True Love

You come by and lean in

I blush, close my eyes

All you plant is a whisper

of some hot date last night.

But don't stop me from dreaming

That one fateful day

You'll come to your senses

and see me that way.

There's a new one your chasing

You're already caught

In her tangle-less curls and

That bottom she's got

and I'm just the girl

you can pour your heart to

And it whispers in rhythm:

"he doesn't love you."

One of these days I'll come to my senses.

One of these days I'll know what I'm missing

Was never with you

Was never you

You call me to say

She's out of your system

That this time you'll hear me

And finally listen

but I'm just the girl

You can pour your heart to

And I can finally say it:

"I'm so over you."

The Gift

Hold on to the string with a teasing tug,

give a gentle shake, an innocent shrug.

You'll soon find the secret kept within

but until then: don't rush in.

See the watching world hold still for you.

Smell the air and breathe this perfect view.

Feel the ticking heart that pounds within.

Make the moment last: please don't rush in.

We forget as fast as the sunlight fades

each sun always sets a new sky ablaze.

The falling leaves and melting frost -

these wonders, too, once gone are lost.

Hold on to the string, that mile-long smile

that feeling only lasts this while.

That glow, that spark you hold within

is part of the gift, so don't rush in.

to old dusty friends

it's a dog eat dog world and a good pen is hard to find. I use to collect the shiniest, prettiest, blackest and bluest ones in a box to await truly inspired pieces.. which happen always to come already written out, sandwiched between scribbles, ramblings and various erasures. Ah, another box of regrets [with pens this time] to throw out to make room for better things.

Moral of the story?

...The most valuable things can't be kept in boxes?

...Counting and collecting takes time away from adventures on & off the blank pages

...It's not what you have, it's what you do with it (Asian men be proud! :p)

...People are not what they wear or write with

...Even pretty pens can't run on dry ink. They're just like everybody else.

Crescent Moon

I took a bite of black on white

to soothe a gnawing appetite.

The quarter light, that hangs alight

from my bejewelled satellite,

does cast this plight which burns moon-bright

on toothless grin in wingless flight:

that though I might not be in sight

I smile upon the world this night.

watching my 7th bday party & piano recitals

There's a perfectly good reason (probably linked with our very survival) as to why our brains do not store that many memories of childhood. Curse you Sony Handycam CCD-V110!!!

2009 goal #1

sleep less, play more

distractions

In a world exponentially expanding in its number of households and websites, we're offered a new level of convenience at dislodging boredom to relieve the child-with-ADHD in all of us.

It's as if age has to step in and force us to please hold still.