Where South China waters churn heavy and wide,
A widow rose up with the ocean's own tide.
No emperor’s decree could govern her hand,
She ruled forty thousand across sea and land.
Her laws were of iron, her word absolute—
No plunder unshared, and no thief with his loot.
With hundreds of junks bearing canvas of red,
The empires of Europe beheld her with dread.
The Qing and the Portuguese launched their attack,
Yet her fleet in the bay drove the battle-line back.
She outfought the crown and she outmaneuvered the state,
Till they offered her peace at the emperor's gate.
She surrendered her sails, but retained all her gold,
A pirate supreme who grew peaceful and old.
Though dynasties crumbled and admirals fell,
The terror of Canton lives on in the swell.
Wrestling
with big issues
his words
often failed
To meet
the new moment
addressing
his ails
Short
on description
emotion
stripped bare
A hollow
depiction
of feelings
— unshared
(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)
Some souls, like twilight, slowly go,
Not torn by rage, nor swept by woe.
Just fading steps on paths unshared,
A silence speaking: once, we cared.
They came like spring, with colors wide,
And walked a while close to my side.
But not all flowers choose to stay,
Some bloom, then gently drift away.
I used to clutch with fearful hands,
Afraid to lose what time demands.
But now I watch with softer eyes,
The ebbing tide of sacred ties.
We were not broken, only brief,
Not every loss must carry grief.
Some hearts are bridges, not our home;
They’re made for crossing, not to own.
And I have left as others do,
From stories not quite meant for two.
Not every soul we love will stay,
But each one shapes us, in their way.
So let them go with quiet grace,
No need for blame, no need to chase.
Some walk with us a fleeting day,
Teaching lifelong lessons on their way.
In the silence of the night, when stars whisper incomprehensible secrets,
Memories sing to me like a wind tearing through deep stillness.
Her dance's metaphors are waves crashing against cliffs of thought,
A paradox of love that burns without casting light.
I know all her songs like a prayer of self-loss,
While mine are birds without wings, flights to nowhere.
I read her books as if each word were a shooting star,
But she never gazed at my sky, full of unknown constellations.
In her films, I found tears born from laughter of days gone by,
But mine she let flow into rivers without banks.
A ritual of forgetting, a mystery of unshared love,
I murmured her poems like unanswered prayers.
I tell myself that love is not a mirror, but a labyrinth of solitude,
Where shadows of desires intertwine with the light of hope.
I wonder, on nights when the wind sings my songs,
If she ever tried to listen to the silence within me.
Sojourn a moment, O Life, I cannot cease,
While yet my soul unfolds with dawn’s first light;
Bright are my days, and rich the world’s embrace
Where laughter springs in flight.
Sojourn a moment, O Life, I cannot cease
With all my moments unadmired,
My smiles unshared, all my songs unsung,
And all my peace unwired.
Sojourn a moment, until my heart has known
The fullness of sun and shifting skies;
Till every shadow yields its hidden gleam,
O Life, let joy arise!
A gift from God, using what's discarded is unshared.
Belém monks kept their ancient tart recipe secret.
Spun from eggs yolks that they once discarded.
Their heavenly baked tarts were so truly unique.
That the monks became rich, when their formula was sold.
Bakers down-under, now sell their own baked tartlets.
Made with a process they too will never reveal.
Curling yellow curds; they make their fame and fortune.
With a unique secret process only the family knows,
Passed down from father to son, in the old ways.
One day, I will leave on a path of mist and dreams,
to an unknown place where silences whisper eternal stories,
into a secret mountain hidden on the maps of my heart,
where the shadows of the past dance under the gentle sunset.
One day, I will leave with steps of wind that carry my desires,
with a suitcase full of memories flowing like a river of endless longing,
carrying with me what I feel, an ocean of emotions crashing against shores,
what I love and understand, like a flower opening under the gaze of the moon.
In the mountain's silence, I will find echoes singing old soul harmonies,
and in its quietude, I will rediscover parts of myself lost in the waves of time,
for each rock is a page from a journal of wandering souls,
and each breeze carries stories of unshared love and longing.
One day, I will leave behind shadows of steps and forgotten whispers,
with the thought that the mountain will welcome me as an old friend,
in a silent embrace where past and present intertwine,
like a tapestry of stars on the sky of an endless night, without regrets.
In my heart, a reliquary, gather teeth that do not belong to me,
but are those of voices I swallowed out of politeness, unwillingly,
they echo in silence like relics of a gentler, forgotten violence,
and I polish them with guilt until they shine like silent confessions.
I tell myself there is beauty in this digestion of thoughts and emotions,
that consuming means transforming, changing essence into silence,
but every night, I wake with a mouth full of unbelieved prayers,
as if my soul seeks to speak unshared truths.
And yet, within this dance of shadows and unlived memories,
I struggle with the ghosts of those words that never belonged to me,
I am an alchemist of my own conscience, seeking to find gold,
in the ashes of promises I never understood, only swallowed.
I place these relics under the pale light of introspection, seeking healing,
but each rattle is a reminder of transformation through forced silence,
and I wonder if I will ever be able to release these captive words,
or if my heart will remain a reliquary of eternal melancholy.
Her skin, a velvet sin, a scripture I recite with the tip of my tongue,
melts like dark chocolate, bitter and sweet on my hungry lips,
pouring confessions in breathless whispers, a dance of endless desire.
I pull her closer, white-knuckled on silk sheets,
intoxicated by the ecstasy between her thighs, a paradise lost and found,
a pleasure so intense it hurts, an echo of unshared desires.
Let me worship, adore this altar of the senses,
let me destroy and be destroyed, lose myself in your depths,
for in this ruin I find rebirth, in this chaos, the sought-after peace.
The Sassy Squirrel Six stared into their unshared hole
Trying to figure out who was in there was the ultimate goal
What was she doing down there? Who was that thin?
Is it Goldilocks? Is it a doll? Is it a mannequin?
The creature came a bit closer and they scrambled away.
A weird start to their usual nut-gathering day.
Terrified of what she might do next; with a bit of a fright.
Few humans crawl into a squirrel hole, am I right?
I’ve understood the secrets of your life,
I’m no longer your former source of strife.
I won’t take a place on your cherished throne,
My sorrow won’t leave your doorstep alone.
The century looks back at me with disdain,
What’s happened to humanity’s domain?
Deep in my heart, my feelings remain,
My secrets are still unshared, like a chain.
I have many truths still locked away,
My pride remains untouched, come what may.
I come hesitantly, still shy and afraid,
Like a bride whose face is yet to be laid.
Don’t be fooled by praises or empty fame,
Don’t blame the times or others for your shame.
If your heart finds no peace with the world’s beat,
You’ll never embrace the joy that’s complete.
The Great Man is like an ice mountain, cold and unwavering, fearless of opinion,
Devoid of virtues that accompany the respect and respectability of the herd,
If he cannot lead, he walks alone on the rough paths of his destiny,
Knowing he is ineffable, he tastes the bitterness of unshared intimacy.
When not speaking to himself, he wears an impenetrable and mysterious mask,
Within him exists an inaccessible solitude, untouched by praise or criticism,
In this silence, he finds the strength to never hesitate,
And in this isolation, he discovers his pure and unaltered essence.
Like a solitary stag in the forest of thoughts, he follows his path,
Without seeking familiarity, he finds the bitter taste of truth,
He is a soul dancing on the edge of a misunderstood world,
Where the echoes of the herd cannot penetrate his depths.
The Great Man is like a star in the infinite night, shining far away,
Misunderstood by the crowd, but blinding in his own unique light,
In this distance, he discovers the freedom to truly be himself,
And in this vast and silent space, he finds his eternity.
In my eyes, the sought truth reflects,
But my lips speak only lies, incessantly.
That's how I am, a soul that resists,
Every personality it meets along the way.
Sweet words like homemade pastries,
But my eyes and heart hide unknown treasures, unshared.
Once I had a delicate soul of pure gold,
But my innocence was shattered, and life became a burden.
You deserve love and care, I am convinced,
But not from me, for I cannot be your support.
Love is pure, a sacred and profound belief,
And I, unworthy, cannot answer it.
I do not offer you my fragile heart, afraid to harm,
Afraid to lose again, to drown in life's swirling storm.
It's better to keep the silence of these feelings,
Letting them flow like an underground river to the calm sea.
In this melancholic silence, I find my refuge,
Between hidden desires and fears that distance me from what I could be.
I remain an enigma, a paradox of existence,
For in the search for truth, I have lost the essence.
The wizened crone understands bee medicine
Her friends are honey bees and bumblebees.
They have given her a special formula
Unshared with any other humans
She gives it to an adventurer
He discovers a new country.
She sells it to a rapist.
He falls down dead.
It helps good people get stronger
It gives seekers what they need
But those who hurt others do not do well with it
The old crone continues doling out the medicine.
Loving the results.
Explaining My Thoughts?
Miracle Man
(Archives)
Trying to explain some thoughts
Is like trying to discern why I had them;
But then, thoughts aren’t meant to be explained
And more often than not, go unshared;
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