Archive for February, 2011

She must be 50 something yet still very pretty with golden hair and sharp features and she owned the stage as she performed her poem with passion. She pointed to her husband in the audience as she explained the next one was about him and her. And she read a beautiful tender piece that evoked vivid images of the two of them dancing together to tranquil music, alone in their living room.

I thought he was being the faithful supportive husband, being there to encourage her in her poetic endeavour. But no. He went up to (more…)

So last Friday was a family friend’s mendhi (Asian version of a hen night). I went home from work for lunch, and Mother presented me with pineapple, grapes, strawberry and tangerines and roped me into creating a ‘taal’, a fruit artwork that you (more…)

My homeland is
a hazy memory of a 5 year old’s
images untouched
by the passage of time despite
auditory information to the contrary

My mother is
masked words of experiences
unshared stories
I speak her daily tongue but
(more…)

What is the earliest poem you have, the one that made you get in to poetry?

I loved this prompt from One Stop Poetry that I decided to post today, outside of my usual posting schedule.

I recall I was not impressed with poetry in primary school. I was more interested in writing pages in my diary of what I had for breakfast and who I played with and pages in my notebooks of stories about castles and dragons and runaways.

But at age 12, I discovered the pleasure and ability of writing poems, which stemmed from my English teacher praising my poetry. My first poem, below, which I still have a handwritten copy of dated 20^th January 1998, was for an English homework, and that’s where my poetry began. (more…)

Slowly the flurry danced down in the air, twinkling and twirling in the cold night, glistening in the weak yellow lights of the street lamps.

She stood by the bus stop, waiting.

How long was he going to be, she wondered. She didn’t like waiting in the dark so late but she had no choice. (more…)

You dream,
of a picture perfect
wife, waiting on you with
hot food as you stagger through
the door from a stressful
day’s work.

I want to
(more…)

Pearlescent, the

dress shimmers

Inky, the hair

cascades down

A porcelain hand

Holds the thin ebony

(more…)