Flying foxes hang replete from the tall trees
dripping in the morning sun. They have sucked
the flesh of mamey sapote, rambutan and mangosteens.
Their dog-like pelts are copper pendants
that seep a dawn drenched dew onto our heads.
The summit of Penang Hill is reserved for the rich
who live above the heat and hustle.
Cool nights favor a fragrant adulatory.
Jia Liu has an 'Uncle' that is not related to her.
When he is away she takes me to the villa
as a tennis partner, and sometimes lover.
After the game we stroll under the bat dribble.
“It’s good for your hair,” she says laughing,
running ahead. I call after her:
“Where do they go in the heat of the day?”
“To the fruit markets in George Town,
“they hang from the rafters.”
Last night I was with her again - a dream.
We were drinking amrita of guava,
our lips smeared with a sweet red thirst.
Categories:
sapote, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Flying foxes hang replete from the tall trees
dripping in the morning sun.
They have sucked the flesh
of mamey sapote,
of rambutan and mangosteens.
Their dog-like pelts are copper pendants
that seep a dawn drenched dew onto our heads.
The summit of Penang Hill
is reserved for the rich
who live above the heat and hustle.
Cool nights favor a fragrant adulatory.
Jia Liu has an 'Uncle'
that is not related to her.
When he is away
she takes me to the villa
as a tennis partner,
and sometimes lover.
After the game
we stroll under the bat dribble.
“It’s good for your hair,” she says laughing,
running ahead.
I call after her:
“Where do they go in the heat of the day?”
“To the fruit markets in George Town,
“they hang from the rafters.”
Last night I was with her again-
a dream.
We were drinking amrita of guava,
our lips smeared
with a sweet red thirst
that felt no shame.
Categories:
sapote, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Flying foxes hang replete from the rain trees
dripping in the morning sun.
They have sucked the flesh
of mamey sapote,
of rambutan and mangosteen.
Their dog-like pelts are copper pendants
that dribble a dawn dew onto our heads.
Jia Liu has an Uncle
that is not related to her.
When he is away
she takes me as a tennis partner,
and sometimes lover.
Her uncle owns
the villa.
After the game
we stroll under the large bats.
“It’s good for your hair,” she says laughing,
running ahead.
I call
“Where do they go in the heat of the day?”
“To the fruit markets in George Town,
“they hang from the rafters.”
Last night I was with her again.
A dream.
We were drinking amrita of guava,
our lips smeared
with a sweet red thirst.
Categories:
sapote, beauty,
Form: Blank verse
Sitting on a branch of a white sapote tree
Shivering, crying and alone
Away from home, on the highest branch that can hold me
Hiding......no more beatings mommy
Scared, it's pitch black and sounds of insects rule the night
Hiding......I've become the teen that runs away
With any chance, searching for that ray
Scared, I don't want to die, I want to see more days
I want to be heard, can anyone hear me
The rain falls hard, hitting hard my bare back
with every drop, my scars become more scarce
The rain I love, it cleanses my tears
The rain is my friend, atleast am not so alone
The drench and the cold night are better than the place i call home
Sounds of the rain soothe my lonely heart
Sounds in the dark protect me from the pain
Sounds of my cries assure me that am okay
The songs I write in the rain, are my tickets to be away
Sponsor Pendleton Arkwright
Contest Name Rain and Dark, Isolated Places
Categories:
sapote, abuse, dark, lonely, mother,
Form: Free verse