Today, I’ve finally heard from an old friend – someone I could honestly say has changed my life.
It was a simple season’s greeting but it was more. It told me that he and his family were okay and that they were doing fairly well from their ordeal with Typhoon Haiyan. It meant they were still celebrating Christmas and the holidays and that they weren’t just surviving,they were thriving. Soon,they won’t just get back to normal but will be in a better state as will their neighbors, families, and friends who went through the same. It was testament of their resilient Filipino spirit and more. They are Waraynon.
It was the best Christmas gift I’ve ever had.
Dawn greets the meek child
A gift called Day
From dew drops to rainbows
To shaped clouds that breeze by
The meek that inherits,
Without vengeance and strife,
Grow trees of the forest
And unparch dry earth.
Whence Dusk wakes
To sprinkle the sky
With silver sparkle
Moonbeams and stars dance
Through soft-spoken lips songs play
Hope, Love, and Peace
With heart light as air
Bequeath of young Spring
Sleep embraces the weary
But lighthearted one
For that was the entire world
In response to the Daily Prompt: Mad as a Hatter.
It’s probably weird linking this to the Daily Prompt but since this poem was prompted by it, I had to do it.
Birthdays hold special meaning to most people. We start unaware that we are celebrating our birthdays, those parties are mostly for our parents’ benefit. Then we grow to enjoy and look forward to the next one and the one after that, either we throw our own parties or receive surprise ones from our friends and family. But somewhere along the way, we dread the years’ passing as we near and get past our prime; some see age as a burden after this. And finally there comes a time when we stop counting altogether and let our family remind us how long we’ve stayed a resident of this world.
This short story portrays one of these moments on Henry’s birthday – “Not just another birthday party“.
Have you ever stopped and reflect on how people in the past contacted each other and what difference there is between the times on that aspect? Have you weighed the consequences for having such modern means of communication and information dissemination. Perhaps you have had this vague sense that some price must have been paid for this convenience that would have been too good to be true for people from a different age. What are the values that were borne from the different kinds of media for reaching out to one another and what are the values lost from the shift to modernity? Don’t you wonder? I do.
A Sonnet that was created from these thoughts – With just your voice
Here is my page for the Sonnet on the new menu above.
I have written two sijo for two plants that are so associated with Christmas that it just won’t be the same without them. Just me showing a little appreciation for them.
An origin poem for the timeless tradition of kissing under the mistletoe
“All but the humble mistletoe“
Red as fire that could almost melt the snow, a poinsettia sijo
“Flame flower burning bright“
Check out other Sijo I’ve written on through my Sijo page
I can’t help writing poems when the urge hits me. It’s like the words are in the air around me just waiting for me to pick them up and arrange them on paper; yes, I mean real smooth-to-the-touch, crumple-prone blank paper. I write the words as free and natural sounding as I can in what is called open verse poetry. And although self-proclaimed and entitled poets trivialize this form, I quite enjoy writing it that way. I’ve always thought structured and formal forms sound insincere. But now I know better and I admit I’ve been as biased as those I just mentioned. Continue reading
People do not understand loss and grief until they experience it themselves. All of a sudden the very air is suffocating and you forget how easy it was to breath before. Colors slowly dull and sounds are gradually muted, symptoms of one’s very will to live on being sapped through every teardrop shed . Until you can cry no more and that pool of memories is your only world.
And then, something happens and you start to stand up and walk away from the Gloom. You are lucky if you can pinpoint and remember that specific trigger. “The scent of goodbye” tries to capture that moment.