So bittersweetly fair of face; I stare at a breathing dream,
baring the sweet taste of smoke on his lips,
as I longingly yearn to trace mine over. Your bitter secrets and untold words.
Through breaths that fall short—
and sweetened lips I pine to part
like torn paper sugar packets.
Pastel pages turn and turn,
colour mix turning to burn.
Foster baby cries its first,
bursts of today taking its turn.
Every shade will have its season,
every fire will find its reason.
Blister pack locked it in,
soaking up packets of sin.
Last moments in the soup,
regaining a sense to recoup.
Hold the light against the glass,
let the colours drift and pass.
Nothing owed and nothing lost,
only the turning, only the cost.
Past the future round and round,
pure chaos in master the sound.
Beauty in the knowing.
Everything showing.
O Oreo, thief of rustling packets,
how do you always find the treats?
You pull open drawers in the dead of night
like a burglar wrapped in black and white fur.
You leave ripped catnip bags across the floor
as if destruction is a kind of art.
The dog growls when you pass,
but you only flick your tail and carry on.
Every cat in the street knows you somehow.
You meet them beneath garden fences,
touch noses like you’ve shared lives before.
And maybe that is why I love you so fiercely.
Because before you, there were others.
Four names I still carry quietly.
Three boys lost to the road,
one girl stolen by poison.
You are chaos, Oreo,
all sharp claws and crooked habits,
yet you curl against me at night
like something determined to heal what it never broke.
There was a long queue at the pharmacy.
It was not easy to wait in the summer heat.
The air conditioner could not cope enough.
The three young and comely chemists were efficient,
Still there were so many people waiting.
But I needed the medication, blast it.
Under the soft hum of fluorescent light,
the drugstore was too full.
The air smelt faintly of disinfectant,
Too clean for comfort.
Still the chemists worked hard and smiled.
Behind the counter,
Bottles and packets were chosen and packed.
The bells of the cash register chimed fast.
Sick people were served, some with an occasional cough.
Change was given, cards were swiped.
Finally, my turn arrived. I grimmed.
“Get me some arsenic. I’m tired of waiting.”
With a laugh, my friendly chemist
Handed me some pain killers.
“Have a nice day, my dear friend.”
I smiled, stuck my tongue out and dared the summer heat.
My Luna
The moon
Was full the night I said goodbye
I saw the spirit fade
From your pained eyes
I saw the breaths stop and felt your heavy head
I'll miss your bulk
Upon my bed
Your fur
On every surface
Your greed
Your paws that opened the fridge
And found the cheese and I could throw any food onto the floor
And you'd hoover it up
I miss the raided bin
Evidenced by tins and licked packets
The way you barked when someone dared to pass the window in the night
Your beautiful face
Your love of life
You running through the stubble
Or chasing squirrels
I hope you'll stay with me
In spirit
I think of you every second
Your mischief mirrored my own
My friend
I love you
Rest in peace sweet girl
Luna
Forever
Hungry souls love a large pot filled halfway with bottled water.
Add 3 12-ounce pkgs of savory mild Portuguese sausages, finely chopped,
While the pot is simmering on the stove, on medium-high heat.
Add a couple of diced ripe round onions
In a short while, add two cans of dark red kidney beans, then, as
It boils,
Add a tray of tiny, sweet, color-filled tomatoes, cleaned.
Next, set the stove to simmer.
Sets of two small cans of tomato sauce and a can of
Tomato paste, into the simmering pot
Yet, keep stirring the pot ever so often
Lastly, mix in two dry chili powders
Enclosed in packets.
Chili powder is stirred in until it is nicely blended.
Hot Chili Mix might be too strong, so medium or mild
Is best
Leave on the stove, well-mixed with the stove off.
It goes great with steamed whole-grain rice.
I’m ordering a pack of seeds
For planting near my house.
Some flowers near a home is
An idea that I espouse.
If I plant black-eyed Susans
And, with luck, they really sprout,
I’ll surely smile each time
I’m coming home or going out.
Their color pops with happiness
And with their middle dot,
Or so-called “eye,” they paint a picture
I like quite a lot.
My thumb’s the opposite of green
So I won’t be surprised
If the seeds I plant don’t give me
Blooms the packets advertised.
Still, it’s not a big investment
To procure and plant some seeds,
For a dash or rain and sun and hope
Is all somebody needs.
2025.1.31
Third and final formal celebration day.
Three main days of CNY,
Have peacefully enjoyed by many Chinese.
The affluent people will continue
Celebrate upto 14 days.
The red packets, AngPao or lixi
Will be given out to friends and distance relatives.
I had given two to BB,
I believe he is single and still available.
This Sunday, the Lions dances
Will be demonstrated in the Melbourne CBD.
The Fortune tellers, palm readers, caligraphor,
And many others will be there,
The traditional New Year Chinese songs and dances
Are the entertainments of the event.
Arts and Crafts, food and drinks
Will be available for people to gain energy.
Happy Chinese New Year.
May everyone be safe, happy, healthy and has lot of money in the year of Snake.
In the bottom of a drawer,
where rusted nails and screws gather dust,
never used to mend the house
we swore we’d build together,
my dreams lie waiting.
In the back,
with the dried-up ketchup packets
we thought would stretch the hard days,
but never opened—
you’ll find remnants of hope
wrapped in crinkled edges.
Tossed in an overfilled closet,
crushed beneath the weight
of your unpacked clothes—
the pieces I kept
after you left—
they’re hidden there too.
And in the basement,
where clutter grows like ivy,
where portraits we barely recall
prop up the cobwebs—
those fragile threads of time—
don’t let them fall.
I think I left part of me
down there as well.
Scattered like puzzle pieces
from a hurried Christmas morning,
left unfinished as we rushed
to places we never wanted to go.
Or maybe they’re like the tire tracks
carved into the mud from journeys
that never mattered,
etched into the earth
and fading into memory.
This is the Kingdom of Forgotten Things.
It's a soup that's made to order never from a store
A little bouillon treat that's filled with herbs galore
Not the kind you get from packets, no not that kind !
with itty bitty chicken bits it has onions you can find.
I start with chicken base then add a clove of garlic,
turmeric and salt with a dash of home made magic.
I simmer for an hour while the veggies steam & swim,
singing in a playful voice, "a little blessed hymn".
I start with a clean counter then tuck my hair right in
wearing pinafore of white, with little ducks that swim
I stew it then I stir it, with a large wooden spoon
telling funny stories to a soup that cooks til' noon
Made with love and kindness, it really hits the spot,
I cook it just like mama did, when I was just a tot.
It's a soup that's made to order, never from a store,
this little bouillon treat is filled with herbs galore.
Enjoy !
junk drawer clean-up is scheduled today
tape
ribbons
rubber bands
pencils
pens
rulers
small notebooks
matches
candles
bungee cords
dog collar
flashlight
wrench
pliers
scissors
maple syrup packets
I need all of these things I think
as I shut the drawer.
I like my soup fresh.
Not that stuff from cans or dried-up in packets.
Soup needs time to simmer ...
Releasing savory ingredients from around the world
That recipes intend to convey.
Impossible to replicate, exactly,
As the Chef would want or hope.
But sharing is essential. We do the best we can.
Expressing our inner selves
With a little more of this or a little less of that.
Each creation a bit different or something completely new.
My taste buds love surprises!
So many flavors from every edge of the globe.
An Art that will never be extinguished or fade away.
You and I are a rare commodity.
Thank you for letting me sit at your round table.
And you'll always be welcome at mine.
Sat writing this, in memory of my pal Danny K
Just a few pints and a couple packets crisps, is what we used to say
I just wanted you to know, ill be forever grateful that we met
Ill hold on to the memories we made, all too good to forget
So much left to say, now there just words left unspoken
Hard to believe your really gone, many hearts left broken
You changed my life in ways you'll never know
Absolutely devastated it was your time to go
Off up to paradise pal, where they only take the best
May you be at peace, may you be at rest
if the rain were to fall
and the sky were to bubble in clouds
would you return to me
would you clean the wounds of my life
and sacrifice some of your soul for my own
what is it in this world
that hardens our hearts and strangles love
we have died every day among the beauty
yet, we are drawn to the ugliness of sin
to willingly burn in the candle's flame
if i had lived pure
would you give in and carry
me to places i've only dreamed of
caress me as a child and
love me as a lover from your past
bring forth the packets of pain, gather among us
in a reunion of regret, in a sea of solitudes
as the rain begins to fall from the bubbling clouds
washing the dust from our spirits as we rise
forever and forever free
C2023 Thomas Lee Rhymes - April 21, 2023
The Drawer
In the drawer in the kitchen,
there is a bit of this,
some of that,
and everything else!
Well, nearly so.
There is tape, and string,
and a funny thing...
there is no name at all to describe.
It came with the pizza and never left in the trash.
There is a screw, a nut... no bolts for now,
several nails,
a nail file,
and pieces of a broken fingernail too.
"Why not throw it out?" I shout.
No one listens.
I made rolls this morning.
They came in a can.
There was frosting included too.
Another... small plastic "perfect" dish
I will include with the fish sauce packets
from last week...
and together they will join
the membership of the drawer...
to be included in the chaos
that is our lives.
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