're not children!"

I look at the life of my grandchildren or your children and then at the life of adults all around us! I call your children or my grandchildren celebrities. Us, adult, can only wish to go back and live it again; and even if our wishes come through, it wouldn't be the same! Why? Because when we were children, our toys were hand made by our mothers, our schools didn't have computers; our teachers only had blackboard and chalk; we had not heard of I this and I that; we didn't know anything about social media, PJ parties; we (specially girls ) were not allowed to do make up, to stay up late, to remove unwanted hair from our face and our eyebrows, to drive at age fifteen; but we could read the greatest work of literature, we could write, we knew our history and math, we learned a second language, and . . .