Printable View
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
Flowers are most enthralling
when they're blooming,
yet they're spent
even before you lament
in a remote mountain village.
To the best of my knowledge,
we're all flecked,
no more perfect
than this imperfect universe.
The errors we made on impulse
when being silly
have turned out to be
eternal tears of sorrow.
Nonetheless,
we have to let go
of our past frivolousness
and foolishness
as long as we're still breathing.
We must discard this rusted leaf
if we're still hoping
to turn over a new leaf.
Revised Version
Wandering down a country path,
I stop by a newly harvested rice paddy
with strewing straws
bathing blissfully
in the winter sun.
Not far away,
several sparrows are chitchatting
like lively noisy lasses.
I guess
they're not talking about me
behind my back,
for I'm not a straw man,
nor will I scare them away
when they're enjoying
those scattered grains.
How can I explain to them?
I'm lying here
simply to savor the delightful sunshine
along with the gentle caress
of the January breeze.
I couldn't care less
if they think of me as a lazy idler,
idling away the golden day
this way,
for I'm not a go-getter
and never take a fancy
to becoming an oil tycoon.
All I need is peace and harmony
on this quiet afternoon.
Revised Version
Since you went away
with April rain,
my garden has virtually turned into a wasteland.
Empty whisky bottles are enough to make a small island,
yet this sorrow of mine is still here to stay.
If you don't mind,
could you lend me a smile
so that I could bury it in my barren land?
And wish in a little while,
it might grow into an oasis of sunflowers
on my wasteland.
Revised Version
Your innocent smile,
still kept in my heart for a long while,
was a forget-me-not in full swing
that I fell for last spring.
Missing the faint fragrance
you sent off in the air dripping with romance,
I kept wasting away
and my hair turning gray.
But it doesn't really matter now,
for I see a smile somehow
on every petal of a blue forget-me-not
that I pined for a lot.
Revised Version
Just as you're a pretty fish
swimming in a tropical paradise
in spring,
so am I the sentimental
evening glow
mixing all the gorgeous colors
of life
in the western sky
in autumn.
Since it's next to impossible
for spring and autumn to get together
in real life,
it was really a wistful error
that we should have known each other.
If beauty can't last any longer
than all the flowers in summer,
why don't we
treasure it in our sweet memory
until the twelfth of never?
Revised Version
Gusty Wind,
I want to thank you
a million
for ceasing to be a villain
even before midnight.
Now I guess
I can lie down and sleep tight.
Nonetheless,
faced with the huge waves
of emotion
you stirred up
in the ocean of my mind,
I simply have no idea
how to calm down,
not to mention
enjoying a peaceful night.
Revised Version
Waiting for you in December
in the icy cold winter,
I don't really appreciate ruthless weather
in the slightest.
Though not being the brightest,
I'm still able to reason.
If you don't show up this season
as always,
I couldn't care less,
for I've forgotten the way you look,
and the reason
why I fell in love with a brook
instead of your poetry book.
Revised Version
Suppose spring is a poem,
a most mesmerizing poem,
then I won't bother
or go any farther
to anatomize its beauty
because it's not a laureate's duty.
All I need to do is relax
while lying in green grass,
savoring the most fragrant wine
and basking in sunshine.
Revised Version
Alcohol tastes bitter,
but life tastes even more bitter.
That's why I'm ready
to get tipsy
whenever there're whisky.
Roses are thorny,
but why do I miss you like crazy?
Here is the reason why
if you care to read my rhyme:
from time to time,
being pricked feels much better,
compared with being lonely.
Revised Version
After a rich meal,
if you ask me how I feel,
my eyelids are leaden
with stones and feel pain,
and my body heavy
as an overloaded airplane.
Seeing that my muse has left me,
vanishing in a puff of smoke,
is it not a silly joke
that I still hope I can pen poetry
and wish it'd be ethereal
as well as surreal?
Revised Version
Suppose I were you,
I'd rather
appreciate the beautiful view
of a long and meandering river.
However,
If you're talking
about the life's journey,
I wish mine would be uncurving
and easy.
Maybe,
it'll take me my whole life
to see the true beauty of a life
that's full of suffering,
for I'm not so wise as you.
For a couple of days,
the spring rain has come back
from a long journey,
and is lingering over the view.
All the trees are sprouting
and little birds chirping.
The sleepy land seems to be waking up
from its deep winter slumber,
whereas,
when and how
will the seed inside me
begin to bud
since you're still nowhere to be found.
Revised Version
Without a reason,
I dreamed of you again
last night.
Without a reason,
you lost your dear parents
as a kid
and never had a chance
to go to school
to learn how to read and write,
yet your heart was pure
and beautiful as Mother Nature.
Without a reason,
you were full of love
when you had your family
though you were a struggling farmer
all your life.
Without a reason,
you moved to heaven
many years ago,
yet I still come across you
once in a while
in my dreams.
Revised Version
My dear friend, Sol,
I try hard to recall.
Yes, you’re a pretty yellow rose,
and it’ll absolutely be a great loss
for those guys
who don’t even have a chance
to savor your sweet fragrance
especially when the love affair
is still slumbering in the icy cold air.
I only dare to dream
to hold you tight in my dream,
for I fear this poor heart of mine
will skip a beat time after time
if the dream comes true.
Therefore, it's better that I admire you
at a distance
and praise your charm
in my poem
rather than have a date
if you're truly my soul mate.
Revised Version
:)
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor STATELY
Thank you, Tailor, for dropping by.Quote:
Originally Posted by tailor STATELY
For days,
the warm sunshine
of early autumn
has been shrouded
by the relentless September rain.
With a heavy heart,
I catch a glimpse of a rusty leaf
falling from a fig tree nearby.
It's no more flying
gracefully and elegantly,
which I used to perceive and admire.
All I can see
is a weatherworn face
full of raindrops.
Beautiful... Great to see you posting :)
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor
Thank you, Tailor, for dropping by and leaving your beautiful compliment here.Quote:
Originally Posted by tailor STATELY
Beautiful poem, angliholic!Was wondering about you. Glad to read you again.
Thanks, Danik, for your time reading and leaving your kind words here. By the way, may I know why you think it's beautiful?Quote:
Originally Posted by Danik 2016
The poem draws a delicate parallel between the feelings of the poet and nature. It is wonderful how your poems builds its own take on nature without the usual clichés of this kind of poetry.
Thanks, Danik, for the feedback. Now I know why you think so.Quote:
Originally Posted by Danik 2016
The moment
I started to bury myself in marigold flowers,
I was astonished to find
how little time left
for me to curse the darkness of the government!
After all,
it's not the corruption but the fragrance
that I reap
when I spend plenty of time
taking good care of golden marigold.
lol... Hope it was a fresh pungent bouquet. :)
Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor