Forever Creating

A crystal dewdrop twinkles in the sun
A little furry spider weaves his web.
He’s intertwining, overlapping; spins
and spins to make, to shape, and to create
a simple work of tranquil beauty. He’s

just like the painter with his brush in hand
and a white canvas before him, he will
create when inspiration strikes, but for
now, he will simply watch, observe the light
that dances on the haystacks, that plays in
your eyes, that surrounds you with warmth, the light
embraces nature with its touch. He smiles
and paints with pastel colors, gently, he
puts vivid images, visions from his
mind on to canvas. How serene, a work
of art. He paints and paints from day to night,
just watching the waves, the stars, the life that
goes by. He sees, he paints, and he creates.

Just like the writer with his special quill
pen, who puts words on paper, which brings things
to life. He writes and writes from dawn to dusk
of people, places, and weird events. He
shares heartfelt emotions, his joy and pain,
his dreams and hopes. He shares his fantasies;
he beckons words to come alive. He writes,
he types, he makes, he shapes, and he creates
through time and space, eternal, just like God.

forever creating
– Images 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,
nevertheless,
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.

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
gently,
rhythmically,
mesmerizing me
musically.

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
gently,
rhythmically,
missing her,
missing him,
forever dreaming
everlong…

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

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

He was making love
to you and me
musically.

And this was the song Everlong (the acoustic version)” by Foo Fighters.

The Sense of Urgency

I find it amusing to see cars race to cut me off only to be stopped at the red light, needing to brake furiously.  Americans are often in a hurry to accomplish so many things on a given day that they fail to see the beauty in the world.  I try not to be one of those people, so I make it a conscious decision to take a moment to breathe.

The Sense of Urgency

Cars on the freeway
speeding and braking,
braking and speeding,
drivers on the freeway
cursing and cussing,
cussing and cursing
because they’re gonna be late.

People in line
crossing their arms
stomping their feet
cursing and cussing,
cussing and cursing
because they’re gonna be late.

Tick, tock, tick tock
what is the meaning
of the clock?

clock
Every delay
can make you late
for a meeting,
a workout,
a dinner,
a hangout,
or a sitcom
in bed.

Every delay
is an opportunity
to enjoy the moment,

to watch the  sun set
in brilliant colors,
to watch the rain reflect
off wet pavement,

to sing along
to a song,
to listen
to the angelic voice
of the cashier,

to see a child
smile
from pure joy,
to simply
take a moment
for yourself
to cherish
every delay

every day
and make it well spent
because you never know
when your last delay
will be.

Tranquil Beauty

I wrote this poem while on a plane ride and was just mesmerized by the scene unfolding before me.

Tranquil Beauty

High above in the troposphere,
a blanket of clouds form a sea,
thin, wispy and free
floating like cream on your coffee.

Imagine walking through cloudy fog
with no pressure, no resistance,
knee deep and feeling nothing
but the white that you see.

Canoeing through waves of white,
textured clouds, feeling motion
without force, moving, but standing
still in an ocean where there’s no reflection,
but the ones in your mind.

Listen to the wispy clouds crashing
weightlessly against the imaginary shore.
Waves so gentle like foams of cream,
a truly silent beauty.

As the sun starts to set
above the sea of clouds,
gradients of pink and orange
melt into the baby blue sky.
A sunset where
no bird’s eye has really seen.

As we fly lower and lower
into the field of clouds,
a beautiful meadow of white,
sparkles of precipitation
appear before my very eyes,
leaving behind
trails of shooting stars,
in the twilight sky,
a stream of wishes by my window side.
I close my eyes and dream.

The scene outside my window
The scene outside my window

The Courage of Youth

As people get older, they tend to lose a part of their childhood wonderment as they often let fear, social status and pessimism consume their minds.  As we approach the new year, I want to encourage all of you to let loose and have a little fun.  Let your inner child shine through =)  Here is a poem of my random adventure in the park.

The Courage of Youth

Climbing
through the jungle
gym, reaching for ropes
and bars and handholds,
you pull yourself through,
with strength
from your arms
to your knees,
with your agility,

you pull yourself up,
slightly breathless,
gasping for air,
grasping for balance,
reaching the
satisfaction
of being
on top,

fulfilling
a challenge
that’s twice
as difficult
at your size,
and at your age,
but knowing
that you’re never
too old

to be silly
enough to try,
to be brave
enough to fall,
to be determined,
to be challenged,
to be a kid
on top of the world.

jungle-gym