Love Thy Knee

Everyone has strengths and weaknesses, especially when it comes to physical abilities.  Know your limits, understand your body, but also have the courage to challenge yourself to do the things that you love.  Be smart, be brave, be you.

Love Thy Knee

Hold me, love me
wrap me up and hug me,
kiss me, feel me,
cherish and protect me,
truly, truly
get to know me.

Study the way I walk,
know the way I work,
For you I’ll bounce back up.
I’ll bend and twist
to find the right path.
I’ll walk for you,
but be gentle with me
for I am fragile
just like life.
I can break and I can fall,
so understand me.

Love me
without force,
without pressure,
wrap me up
and protect me.
Love me,
Love thy knee.


– Image taken from Google

A Jumble of Words

A jumble of words
in my mind
that don’t come together
in a rhyme.

Searching and searching
for that single theme,
struggling and struggling
for a rhyme scheme.

Looking and looking
for the meaning,
but the structure and style
seem to beguile me.

Trying hard
to sort it out,
I still don’t know
what it’s about.

Metaphors and similes,
recordings of reality,
imagintation and fantasy,
emotions and expressions
of my creativity.

Just words on paper,
how hard could it be?
As you can read,
not very hard, indeed.

Ingredients for…

“A surprise,”
he had said
over the phone
while I was rushing
to finish my tasks.

Nervously I stand
now, adjusting my tie
as I knock.
Once, twice, three times,
and the door creaks open.
except for the ping, ping, ping
of the dripping faucet
coming from that room.

Sucking my breath,
I push it open
as a white towel
falls on my shoe.

Through the flickering
overhead lights,
I see a figure.
His arm drapes
over the rim.

Below the ragged slits
of his wrist -
a feathered pen
soaked in puddles
of blood,
broken glass,
with whiskey
leaking out.
Pills scatter
the floor.

He looks at me,
with open eyes,
not with love,
nor vengeance,
nor pride,
I don’t know with what,
and I don’t know why,
so I close them.

He looks like Marat,
in a bathtrub
of floating

Death of Marat

A piece of paper
falls in my grasp,
written in blood,
poem of his life.


This was a poem I wrote a while back and I decided to post this piece tonight since my mind is fresh with a sense of “mystery,” as my friends and I participated in a Murder Mystery Dinner Party last night.  I hope you enjoyed it!

I Heard Him Making Love to His Guitar

I heard this song on the radio the other day in the car while driving to work, zoning out as usual.  The instrumental sounds somehow mesmerized me and I had to write a poem about it.

I heard him making love
to his guitar,
stroking the strings
mesmerizing me

Whisperings words of love
through my ears,
his buttery voice
melted my heart,
touched my soul.

He was making love
in front of you and me
so beautifully,
so magically,
so lonely.

Stroking the strings
missing her,
missing him,
forever dreaming

He was making love
to his guitar,
stroking the strings
his buttery voice
fills my ears,
soothing it.

I breathe
to his breath,
I dream
to his dream,
I feel, I see
his fingers
the strings
of his guitar.

He was making love
to you and me

And this was the song “Everlong” by Foo Fighters.

Writing Challenge: Friendship

Back in 2012, I created the Inspiration Circle where I would post a theme every month for everyone to create a piece of art (whether it was a poem, a short story, a painting or a photograph).  For one of the months, the theme was “friendship.”  The first draft of my poem was pretty bland because it lacked imagery, depth and emotion.  I was “telling” instead of “showing.”  So I threw that away and started fresh, focusing on imagery.  I decided to focus on the image of a pretty mountain in China and just for the sake of it, I used the Sestina structure.  I typically write in free verse because I don’t like restrictions; however, of all the poetic structures, sestinas are my favorite.  With sestinas, you are not restricted with syllables, rhythm or line length, but with end words.  With that, you often find yourself surprised with what you come up with.  If you never heard of a sestina, you can read about it here:  I hope you enjoy this piece.

A Journey up the Mystical Mountain

Hidden in the fog, but showered with cherry blossoms,
we continued on our journey up the mountain.
The floral sent drifted in our nostrils while the wind brushed against our cheeks.
We’ve only been hiking for a few hours, but it seemed like eternity,
walking through the winding paths together -
a wonderful journey to be discovered.

Not knowing what to expect, I looked at you and discovered
how you have changed over the years, how you have blossomed
into a stronger person from the last time we were together.
The experiences from the past have given you strength to climb this mountain,
knowing that what you uncover will inspire you through eternity.
Catching you return my gaze, I became embarrassed and turned the other cheek.

With the sharp wind brushing against my face, I envisioned how rosy my cheeks
must be.  Hiking step by step, I have discovered
that I would love to live in this serene beauty for eternity -
high elevation, fresh air, sounds of trickling water, and pink cherry blossoms -
far away from the stress and demands of society, secluded in this mountain
with someone I trust, know and love – together

with you.  We’ve had our differences, but we remained together.
I remembered the last time we took photos cheek-to-cheek,
we were hiking up the crazy Santa Cruz mountains
and in the midst of it, we found a gem, we discovered
the most elegant waterfall next to a yellow rose about to blossom -
it was a symbol of our friendship, something we’ll remember for eternity.

“Best friends forever,” it seems like we said those words an eternity
ago, when we were six years old playing in the sandbox together.
We had no idea how our lives would change or how our friendship would blossom.
I recall getting ready for dances – putting on lipstick and powdering our cheeks,
and gushing about love, while mending broken hearts.  We had discovered
that life was full of winding paths and little hills, just like this mountain.

Step by step, hill by hill, we are finally reaching the top of this mountain.
Th sun is about to set, this will be the climb we talk about for eternity,
as sunlit rays shine upon us with mystical colors, we discovered
that we forgave each other for all the past tension.  We were happy together.
Love and trust need to be challenged.  Though we may not see cheek-to-cheek
on many things, we continue to water our friendship so that it can blossom.

High above the world, on this mystical mountain, we stand together
to capture a moment for eternity.  You gently brush a tear off my cheek
only to discover that you were crying too, under the beautiful cherry blossoms.


Writing Challenge: Now It’s Your Turn

  • Write a poem about friendship, tag it as “Writing Challenge: Friendship” and link it as a comment here
  • Or write a senstina, tag it as “Writing Challenge: Sestina” and link it as a comment here
The Paper Box

The Paper Box

While looking through pages and pages of my journals to compile my poetry book, I came across this poem that I wrote a couple years ago when I thought I had lost my best friend.  I had forgotten that I had wrote this and it brought back sweet memories.

The Paper Box

I looked down at the crisp sheet of paper.
I had written his name in cursive letters.
Whether it was superstition
or a sign of faith,
I slipped his name into a paper box.

My best friend had been gone for days.
Where did he go?
I didn’t know.
I looked far and near -
from the neighborhood to the parks,
I searched everywhere.

I longed to see his face -
his round little eyes,
his pink curling tongue,
his floppy, girly ears.
I wanted to hold him near.
I wished that he was happy.
Yearning for his return,
hoping and praying,
and continually saying
that he was “OK.”
Then my prayers were answered
and he came home one night.

Wagging his tail and full of life,
pouncing with all his might.
He was glad to be home.
We embraced him with our love.
He had been gone for a week.

His energy decreased
after the first night
and he refused to eat.
Skinny and starving,
looking frail and weak.
My heart ached to see him.
The poor boy was ill,
but I loved him still.
With tender loving care -
stroking, feeding, petting -
Slowly, but surely,
we nursed him to health.

Happy was home,
that much is true,
Paper box, thank you!

A photo of Happy

A photo of Happy