One Month Anniversary

I haven’t posted in a while as I was busy being pregnant and taking care of a new baby.  Here is a new post inspired by that 🙂

baby
photo courtesy of Laura Lee Moreau

One Month Anniversary

The past month has been a blur.
Days and nights blend together
as I spend all my time with you – 
feeding, burping, changing, holding
you over 20 hours a day.

With disheveled hair and stained clothes,
not knowing if I showered or brushed my teeth,
no time to read or watch TV,
not truly understanding your needs.
but trying to keep my sanity.

I stare into your big, bright eyes
and watch you lift your head to root.
My heart feels warm and fuzzy
watching you smile in your sleep.

Today, I sit in this room with you
listening to music from the monitor –
classic instrumentals,
like the ones you hear at weddings.

Time slows down,
the rest of the world fades away.

In this moment, it’s just you and me
and this memory.

A Mirage

mirage

~ photo by Stephen Radford

A Mirage
by Jenny Katherine Luu

It was a moonless night
on the Las Vegas strip.
The pleasure hotel was hidden
behind a magical mirage of smoke.

The stripper who looked like an angel
looked in the mirror with regret.
Her face glistened under the candlelight.
The flames danced in her eyes –
her eyes smothered with mascara.
The rose she held in her hand
glistened with her teardrops.

Petal by petal, the rose fell –
Her regret reflected in the glistening mirror.
Her face was that of oblivion.
She struggled to breathe
under the smothering smoke.

There was never pleasure.
There was always regret.
The angel stripped away her clothes
and disappeared into the smoke.

The hotel smothered in flames,
burned to the ground
hidden behind the mirage.

There was never pleasure.
There was always regret.
Nothing glistened.
Nothing glistened
in the moonless night.

 

(poem based on a writing exercise using repetitive keywords)

Reverse Poetry

Happy New Year everyone!  Sorry, I’ve been slacking off on my blog posts these days.  Anyhow, I will ring in 2019 with some creative poetry.  I came across this poem by Abdullah Shoaib from a friend’s post on Facebook and was inspired by the concept.

When you read the poem from top-down, the narrator has a low self-esteem, but if you read the poem from bottom-up, she is comfortable and confident.  This structure of displaying opposite messaging does take some careful crafting, so I decided to try one of my own as well =)  I hope you enjoy both poems and I encourage you to try one of your own.

pretty-ugly2

babys-first-breath.jpg

The Long Walk

I’m taking a quick break from the Memory Poems of my characters to post one of my own this week.  This was written during Poets at Play.

The Long Walk

She remembered hopping off the bus
some sixteen years ago
carrying her baby blue Jansport backpack
filled to the rim with binders and books,
something she bore on her shoulders
5 days a week, even in the rain.

It was raining then, water drops
came crashing down.  The wind
pushed her left and right.
It was as if Mother Storm
slapped her in the face with spit.

She opened her portable umbrella,
The useless flimsy thing
was no match for the wind,
being pulled inside out
this way and that way,
a broken fragile puppet of the wind.

She struggled to maintain control,
so it wouldn’t fly away,
while crossing the street
looking like a helpless mess,
as onlookers watched
from the safety of their cars.

Raindrops streamed down her face.
Rain pelted her clothes
from slanted angles.
Little drops of water
on her jeans 
were like dark blue dots
that grew into patches
that eventually covered the leg.

Her once dried socks
were wet and squishy.
Her once bright mood
became cloudy like the storm.
She made it home, soaking wet.

It was one of the longest

10 minute walks she’s ever taken
alone
with her friend, El Nino
during high school
in the early millennium.

Flash forward – 2016/2017,
the storm is coming,
school is closed.
Children deprived
of experiencing
these memories.

a-girlwalkinginrain
image from angelgran’s photobucket

The Encounter

Last month, I attended Poets at Play for the first time at the Markham House in History Park, San Jose.  It was nice to meet a small group of poets and spend a nice afternoon writing and discussing poetry.  The theme for the month was “memory.”  I was able to write two poems that afternoon and I will share one with you today, the one I didn’t read out loud.  A poet suggested writing memory from someone else’s perspective, so I decided to write this.  I hope you enjoy it.

The Encounter

Coming out of the trashcan,
I felt my fur on end…
a pair of eyes watching me.
She was there, the human,
looking at me, watching…
my every move.

I jumped back in,
I jumped back out.
I poked my head
around.
She was still there
watching me.

I scurried down the trashcan.
I scurried up a tree,
found a little nook
that was comforting to me.

I lost sight of her.
She lost sight of me,
or so I thought,
until I felt her eyes
once again, watching me.

I pretended not to see.
She pretended to let me be,
walking away,
so I could enjoy my day.

Maybe a squirrel and a girl
could be friends.

17819883_10210579495497673_1818647979_o

 

Frienemy

I haven’t been writing much these days, so in order to inspire myself to pick up a pen and write, I have decided to spend some time with The Poet’s Companion.  If you haven’t heard of this book, I highly recommend that you check it out.  It was a book that I bought for a college poetry class and it teaches you different writing techniques, and at the end of each chapter, it provides you with a list of writing exercises.  Every time you revisit the book, you are bound to write something new, as your thoughts, experiences and perspectives will change over time 🙂

I read the first chapter yesterday and did the first exercise, which was to list out memorable events from your life (big or small) and write a poem about it.  I ended up with this poem.

Frienemy

They run in a frenzy
from the cement to the grass,
from the grass to the cement.

A blur of black and white rushes
past you as fur brushes
against your leg.

Paw scrapes against cement.
You see a tuft of cotton
in his canine mouth.
Your heart skips
a beat.

Snow white fur,
no signs of blood,
but could he?
Would he…
take a life?

The chase continues –
Happy inches away,
just inches away,
from Hopper.

Exhausted,
Hopper collapses
in the wet grass.

Happy pounces…
his two front paws,
a mix of brown and black
over Hopper’s white body.

Content at his victory,
he simply lies there,
listening to the bird’s chirp.

The wind rustles their hair.
What a beautiful day…
with a frienemy.

Bridal Memories

You open your eyes
and awake to a sunlit room
with birds chirping in the sky
and your sweetie sleeping
next to you.

Lying on clean sheets
with double happiness
signs above you.

Listening to his breathing
puts you at ease.
Last night’s memories
feels like a dream.

Your light blue veil
billows in the wind,
your dress train cascades
on the lush green grass
as you walk down the aisle,
arm and arm with Dad.

Sparkling smile,
sparkling dress.
He takes your hand,
you look into his eyes.
You exchange vows
over the beautiful reservoir
under the bright blue sky.

Kissing under the gazebo,
hand in hand, man and wife
walk down the aisle,
greeted by family and friends.

Laughter, chatter,
photos galore…
bits and pieces
come back to you…

The promises he made
while he held your hand.
The promises you made
while looking into his eyes.
The toast your best friend gave
that made you want to cry.

The first dance
in your wedding dress.
The first bite of cake
you tasted together.
The little girl
that caught your bouquet.
All the little things
that he said,
that she said,
that they said
were cool.

Your hair feeling
like a bird’s nest.
You can barely walk,
but everyone says
you’re beautiful.
You have 51 bobby pins
in your hair,
and you just don’t care,
dancing to the music.

It’s all so surreal,
but it’ll definitely be captured
on the highlight reel,
as you look back on yesterday
and smile,
lying next to your sweetie,
today, tomorrow, and for the rest
of your life.

bridal-memories
photo by Michael Keel