Two worlds
Can feel like two minds
Two cultures
Two lives
1 heart but 2 homes
Set deep in your bones
And it can be really nice,
The mixture of bread and rice
But sometimes I don't belong to either
Too tan or too light
Eyes a mixture
Almost right
Perhaps like a cold fever
Where I belongs to neither
Just a sight
Falling through cracks
Breaking my back
The language I lack
A never ending stack
Of questions
And concerns
And a turmoil of topsy turvy
Whirling confusion
The delusion
Of who I am.
A throat tickling ambience
of chili garlic,
Mung Bean paste
and bottles of oyster sauce.
Clumsily, I knock over a glass jar
of curry powder.
A choking mushroom cloud
erupts.
The lady at the cash register
watches me jump backwards
flapping at the spicy miasma.
She is sixteen going on fifty.
Her disgusted frown speaks volumes.
I apologize, offer to pay -
eyes burning.
What I want now is a cheeseburger,
very mild cheddar,
definitely no mustard,
no sesame seeds, pickles
or onions.
so lovely bright green
Asian Emerald Cuckoo
bonny fair color
Men are like "asians" (-ation) not the ones from the far east, but the ones who fall weak.
The ones who seek validation through manipulation for their gratification somehow thinking they should get a congratulation for their uncertain manifestation.
The ones who play games like life is a play station, but fail to realize they create their own demise of this devastation.
Yet they colonize a civilization of hallucination for women to fall victim for their celebration.
Living in their own world of separation instead of integration as if we don't need one another for concentration.
Sad world we live in with these men.
Now don't get me wrong, not showing discrimination, women too can also be "asians" (-ation).
But this ain't about us, right now I'm on the men "asians" (-ation) with no hesitation.
We all should do some reevaluation in order to get some elevation, but before we do that, we have to come to realization not to bring aggravation to our generation.
I truly love old hand
Made things
Asians took so much pride
In things they made
Colors and beauty
True art
Keeping the old ways alive.
I'm afraid of beauty
She's too perfect
She's beautiful, slim
And a princess
Both outfit is incredible
And what a lovely lady
I would say she's americanized
However, her ancestors must be proud
She's an Asian classic beauty.
There’s something to be said
for the local practitioner
Whose phone is not answered
by an East Asian call center
It’s nice knowing what you hear
is what you get
Unlike when Abhimanyu says
‘Hi. My name's Brett.’
The Lord made him Asian,
colored him a light brown raison,
with pearly whites that shined a glazing..
The Lord made him Asian.
He rose to the occasion.
No time for idly grazing,
many new trails he was blazing..
The Lord made him Asian.
He was bold, absolutely brazen.
This man was so amazing!
Oh cute white blossoms
Wow! What a clear sign of spring
Aroma of pink
Japanese apricot
Chinese plum
Paints and films of death grow; signs of our times,
crowning rundown; the Asian Unicorns.
Rare large mammals, forest-dwelling bovines,
with nearly two feet long parallel horns.
They're found in central Vietnam and Laos,
adults reach up to thirty-three inches
up to shoulder height. Captive breeds rehouse
like schemes, lacks hope as they're on the fringes
of extinction. The poverty levels
are high in the region, local support
are tough. Technical and medical specials
aid base programs and worldwide food import.
The two hundred-twenty pound primary,
famine ... charities ... complementary.
Once the green land of morning calm and high serenity
Soon waved the blood red flag, stained with the false words “We will soon be free”
Now a grey, barren mountain swallowed by Yaldabaoth’s sea
Birthed from the central river of holy kings
The court city guarded by stone rings
A marriage of light and might
Its stupa shone bright
With divine
Light
As life's sign
A heart of daylight
Its head, the gold tent, in sight
Guarded by the dragon with its wings
Birthed from the central river of holy kings
Dumplings
As I walk into the kitchen, for a snack,
my mother, her apron, night black hair, and jade bracelet,
makes me dumplings.
She combines the mixture of monotonous ingredients
into something extraordinary.
The water, like a youthful spring, rejuvenated the frozen, faltering fruits of nature,
Mixing the Yangtzee, Hei Long Jiang, and Chang Jiang into a savory paste of veal and kiwi green scallions and chives.
The distinct sound of chopping drowned my thoughts, easing my stress, and bringing a unique rhythm into my mind.
The dough, seeping under her fingers, was firm yet malleable
as if she was molding
the future.
The clicking of the gas stove, rumbling of the pot, flattening of the dumpling skins, the clinking of bowls and chopsticks, the scrubbing noises in the sink.
A rousing prelude to an intoxicating fugue…
Dinner
Creatures from the deep blue lagoon
Surrounded the sleeping baboon
They poked him in the belly
Out came strawberry jelly
Opened up a brand New Delhi!
Church and fortress of clay that shone bright with might
Monastery of the faith of light
Though brief like a small spark stored
Earth quaked and flames roared
Dragons stared
Sward
Angels cared
An island ignored
Eternal with heaven’s lord
As the radiant white moon at night
Church and fortress of clay that shone bright with might
I checked syllable count by How Many Syllables with Worksheet
Date: January 20th 2023 center
Contest: Writing Challenge - Andaree Form - Poetry Contest center
Contest Sponsor: Constance La France center
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