The Scribbles of a Lonely Traveller

[angliholic]

It's as easy
as you can see
plenty
of artificially beautiful faces
in fancy dresses
in a metropolitan city,
but I firmly believe
you have to leave
for a humble village
in a remote valley
to look for the most sincere smiles
which are worthy
to go a thousand miles.

[angliholic]

Perchance,
you adore the wonder
of this world,
and believe in the creator;
you should also love the Lord.
Perchance,
you take a fancy
to my poetry;
then feel free
to fall in love with the beauty
but never me.
My poetry may be
as bewitching
as the sunset glow
in the evening,
but you'll feel absolutely sorrow
if you dear me
because I have nothing
for you
to feed on at dawn
except the sweet morning dew
clinging to a dancing daisy.

[angliholic]

I have many a reason
to believe
you're the winter season.
Every so soften,
when you're howling
and roaring
like a north wind,
I make believe
to be an old banyan,
mercifully thick-skinned.
Surrounded by stormy weather,
I keep silent;
it's not because I'm sulky
but because I'm more lenient,
for I still remember
you used to be
beautiful, graceful and tender
like a spring breeze
singing with ease
and I, gleeful as a bee.

[angliholic]

When you feel sorrow,
why not take a look at a sparrow?
Easily satisfied with a few grains,
it never brings pains
to mother nature,
let alone causing trouble.
However,
only few people
treasure such a small creature,
harmless and humble.
It's really a shame,
but who should take the blame?

[angliholic]

Supposing
you're yearning
for a big feast
on the intoxicating scenery
of snowflakes, gently
swirling
around plum blossoms
in full swing,
at least,
you have to confront
and suffer
the cold front
in the depth of winter
in the first place.

[angliholic]

You say,
you don't write much anymore,
and you're not sure
why.
As a kind passer-by,
I'd say,
keep on dreaming
and never
give up crafting.
Maybe, our poetry
might look ugly and messy
as a caterpillar
yesterday.
If only we hang on today
and tomorrow,
even school boys know
a caterpillar
turns pretty as an ethereal fairy
some day.

[angliholic]

My dear friends,
Let's say goodbye
to it all,
to the host and the ghost
in the past year.
Let's raise a toast
to the new year
because after tonight
I fear
not everything's all right.
Let's congratulate,
before it's too late,
on growing older
though
not necessarily wiser.
Nonetheless,
who cares about being wiser
as long as
we're more gracious
and kinder to one another.
Note: Revised Version

[angliholic]

The winter mizzle
might be ethereal
and beautiful,
yet more sentimental
than a girl.
Out of the blue,
and I didn't have a clue,
it stopped raining
for a while
on this freezing cold morning.
I thought
it'd be worth my while
to harvest some vegetables
in the garden,
and I gave you my word.
All of a sudden,
I caught a glimpse
of the orange marigolds there
in full swing.
They were so dazzling
that I completely
forgot about my promise
and brought nothing
but beauty charming home.
Sorry,
you may go hungry
without greens tonight.
Nevertheless,
isn't it a blessing in disguise,
for those fragrant flowers
may put a smile
on your face
for more than one night?

Revised Version

[Buh4Bee]

You say,
you don't write much anymore,
and you're not sure
why.
As a kind passer-by,
I'd say,
keep on dreaming
and never
give up crafting.
Maybe, our poetry
might look ugly and messy
as a caterpillar
yesterday.
If only we hang on today
and tomorrow,
even school boys know
a caterpillar
turns pretty as an ethereal fairy
some day.

This one is lovely. I enjoyed the message. Good to keep struggling to improve the craft. Happy New Year, Angliholic!

[angliholic]

This one is lovely. I enjoyed the message. Good to keep struggling to improve the craft. Happy New Year, Angliholic!

Thanks, Buh, for dropping by and the kind comment. We all need to keep struggling to improve the craft since none is perfect, nor is our poetry.

[angliholic]

Having been a good for nothing
all along the journey
except for writing
some little poetry,
sometimes,
I feel so superfluous
like a butterfly
invisible in the winter night sky
that I want to cry.
I don't wish
my poetry to be showy
as a dancing poppy,
to be gorgeous
as a red rose,
or to be sweet
as a purple violet.
If only
it could be a humble temple
ever ready to accommodate people,
homeless or hopeless,
coming to draw solace.

[angliholic]

A pink peony
will never turn a phony
no matter
the environment.
If it's your wise argument,
then I ought to
know better than to
persuade you
into loving
my favorite April showers
which are sure to
bring colorful May flowers.
Seeing
kindness is always right,
I'll let you
win the fight
if you're yearning
to prove to me
that May flowers
are less pretty and lovely
than a pink peony.

[angliholic]

They say
you're a fragrant petal,
while, in a way,
I'm a stink beetle.
I ponder
it'll definitely let you feel blue
to recall the day
when we bumped into
each other.
Seeing
a fragrant petal
turning into a lonely petal,
I feel like crying.
However,
it's not sprinkling.

[angliholic]

You're a pretty poem,
and I'd like to read you fondly
while taking a roam
in the serene morning
when you're most enthralling.
Come tomorrow
and you're constantly
forever changing
like a kaleidoscope,
I won't give up hope,
for I know
the only thing
that you won't change
is a deep purple blue sage.

Revised Version

[angliholic]

Just as
a hummingbird
can hardly
leave
a golden honeysuckle,
I naively believe
in the previous life
we were once
man and wife.
Although
I'm not a hummingbird,
I desire nothing
but to see your life
blooming
joyfully
and fragrantly
as a honeysuckle.


Revised Version