it’s Spring, ends and beginnings

Yesterday I heard about a 90 year old man who decided and planned to end his life yesterday. He has no family or friends left except his amazing neighbors for decades, who helped him through the process and witnessed him end this journey. I think it’s a very good thing he has that option. Yet, something about it lingers. If I were in his position, what if in the last minute I realize I’m going to miss this world? I went for a walk and saw some cherry blossoms. And it all conspired into me making this little video and the poem below. Anyway, even without the story, I think it’s beautiful and I think you’ll like it.

It’s Spring.🌸


Every time one of you fly by
I thought you were a butterfly.
I held a bunch of you like
a fluffy little chick.
But you won’t last, not like this.
So you hop on the breeze and fly
away. Beautiful in life,
Beautiful all the way,


poem: let go & be like LEGO


Fear patched up the shell
too many times, for a deceptive
perfect appearance.
The broken parts inside rattle
for release, to spill,
to be messy, clueless, free,
useless, inconsistent, the opposite
of a coherent and purposeful existence, like
a pile of LEGO
full of potential.

Courage and Love resist
putting ourselves together
in the only boring way we know.
They dare us to lay fallow and still
with uncertainty and the unknown
like fertile soil.
Life, on its own,will show us
how we’ll blossom and die
for many more cycles.

poem: (untitled)

What if
I no longer try
to decide
I’ll end up
But only try
to keep my head up
and eyes on what’s good
and the things I desire
and my feet a servant
to my heart

It’s been such a while since I posted! Thank you for anyone who’s here and reading.

If you like the poem, leave me a comment to say hi! 🙂


poem: heart crafting

At the end of the why’s,
How could you’s, and
How did it’s, and
How did I’s

You know you’ve reached
the end because your heart is still
there on the floor
with your dream,
in a thousand pieces, and none
of the questions or answers
have put them
back together.

Finally it’s morning,
A foggy one, perfect
for some quiet crying
And crafting.
Scoop up all the pieces,
Dunk them into the beakers of
Tears you’ve cried over
The years. Watch the dust
Separate and sparkle against
The sun. Why not add some
Real glitter for fun,
Or pour it all into a bigger
Vessel, decorated with
Stickers and ribbons.

I could put it all back together
like a puzzle. But I might just
Let it live in a swirl.

poem: Out of nowhere I hummed a little lullaby

Out of nowhere I hummed a little lullaby
One tune among millions stored in my head
In infinite space that takes up no space
For you can cut my brain open
Yet not find a single song
To be played.

Just like one day you’ll leave your body
Whether it’s damaged or intact.
They say you’ll live in my heart.
But my arms would ache for your weight
My body an empty concave.
My heart cannot 3D print you
The way my mind can play your favorite tape.

So this is what our body is for
To feel our love, in ways better and more.
What a wonder it is we meet equipped
With our mind
And our body.

Now a different tune escapes my lips
I’m my own streaming device,
Speakers, a portable karaoke
As well as a happy audience
All in One.

POEM: A bath for your past


Bring your bleeding heart
and your tainted past
for a bath at the park.

Run it under the breeze
Sink into the quiet
whispers of the trees
Let the birdsong lather
up the crusted mind
Soak in the sunshine
to wash away
your fossilized tears.

See the purity in the eyes
Of the squirrel passing by?
are part of that reflection.


poem: Genie in a Bottle

For Moms

Grant me non-bleeding nipples
Grant me a well fed babe
Grant me Freedom
from the breast pump
Before I go insane.

We fear the imperfect
We mistake the Ideal
as Natural
We worry we fret we believe
In battle.

Baby formula!
You’re a genie in a bottle.
For if I can’t survive the now
There’s not going to be a tomorrow.


a sonnet: Through an Eternal Overcast

During a writing course I took recently, I wrote a sonnet. Dedicated to my friend, C.C, an artist’s soul embittered by an unrewarding working life. Yet, if we have a passion, hobby, an obsession, we have an exit towards joy and connection.


Through an Eternal Overcast

England is an eternal overcast.
Traditions too, on a sensitive mind.
If family is no home for an outcast
Will you make sure my friend’s not left behind?
She rages against eternal Mondays,
A sign of life, as vivid as her veins,
Throbbing with art to explode into rays
That puncture the grey skies of all her pains.
Friend, you burn holes with your pen. If you dare
To write yourself across your face, and link
Each pore into constellations so rare,
To write “star struck” would be a waste of ink.
Who knows what’s in Destiny’s crystal ball.
Life is pain, but your art will free us all.

a poem: Bubbles to her ponytail

A poem that’s not risen from an abyss but dropped from heaven. Based on a true day at the park (lol)

~Bubbles to her ponytail~

The sun arrived with us at the wooded park.
I took the bottle of soapy water
Sold four for a dollar, and blew
Transparent pearls to her ponytail.

Her cheeks are full and golden like a freshly baked cream puff.
I blow a kiss through the hoop.
Up and down, up and down
Bubbles flow like musical notes
Of a song about birds and rivers.

She’s fixated on other things.
The tactility of mulch, or the possibility
Of hidden treasure.
My floating kisses skim over
The top of her ponytail.

And from the far side boys come running,
Arms flailing and legs tripping,
Crashing their boyish might on every bubble.
They laugh as they run, coming too close.
She stays unmoved in her peril,
Still pondering her handfuls.
The wind carries my next breath of bubbles
Whistling for the boys to follow.

I hope she doesn’t mind, my darling daughter,
That I’m having rather a lot fun
Watching the boys chase fairies.

a poem: Couple

(Hi All, this is a piece of creative writing)


A couple posts their engagement photo,
A picture dripping in honey
Swarmed by blessings and envy.

He wraps his arms around
Her shoulders like a rubber band.
Both are dressed in tank tops,
Entangled by their gaze
and naked arms.

Their love is in full bloom.
A magnificent beginning
Of love’s unfolding.

Petals fall out like hair.
But we stay put, for we know
There’s a tiny, pale and sour fruit
Ripening with the seasons.

Flowers and fruit
Are many and sweet.
And they wither like youth.
What’s left of love
Are dry and tough
As branches.

Will you keep believing,
Keep watering and sheltering,
Until the time comes
For another blossom?

I wonder when was the last time
I had as much skin to skin
With my husband.