The Scribbles of a Lonely Traveller

My dear friends

Let's raise a toast to the new year
for after tonight I'm afraid
no one can come back to this very year

Let's congratulate ourselves on growing older
though not necessarily wiser
Anyway
who cares about being or not being wiser
as long as we're kind and generous to others

The sun was all smiles
on the first day of the new year
whereas the lingering cold front was
nowhere to be found

In the evening
when I was about to shout
"Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!"
I saw out of nowhere
a couple of mosquitoes showing up in my bedroom
like party-goers
ready for a big feast in the early spring
and of course
at the expense of my precious blood
and peace

To be frank with you
Well! I did enjoy their company
not in the least

When floral fragrances are no longer
floating in the air
I'll be waiting
for you
in a forest of maple trees

Imagine you are now stepping
on the far end of a rainbow
the colorful fallen leaves
walking toward me

From a fairy tale
you're now walking toward me

Waiting for You in the Icy Cold Weather
I don't really appreciate the icy cold weather
very much
If you don't show up this winter
as always
I couldn't care less
for I've forgotten the way you look
and the reason
why I love a little brook

No snow glistening
No sleigh bells jingling
January after January

Now I've learned to look for a bug here
and a worm there in the field
like many other chickens do

Although I still recall
as a fledgling
I always presumed I would take wing like an eagle
to a wonderland in winter
when fully fledged

So gorgeous is your golden hair
blowing gracefully in the wind
in the morning

Jealous is how I feel
when sunshine's caressing your chubby face
with beads of dew still clinging on

Inviting are your pure white teeth
and succulent are those cherry lips
Popping up in my head is the word mellow

Dragging you by the golden hair
into the gloomy woods is the villain
the gusty wind

You're like the pretty pixie in Neverland
and we could be meant for each other
were it not for your love bites
which are worse than those of a crocodile

I don't mind at all
whenever you bite me and suck my blood
as long as you won't leave me itching all over
or lure me into scratching the old itch

So I really regret to say that
I have to smash you
and won't let you fly away with it
even though you may conceive my babies

I've made up my mind
not to shed my tears for you
if one day
you have to bid me adieu

It's not that
I'm a reptile or made of stone
but that
I fear
they may flood your town
and drown those innocent fish
in the ocean

This place is better by your presence.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Jerrybaldy

This place is better by your presence.

---

Thanks, Jerrybaldy, for your compliment and I treasure it very much because you're my favorite English poet so far.
This place is the best by your presence.

What if
no one cares to cast a glance at your poetry

Do you still firmly believe
it's not nonsense graffiti but precious jewelry

Will you keep on playing your guitar
and singing for the cow

Or will you consider picking up a butcher knife
slaughtering the cow
and throwing the pen away for life

Holy crap. You're a true believer. To write prolifically and get minimal response or validation takes umpf. Good for you.





J

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Jack of Hearts

Holy crap. You're a true believer. To write prolifically and get minimal response or validation takes umpf. Good for you.

J

---

Thanks, Jack of Hearts, for the recognition and praise.
Happy New Year
Btw, I post my scribbles here to file and keep them together. I also post them on other poetry forums on facebook and there I do get lots of likes and responses.

If my poetry turns out to be
an ugly duckling
plain and agonizing
please kindly dig a hole for me
and bury it gently
with some seeds of forget-me-not

Maybe
they will germinate in the spring
growing up to be soothing
delightful as the light blue sky in summer
and my world will look much better

Or maybe not

Ages ago
I can't remember exactly
at what time though

Maybe
since the stone age
my Muse has started taking painkillers
but the more painkillers
she takes
the more pains there seem to be
and the more painkillers
she has to take
and the more painkillers
she has to buy
and the more money she has to burn
and the more money I have to earn
and the more bones
I have to break to bring home the bacon
and the sooner
I'll meet my creator

To tell the truth
I don't pity these humble bones of mine
in the least
What I worry most
is that there will be no more bedtime story
if I bid you adieu in such a hurry