Carpe Diem

She wants to

Hit the beach,

Bungee jump,

Cliff dive,

Another tattoo

To say life is all right.

But there are

Bottled thoughts,

Masked emotions,

Failed plans.

Utterly tormented

Her fragile soul.

Get up, sweet child,

Own your life.

Find your own bliss.

Live life.

Scars are welcome,

Learn from it.

I, tyro

Sitting still. Little movements.
Inscribe. Pen. Jot.
The heart is screaming to do that.
Brain, drowning with words
Gullible, seduced by every thought that forms inside.
And then she settled, actors fashioned to her liking.
Parts given. Storyline laid out open.
Motley emotions in hiding and on display.
Unadorned words echo rawness.
And bottled feelings she may be keeping.
Or just unassured perhaps?
And lacking in style?
Anyhow, persist she does
Inscribing. Penning. Jotting.
Short and sweet, chatty authorship
Yearning to steal some smile.

“If you can tell stories, create characters, devise incidents, and have sincerity and passion, it doesn’t matter a damn how you write.”
~ Somerset Maugham

Hello

I’d like to meet you
But I’m a bit meek.
I’d like to know you
But I feel blah.
I’d like to listen to what you’ll going say
But I’m in a tizzy.
I’d like to talk to you
But I’m loss for words.
I’d like to laugh with you
But will you stare? Uneasy I will be.
I’d like to have coffee with you
But my world’s small you might get bored.
I’d like to be grand and know it all
But my simple thoughts proclaimed I’m not.

But lemme tell you,
My name’s Terry and I hope you’ll be pleased to meet me.

(almost) Glam

I often wondered what it feels like

To have a closet full of such names

A Prada, an LV, a Gucci, an Hermes

Not to forget the pairs that lines up and persuades.

The Manolo, the Choo, Alexander and Miu Miu

Oh! What a wonderful closet to view!

 

And I would stare at these luxuries happy and gay

But then… ting! I’m snapping back to life

I’ve a closet alright, but no sight of those delights

Hmm.. I would sigh but smile and still feel nice.

 

I would buy my latte wearing not a Miu Miu but my worn out shoes

And walk my way carrying not an Hermes but my old tote that’s so overused.

As I sip my morning caffeine, I would utter a little prayer

Thanking God for the small things that stitches smile on my face

I may not have one or two of those stuff

But hey, I’m alive and that’s a thumbs up!

lately

Feels like I’m in a hole
With not a little thing to hold on to.
To go up I’m not able to
And so, I’d yell and call.

I’ve holler your name
Once, twice, and many times.
Hoarse, tired and in confines
Gave up; feeling in shame.

As I am trapped in this desolate bottom
I try consoling my self;
Uttering thoughts to comfort myself;
Praying that someone would find me here
Help me ascent and help me blossom.

hora

morning.

pleased, lively

the habitual motion of life starts rolling

beaming. hopeful. engaging.

afternoon.

scorching, chaotic, struggling

every homo is in haste

every breathe indicates the undertaking he should not waste.

night.

drained. muscle aches yet sated of his worth

glad to pile on some Z’s, slumber in the arms of his mate

peaceful, soothing

lights-out and hopes to sleep for eight.

the unpainted room

two windows, left and right

with curtains yellow and bright.

on a wall, painted brown

a shelf full of noun.

dainty little angels, stuffed bears, candles and more,

all these, you surely won’t ignore.

the half a dozen light houses

which sits in the quiet recess,

brings memories of joys and bitterness,

some of which are the cause of her hidden loneliness.

she appears happy and gay

a person who smile and play.

a put-on mask you’d say

but would you care in any way?

her room is her refuge,

devoid of colors and hues.

“but my piece of bliss”,

she would enthuse.

and who we are to laugh at her,

if she finds true solace in there.

don’t we all look for a place,

where our flaws we can embrace?