Here it is...my new collection of poems for 2006. Took me a whole year of silence to foster two days of creativity for this new set. Those who enjoy contemporary poems or just words, please do.
Otherwise I know nothing more of what these poems are for. Thanks~ Secret Admirer Pinkshell Azalea – I know nothing about you Except what I learned off the website Five minutes ago. But your name Caught on my tongue It was stuck in my throat, Azalea. I’ll whisper your name and pretend I know what it means to bloom in spring Opening wings that cannot fly My Queen, the “Royalty of the Garden”, Gem-set into your royal throne ‘til the day you die. So delicate it’s as if you’re extending A part of your neck to drink in nectar. How ironic - you offer the golden Blood to others. Yet you only seem To know the sun. Your King Who leaves you alone at night - Drunk with dew. Portrait I must be careful here what I write Many critics will believe I’m talking about One lady or the Other But trust me when I say, Her almond eyes are perfect eyes, They belong to nobody. And her perfect brows, they too Belong to nobody. Even the dimple on her left cheek but not the right Goes on no face in particular, And when she smiles it seems like It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity To die in the perfect moment. I won’t tell you her age Though really women age like wine. She stands tall and she likes it When you put your hand On the small of her back when you Walk beside her. And in her composure she gives Confidence. Ah – sound heart, it’s a shame it beats In nobody. But I guess I worry too much. No critic will be reading about her anyway, I made those guys up. Moving House The dark is rustling and the prickly pears all dead. Someone forgot to water the cacti, but no matter. Soon the cobwebs will be cleared and the blue moon through the bars will sing a song, lull you to bed. Like death the stars were always there Shining overhead They don’t mind the floorboards that know it all Will watch your step Tomorrow you move in With burly men and little girls Who knows what the walls know They watched the Others grow They watch you now. And they’ll know if you have yellow teeth Or if you sleepwalk into open nights They know who among you is the Beauty Queen Who with gifts beyond compare Who is whose delight. They’ll know the first tear and the last fight They’ll know you didn’t mean it. They’ll forgive you and When you’re old and have forgotten the walls They’ll forgive you for that too. Optimism I wanted to say something nice for once. A poem about strawberries or maybe ponies. But I know strawberries are sour and some ponies grow into horses that end up running tracks their whole life or otherwise get paraded into crowds that only try to observe from a comfortably safe and odor-free distance. (Fools who know nothing about the reason Why a horse is beautiful.) I once dreamed I lived in a snowglobe And if you can’t tell the walls are Keeping your world together, It’s lovely to watch the snow fall And not be cold. There’s the sparkles too, oh Lord how they shone Like a million dreams come true, I could reach out and be diamond-hued. Perhaps I can speak of sweeter fruits, Or strange wonders like the moonflower That blossoms only in the night. Even the moon is appreciated for the light To sustain life for once and not To inspire murderous plots Like ones I’ve read in Shakespeare. Are these things more inspiring? Or do they, like I suspect, reminds us again Of what is missing? Because I think nice things don’t exist. It’s all in your thinking. Of Matching This is about Clashing. I don’t know a better example Than my mother’s living room. I think she lives on short term memory, Or maybe she runs purely on the moment Beautiful in a way. If she sees an orchid plant Made of pink silk, she wraps it up From the store and steals home quickly Thinking “It’ll look great on the mantle”. But the pair of white porcelain bunnies And the peach plant made of polished stone, And the Japanese kimono-cloth turtle that we bought her for Christmas And the yellow silk roses in the same vase as the fake cattails And my graduation photos stashed in the corner And the little gold lanterns we put up for Chinese New Year Don’t quite think it fits with them. The hardwood floor is a blanched almond Whereas all the TV tables are in burlywood And the one real table we have is made of Glass. The couches match because I picked them. Otherwise I don’t know why She thinks a Majong table in the middle goes With the rest of the look. Does green Really enhance everything? I picked up the catalogue from the nearest Home décor store. “Look at the lovely White carpet!” I said. “And look – Paintings. A matching set of tables That brings out the colour of the curtains!” She looks at it. “But where would we put the pink orchids?” Dig I’m sure it’s a blessing to many of us That we cannot see our own face all the time. Because I know for certain that when I talk And when I walk, I believe in more grace Than what my face knows. Perhaps my acquaintances will disagree But in my head I think my smiles equal To the smiles of Catherine Zeta Jones, And my eyes sparkle like The lovely eyes of the new actress Hayden Panattierre – pronounced PAN-a-tee-AIR-AE. For of course they smile because there’s joy And is my joy any less? And if their eyes twinkle do they not Have life? I think my eyes reflect Hollywood moments. After all, aren’t the best movies Based on real stories? But of course, I wasn’t born with those High cheekbones that bring out my eyes And my smile is lopsided So you can’t even tell if I’m a lovely soul. Unless you know me well. Every woman’s beauty is doubtless Available now through money too But does fake skin really fold The way hearts do? I’ve read Phenomenal Woman And I believe her – it’s true Come inside my head, I’ll show you. A Moment Please Today I saw snow topped trees I thought I walked into a book. Or a movie set, The snow wasn’t melting. It was stuck at Negative eleven degrees. I watched my little breaths dressed in white Parade in front of me,
then gave up with a sigh, and floated up. Everywhere I looked I thought “It’ll give, under the weight of the snow”. I saw all the branches of the trees Snake their way across a white backdrop. Each twig weaving, growing like a menace Their black fingers splayed and frozen Shining like obsidian. And near twilight rows and rows of fir And tall evergreens declare: Behold, the Majesty of Winter! The pureness of ice and snow is here. And the sky is a pink, then crème, then yellow And in there is a hint of green, Then blue at the center of the world, Holding up a minty moon, (Just a sliver to lighten the snow). I didn’t know what to do with myself Seemed like I don’t belong - My heart beats at a startling rate Compared to the silence. So I listened, and thought I heard My little white breaths sing Be still – be still. | 
