fantasy land
i live in a fantasy land
where i have it all sorted out
my mother's hand
and a green porch with flower bands lying around
in a summer haze
it all makes sense
until darkness arrives
and it all becomes a mess
my touch became fatal
due to which the flowers wither
the fantasy land turns mortal
which i had dreamed to make bigger
peered through an ordinary keyhole
misunderstood it as a person
which i can't even freehold
to heal a heart which is quite uncertain
now put an end to a fantasy land
it doesn't exist
nor is it in fate
it just doesn't subsist
Street alley stalls
Tourist bazaar fare;
Souvenirs to go
~~~~~~~~~
Seasonal fruit
A yearly dessert;
Duku escapade
~~~~~~~~~
Old colonial shophouse
Freehold property;
Modern facelift
~~~~~~~~~
Business cycles dash
Yesterday's bubble tea;
Today's cafe glitz
~~~~~~~~~
Shopping arcade
Organized pandemonium;
Electronic extravaganza
~~~~~~~~~
Bread and toast
Shopping mall happenings;
Cafe pondering
~~~~~~~~~
Old haunts call
Flavours and tints;
Urban oasis
~~~~~~~~~
Congested roads
Peak hour traffic;
Air-con consolation
~~~~~~~~~
Morning kungu-fu dancers
Graceful as swans;
Dreamtime exhibits
~~~~~~~~~
Busy feet carve
Grassy footpath;
Shortcut route across
~~~~~~~~~
Urban renewal
Unstoppable excavations;
Traffic clutter shows
~~~~~~~~~
October heat wave
Haze for added flavour;
Smoky suffocation
~~~~~~~~~
River boat ride
Clarke Quay encounter;
Delighted tourists
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
27 October 2014
Singapore
A NOTE FROM THE WIFE OF A RETIREE
I couldn't buy you a Valentine's card 'cause we're always together;
whether in pouring rain or in freezing snow or ANY kind of weather.
You're with me on our "one day trips", or lunch time at the mall,
or overnight in A/C (THAT we love most of all).
You're right there at my doctor visits, or when I do my hair,
or when we visit the kids or folks-- Yep, you are ALWAYS there.
So now you know my dilemma, but my meaning isn't hard:
I'd rather be right by you , then buy you a silly card!
by Wendy Lee Klenetsky - 61 Helen Avenue - Freehold, N.J. 07728 -
wenbowl@gmail.com
Reflections
Perchance refractions
On mirror of civilization
Unveiling deep furrows-
Nausea of despair!
Ugly shadows of innocence
Haphazard ruins
Harbingers to Africa.
Mother Africa
Unleash black juju
Denounce anaemic gods and
Sing blues to negritude
Dream with Senghor
continental dreams
Dreams individual-
Like Nkrumah
A touristo blackano!
And African huts
Where come rains
To water our negritude
Come clouds
To hide our wrecks, rubble.
Robbed of freehold rights
By mayor and corporation
At slum clearance!
Acclaimed sons and daughters
Of former freedom fighters
In our misery!
Mother Africa
Forget them
Forget a touristo blackano
Behind wrecks
Behind smutty, illicit stuff
Behind oblique natives!
Forget these loud symbols of welfare
Albeit feigned
Symbols of might
Albeit loaned
Symbols of unity
Albeit fictitious
Symbols of friendship abroad…
Forget these things!
They mask the essential you
Distorting your true image
The image truly befitting
Our motherland:
The world’s caustic kaleidoscope!
The young and the old are part of man's fold.
Love between them, better than gold…tenfold.
The past before told, as the future shall behold.
Depends upon love shown, not an empty billfold.
Chores hide and seek, anger vanquished…controlled.
Life molds by example as truths are told.
Family meetings upon hope's threshold,
Foster goodness without the need to scold.
Happy days upon sacrifice enrolled.
Profits many blessings; smooths lives potholed.
Freedom of choice has a responsibility twofold.
Give from the heart; let understanding enfold.
Time writes; family history lives scrolled.
Children grow and soon leave the household.
Memories in heart, that each child shall hold,
Establish free choices in love's leasehold.
Seniors who listen with wisdom bankrolled,
Experiences share…but only when polled.
Respect grows for elders as life is strolled.
Admiration earned; limiting stronghold.
The young, like the old, are part of man’s fold.
Time together grows respect’s freehold.
Helping children make choices…scorn untold.
The smiles that you give will come back ten-fold.
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
June 5, 2010
Poetic form: Monorhyme