To Call or Not to Call

To call or not to call, it’s a dilemma since the invention of telephone. For years, no contact; for ages, only ten miles apart. I want to call you, to hear you say you are OK, not sick, not forgetting me, not attached. Well, I am not too ambitious– just not sick will be sufficient. … Continue reading To Call or Not to Call

Poem: The Holiday Haul

Morning sunlight pale, shadow of floating cloud chill. A half full parking lot, many full carts of goods, whether you need or need not. One in T-shirt, with cool words printed on, deliberately non-provoking. One in winter boots, not for the feet, but for the beautiful legs. One in jacket, an expensive fading grey color. … Continue reading Poem: The Holiday Haul

Poem: A Windy Monday

The howling sound, the waving bare branches. Your age old greetings, timely every fall, dreaded every winter. Clouds are pushed here and there, fallen leaves swept away. What’s not fixed or tied down flown off. Gone is the past season of fear that virus spread through the air. Holidays are here, relief is near, hopes … Continue reading Poem: A Windy Monday

Poem: In Season

It’s an eccentric fruit, in color, shape, structure, pronunciation, and spelling–pomegranate. Suddenly it shows up in stores, some in piles, some in bins, some big–more than one pound each, some small as a tennis ball. The seeds are so red, almost hurting your eyes; eating them are so messy, hands sticky, face splashed red. “But … Continue reading Poem: In Season

How Lucky You Are

Shermei, Shermei, You don’t know how lucky you are. You’ve never lived in a flooded house, your only shelter, standing on a little stool to eat your meal. You’ve never lived through a famine,when a chicken in the black market would cost a month’s salary. You’ve never encountered social turmoils, when bandits came to draft … Continue reading How Lucky You Are

November’s Bad Poems

It’s the ugly child of poem that only I can love. Leaves Everywhere I saw her at the Asian grocery store here several times. She must be living nearby. She walked so purposefully into the store as if she’s marching towards a battlefield. To battle what? I don’t know. A battle with veggies? When she’s … Continue reading November’s Bad Poems

Haiku: Falling Leaves

A night of wind and falling leaves. Everywhere I go, I walk on the carpet of leaves. Remember last October, Twelve months as if a blink of an eye. I’m one year older but not a bit wiser. Can’t get rid of the inertia, can’t change my habit. A continued cycle of misunderstanding.

Poem: It Is A Ghost

A common Friday, not bad enough to be tragic, not funny enough to be comic, not good enough to be happy, not unproductive enough to be a total waste of time. Every method of human contact can be used to thwart real communication, which is the best way to lie without really lying. An advice … Continue reading Poem: It Is A Ghost


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