Adventures at the Sundial Bridge
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Silent night, flickering fire
grasshopper walking
on my camping chair
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You find yourself wondering
if what had happened,
happened in a dream,
but you can’t remember,
because it’s surreal, yet real,
until you realize
that you’re still dreaming,
and what had happened
happened in a dream
within a dream.
It’s like a weird inception
of the subconscious.
When you awake,
you are baffled, confused,
puzzled…
what does it mean?
Did the event that happened
really happen?
Or did it really happen
in a dream?
Or did it happen in a dream
within a dream?
Swirling in the air,
nature’s confetti
fallen to the ground,
a slumber party –
The color of mangoes
against the green grass,
a painter’s vision
of beautiful trash.
Drenched by rain,
blown by breeze,
always trampled on,
Autumn leaves.
Hear the crunch,
feel the wrinkles,
trace the lines
that twinkle
in the sun.
Sparkles and shines
from green to gold to red,
a chameleon of time.


Blue, green, pink, peach, white
rectangular blocks of clay
sitting on your desk
beckoning to come alive.
It’s silent and dark,
the spotlight
is on you
as you peel back
the plastic
and knead the clay
over and over
in your palms
until the clay is soft
and your fingers hurt.
Slowly you shape
the legs, mold the torso,
add the shoes,
check the size,
make sure you’re satisfied.
Add the chest, mold the arms,
ensure it stands upright,
mix some pink, mix some white,
mix some yellow too,
now you have a skin-like peach
that works, that works for you.
Work your fingers, mold the face,
shape the nose, the ears, the eyes,
envision what you had envisioned
in your mind.
Take it, bake it, make it
come to life. Draw the eyes,
add a smile, dot some hair,
add a spring, he’ll bobble,
glad to be here, glad to be alive.
Are you poetically inclined
to change my mind,
with words and phrases
and changing phases –
Winter, spring, summer, fall,
life, love, sadness and all?
To laugh, to cry,
to laugh and cry,
to fail, to try,
to try and fail.
It’s bittersweet
when nothing remains
as you cringe in pain
in the pounding rain,
bleeding in shame,
wondering what
you had done wrong.
Too short
to find happiness,
long enough
to cherish memories.
Loving pain,
hating love,
needing both.
The oxymoron
where shadows mix
with sunlit rays.
Metaphors and similes
don’t change a thing.
Touch my life.
Yeah, right.
I know the truth,
hidden deeper
and deeper
in my mind,
reflected in
your sparkling eyes,
a heart-shaped
teardrop
above your lips,
whispering words
of comfort,
to cover thoughts
of pain.
Yes, I know.
Are you still
poetically inclined
to change my mind?
As a child, I enjoyed reading stories of fantastical lands with admiral characters, some humor, some horror, and some romance. As I got older, I found myself gravitating towards historical memoirs that capture the human spirit. Working 8-5 (or rather 10-7) while straining my eyes everyday on the computer, I no longer had the luxury of time to indulge in make-believe stories on pages of paper. I realized that I often started a book, read about 20-50 pages and then decided it wasn’t worth my while. If I wanted to escape from reality, I would go into nature or watch a movie. What I seek in a book is something more. I seek to gain some sort of understanding, courage, or inspiration that will really touch my soul.
When I randomly picked up Angela’s Ashes (as my brother’s coworker had loaned it to him), I expected to read a few pages to cure my boredom. Instead, I found myself engaged in the book. It’s one of the few books that I read from beginning to end since I started working full-time.
Angela’s Ashes is a heart-felt story about a young boy who grew up in Limerick, Ireland. With an irresponsible drunkard for a father, Frank and his family lived in poverty (wearing rags for clothes and surviving on fried bread and tea). The reader sees him lose his young brothers and sister to sickness and malnourishment, one by one. However, despite the tragedy in their life, the reader can always sense a bit of hope that sits in the hearts of Frank’s family.
Frank elegantly and honestly portrays the courage and curiosity of children, the strong love of a mother, and the importance of hope through his well-defined characters and story-telling. True compassion can be seen in the midst of poverty. While not all the characters are admiral, the reader can’t help but root for them because they have become our friend, our brother, our mother. Through this tragic tale of poverty and humiliation, a family perseveres, and a bright, young man opens door to a new beginning with a love for learning. It’s a true inspiration to know that anything is possible as long as one doesn’t give up and keeps on smiling.
Hand in hand, walking along the beach
as our feet sink into the warm, soft sand.
Is this what lovers do
as they watch waves crashing
against the shore?
Cascading patterns of beauty,
moving back and forth,
proceeding with weight
and density,
receding with transparent
clarity.
Mixed with the gentle breeze of the wind,
it’s like a musical dance of nature.
Refreshing foams of water
melt into the arms of the soft sand,
an endearing moment
repeated throughout time,
a truly magnetic wonder
that attracts both man and bird alike.
Flirting with danger,
they touch the tip of the wave,
a sensational feeling of ice.
Overwhelmed by its intensity,
they run to shore,
afraid to be sucked in deeper,
yet tempted
by the unknown,
they return…
and we stare…
mesmerized.
Going on an evening stroll,
step by step,
swinging my arms,
twisting my torso,
loving the movement,
feeling the freedom,
listening to mellow melodies
of instrumentals.
I watch black birds
swirl in the sky,
flying in harmony,
dancing in rhythm
loving life,
living freely
in the pink-blue sky.
A blanket of darkness,
a bird’s eye view
of a million lights,
a glistening map
of the cityscape,
a glistening glimpse
into people’s lives.
Who are they
and what do they do
in the dark, dark night?
Is it a city of peace,
of the perfect American dinner,
of sweet, sweet slumber,
happiness and romance
all bundled into one?
Or is it a city of scandal,
filled with reckless behavior,
money-driven goals,
drug-crazy addicts,
bang, bang
gunshots and tears?
It’s hard to see
in a blanket of darkness
what the lights signify.
Who are these people
and what do they do
in the dark, dark night?
