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You're not so gorgeous
as a red rose,
but I love you
none the less.
While the whole world
is rushing for Mary or gold,
I still prefer to stay with you,
not because
you're most famous
but because
you're pure and pristine
in essence
giving off a faint fragrance
on your own
in an obscure garden,
having long been forgotten
by the world.
Revised Version
If this is the last picture
I paint,
it's not a wedding bouquet
but the rosy color
on your face.
If this is the last verse
I pen,
it sure is your smile
that's pure
as a lily
by the lake shore.
If there's something
I want to say
to you
on this Monday morning
cold and blue,
it's not how much I love you
but how are you.
Revised Version
Not capable of crafting
a mountain
of shiny yellow gold
for the whole world
to adore,
I'm pretty used to eating
my humble pie,
and willing
to grow
in my homely garden
a few tiny jasmines
to share
their sweet fragrance
and my writing
with friendly neighbors.
Revised Version
I see through my window pane
all is quiet and calm
in a small lane
except for a few birds
singing a psalm,
praising the serenity of autumn
in the afternoon.
Revised Version.
Oh!
Summer Breeze,
while you're humming,
all the golden hair aspens
start pulling up their skirts,
coyly revealing their creamy long legs,
and swaying gracefully
to your intoxicating melody.
You know
I'm not a man of whisky
but still tipsy
enough to forget about sorrow.
Revised Version
If, by accident,
you love my poetry,
a classical Chinese beauty,
graceful and elegant,
please shower me with your love,
gracious as a flying dove.
Your love is my Muse
inspiring me to keep on crafting
and sharing
a world of fantasy,
bewitching
as a red poppy
dancing in the breeze,
so aesthetically appealing
that you may forget to breathe.
When the orchard has grown
beautifully mellow,
all the blossoms are fully blown,
ready to greet a shiny new tomorrow
and leave behind our sorrow.
When uttering even a word
is too wordy,
why not reap this apple memory
silently with tears and smiles
on our face
in the season of harvest?
Revised Version
Is it fate
or simply the wind
that you become my best mate?
Where have your folks gone?
In the yard,
you stand all alone.
Neither a bard,
nor a man of lion,
be that as it may,
I take a fancy to a dandelion.
Revised Version
I love this one about a dandelion. Sometimes it's just the one person who is there.
Love this poem... I have a profound love for dandelions.
Attachment 9926... my desktop wallpaper although this is resized to 37% to be able to upload here and I use the image "stretched" as well to fit my entire desktop screen :)
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor
Thanks, Buh, for dropping by and the nice feedback.Quote:
Originally Posted by Buh4Bee
Thanks, Tailor, for reading and the positive feedback.Quote:
Originally Posted by tailor STATELY
If you want to know
where I came from
or where I'm going to go,
it's no different from
asking a breeze where to blow.
I'm nothing
but a roaming bum,
having no seeds of hope to plant
on your fertile land,
no roof to shelter you from the rain.
The blue sky is my home,
and all that I own.
If you miss my poem,
you might as well
look for a daffodil
that's dancing beside a mill.
But there's no stair
leading to my humble dwelling,
no string
tethering my wandering soul,
for I'm anything
but a kite.
Revised Version
I love to take a stroll
along a quiet country road
to watch the winter sun
shining softly,
touching and caressing fondly
each lovely face
of the graceful small grass
along a rivulet.
And a breeze
keeps pulling up the lush green skirts
of the silent trees,
as pretty as child brides,
standing on the roadside.
The serene paradise may be fleeting,
yet this euphoric feeling
and the rural beauty
I'll treasure in my memory
long enough to forget
the next cold storm may hit
in any minute.
Revised Version
I wish one day
I could somnambulate
to the lake
where you used to lie on the grass
to peer inquiringly at an exquisite face
on the surface
of the clear water.
Being a stargazer,
I guess I'd also gaze
for a long while,
not at my own reflection,
but at your enthralling reincarnation,
the swaying daffodil
beside an old windmill.
If I could borrow a delightful petal
from you
to eclipse my constant blue,
perhaps,
I wouldn't consider
plunging myself into the water.
Revised Version
Your beauty
is like the soothing sunshine
in icy January,
enthralling and sublime,
but I dare not take off my clothing
to reveal my true feeling,
for I realize
you're definitely not a blessing in disguise.
If I expose this heart of amorous passion
to your freezing inattention,
I'll get frost bite
in a short moment
which can be as poignant
as love bite.
Revised Version