The Bowline.

Take her hand as she wades,
Lest she wanders into the deep.

Should she learn to stay afloat,
She will then release her grip.

With anchors adrift, so remember will she
Of the Boat she had but did not keep.

Should another sail by the stream,
She shall watch but will not weep.

Poised for what was that ceased to dwell,
A weary smile hangs on the line she sleeps.

As If On Cue.

I haven't lost my head.

It can never be.

It is not the solution.

I ask not of that which I cannot give,

Moments.

Critical blips in Life.

Huddle with me when storms brew?

-sMiLe-

Knock! Knock!
Who's there?
You.

[ Family Guy ]

Crumpled.

You think she's a drama queen.
You don't see the trials she's seen.
The things she fights to hide.
When she's all cut up inside.

She sits against the wall-
Silent screams unknown to all
There's little that she can do
She lets you believe it's hullabaloo

She runs, but there's nowhere to hide.
Nowhere safe to rest.
She's cracking up inside,
Still, she laughs and smiles and jests.

She's too proud to confess,
Too proud to show her tears.
You'll never be able to guess
Her sorrows and her fears.

If only You were here again,
To take her by the hand.
To ebb the throbbing pain
To let her make amends.

This and That and Those
The constant lines she toes
And if she should choose to end it all
Would You catch or watch her fall?

Stacked Odds.

Her red nib swished across passages of time, and that of examination scripts. Her gaze fell upon expositions of The Occupation. A similar thread coursed through the various institutions.

The Name resonated ad nauseam amongst these pages.

She would leave them and gingerly, her fingers rested upon The Book. Its pages parted and The Name unmistakably glistened.

This could not be.

Her fingertips danced across the keyboard. The singular notion of yore beckoned her orbs. It froze on cue, forcing an involuntary admission of that to be shunned.

A flick and darkness prevailed before her.

A still small voice croaked, "No."

On A Salient Note.

Take a crisp sheet.

Fold it in half.

Fold it again.

And again.

And again ....

Before long, it'll be in tatters.

Procured Prattle.

Left shoe, off!
Right shoe, shoo!
Natter, Chatter
Hullabaloo!

Much Munching and Musing.

From time to time, I enjoy writing food reviews - be it that of a digruntled experience or one which perforates a smile.

Well, here's one which I've scrawled minutes ago. You'll find more of my musings on the actual site. (Apologies for not appropriating links as I'd like to keep this blog free from links to public sites, particularly on local shores.)

Exceedingly So.

I am a very proud person. This, I'll admit.

I don't mean that in a snobbish or condescending manner but there's a load of pride in me and everything is kept repressed. A large part of my life is spent on ensuring the worms in those numerous cans remain where they are - unseen and unheard.

Even to the closest of confidantes, I'll adopt a carefree stance. Seemingly shrugging off that which bothers me, it will appear that nothing bogs me or is truly signficant enough because on the surface, I am spritely.

I know. I am a good actress.

I find it very difficult impossible to trust anyone fully. Those whom I allow into the deep recesses of my mind often end up betraying me.

In recent years, Someone had managed to do just that - peeled away the layers - and I'd basked in this person's company with confidence that I was protected and safe.

Quite unfortunately, things panned out in the exact fashion as the others, only worse, because I had bestowed a foothold.

Either I'm rather unfortunate or a bad judge of character.

I am what I am, but only if told.
Scratch beneath - nobody knows.
That which I carry, so the story goes,
Of oceans passed and still small shallows.
- Mich

A Lil Flutter Within.

那一秒我知道
他偷走了你的心跳
我没有忘掉 又回到
有点我们初恋的味道

有一秒我感觉到
你的手犹豫的放掉
又紧紧捉牢 爱变少
分不清谁忽然失去依靠

你知道 我比他好
我不逃 他的出现我无法预料
有一天你会遇到
他的拥抱 有温暖寂寞的药效
希望你知道 我比他好

你知道 我比他好
我不逃 说好带你到天涯海角
有一天你真遇到
他的眼角 有迷惑幸福的微笑
只要你知道
你一定知道
我比他好

只要你知道 你一定知道 我比他好
只要你知道 你一定知道 我比他好

At The Computer Table.

Scattered papers and books mark an ensemble of work. It is where the nib of her red pen critters in a haphazard fashion.

She takes a bite. And then another. Palatables pleasing to the palate play an occasional role in skirting across.

Piled in a corner are boxes of petty cash, handy for a delivery or two, should it be rendered.

Kaleidoscopic hues rim several pretty metal boxes, of which nail glazes and such march in single file.

A refrain streams. It clamours for her attention. She gives it a crooked smile and then passes it by.

Clackety-clack-clackety-clack - It needs no introduction. A world of make-believe traipses at her fingertips. It is, but, a nightly routine. A creature of comfort, if you'd deem.

The carousel does its bidding. Up and down. Down and up. Up and down and up and down again.

Throwing her head back in convulsive laughter, she stops short and a trickle falls, unbroken.

babble gabble.

I do what I do
because I like what I do
and I do what I like.

I do! =)

That It Will Never Come Again.

Some poems, such as this, are meant to be read aloud. The iambic meter chimes sweetly to my ears. Enjoy. =)
That it will never come again
Is what makes life so sweet.
Believing what we don't believe
Does not exhilarate.

That if it be, it be at best
An ablative estate -
This instigates an appetite
Precisely opposite. [ Emily Dickinson ]

Water, Is Taught By Thirst.

Water, is taught by thirst.
Land - by the Oceans passed.
Transport - by throe
Peace, by its battles told.
Love, by Memorial Mould.
Birds, by the Snow.

[ Emily Dickinson ]

Pasted Memories.

All sorts of rough jests and stacked odds bandy about , curtailing that which transpired yesterday.

Histrionics aside, how could it be that The Stranger bore an uncanny resemblance to, of all people, You?

My singular utterance 'No' -
Haphazardly; reluctantly;
Unexpectedly reminded of, or imagining, You.

The perpetual present attenuates that of the past. No longer do I tarry about for You.

My resolve will not be absolved.

The chance encounter had but spooled pasted memories.

Tapering gradually, that is how it shall be - a cinch, if scarcely so.

Strangely Familiar.

He was funny, articulate and certainly affable.

Unfamiliar territory had me racking my brains as I was surrounded by stark open spaces.

It was then he came along and accompanied me to my destination.

His voice; his articulation; the way he laughed; his smile -

They brought about an odd familiarity.

Yet, he was, but a Stranger, one who had extended a helping hand to The Other Stranger, me.

As his footsteps fell away, albeit a tad crestfallen, it dawned upon me as to why this would be but transient and the pieces fell into place.

For in him, there were traces of You.

And I went on about my way, with a singular castigation tucked in my memory closet - No.