This is the Thanksgiving turkey dinner we made!
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Sunday, May 31, 2015
The Surface does Matter
response to the common saying that the skin of something is less important than its inside
response to the common saying that the skin of something is less important than its inside
Sometimes
I ask, does surface matter?
It is a
clichéd topic that can be applied
In an
unconventional context.
People
show their emotions with their skins,
That’s a
majority of conversation
The
surfaces of the earth is where we live
It’s no surprise
that
all life
populates near the earth’s crust
When
matter collide, it is actually
just a
contact between surfaces
When
substance is formed,
it is
the electrons on the surface
that do
the interaction.
It is
the surface of black holes that prove
The existence
of space-time,
It is
the horizon of earth that told us
The planet
is not flat.
It is
the surface that we see,
It is
the surface that we live,
And of
course,
It is only
the surface that we know.
But
sometimes,
“Beauty is skin deep”
I had Changed
how my life has altered over the past few years
how my life has altered over the past few years
As days go by fast like a gunshot,
I had changed a lot.
Clutching my memory in a tangled knot,
I could recall the amazing plot.
I had changed...
I am still changing every day.
New and fresh like the molded clay
I had changed a lot.
Clutching my memory in a tangled knot,
I could recall the amazing plot.
I had changed...
I am still changing every day.
New and fresh like the molded clay
Some scenes I can barely replay.
While some are as clear as the sun in May.
I had changed...
I used to be small and little,
Protected because I’m brittle,
As if I am in a safety circle.
But now,
I am off to myself, careful.
and ready avoid the evil.
I had changed...
No idea about knowledge when I was smaller
As I grew older and stronger,
Under the help of friends and teacher,
Lots of skills that I master.
and most things are clearer
I had changed...
I used to imagine,
Putting myself into my own world,
It was amazing to be there.
Alas,
When I was older,
the world faded
it is like an award that is never won
While some are as clear as the sun in May.
I had changed...
I used to be small and little,
Protected because I’m brittle,
As if I am in a safety circle.
But now,
I am off to myself, careful.
and ready avoid the evil.
I had changed...
No idea about knowledge when I was smaller
As I grew older and stronger,
Under the help of friends and teacher,
Lots of skills that I master.
and most things are clearer
I had changed...
I used to imagine,
Putting myself into my own world,
It was amazing to be there.
Alas,
When I was older,
the world faded
it is like an award that is never won
A email that is never received,
A book that is never opened
Like a poem that doesn’t rhyme.
Books
Books
are the smooth metaphors of life
One
sometimes wonder,
If these
mysterious forms of art are tangible
What you
are holding, the pages printed with words
Is that
really a book
Or is it
a place of a fantasy.
When you
spend more than a day
On a
single piece of work
You have
been tricked by the deceitful illusion
Of the
fantastical world that books bring
You have
given up to the hoax
Thinking
that you are in a different realm
The
theme and the tone of a novel,
Whether
comforting, enchanting, enigmatic, insincere, or distracting
Continues
to glorify and feed the needs of many
Books
are like a long lasting friend
A helium
balloon that you would never let go,
The colour
of reflection on a soap bubble,
And a
plant with both flowers and thorns.
Books
may get torn apart
The pages
may become loose,
But the
experience that a single book brings
Is a
conundrum that extends a life time.
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Bon Apétit
In the style of Michael Ondaatje
The charming impressionistic music
sounds like the frame of an exquisite painting
like an unpolished but expensive pearl
like a new toy in mint condition
like vapour rising from a hotspring
heavy fog in the cool morining
white clouds against the broad sky
setting sun above the horizon.
Like mango flavoured ice cream down
your throat in a hot sunny day,
like a warm bath after spending hours
outside in pouring rain,
like someone welcoming you to a feast
and then wishing you "Bon Apétit".
like the train tracks that meet at one point in the distance
like the snow on the remote mountain peak
like an empty football stadium before the final.
Like 2 hot air ballons levitating over your head
like a conductor indicating a fermata
like a the reflection of moon on a tranquil pond
like walking on bridge over a river with incandescent fish
opening the Scientific American that just arrived,
touching a trophy that never can be won,
holding on to the phone, waiting for an expected call,
like watching a city at night through a blurred window.
Like the smell of the bread from the bakery
of a sports equipment room
of a new car that has just been bought.
Like standing up after sitting through
a two-hour lecture
Like the feeling I have when the bass drum does
its soft, but thunderous roll.
In the style of Michael Ondaatje
The charming impressionistic music
sounds like the frame of an exquisite painting
like an unpolished but expensive pearl
like a new toy in mint condition
like vapour rising from a hotspring
heavy fog in the cool morining
white clouds against the broad sky
setting sun above the horizon.
Like mango flavoured ice cream down
your throat in a hot sunny day,
like a warm bath after spending hours
outside in pouring rain,
like someone welcoming you to a feast
and then wishing you "Bon Apétit".
like the train tracks that meet at one point in the distance
like the snow on the remote mountain peak
like an empty football stadium before the final.
Like 2 hot air ballons levitating over your head
like a conductor indicating a fermata
like a the reflection of moon on a tranquil pond
like walking on bridge over a river with incandescent fish
opening the Scientific American that just arrived,
touching a trophy that never can be won,
holding on to the phone, waiting for an expected call,
like watching a city at night through a blurred window.
Like the smell of the bread from the bakery
of a sports equipment room
of a new car that has just been bought.
Like standing up after sitting through
a two-hour lecture
Like the feeling I have when the bass drum does
its soft, but thunderous roll.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Your are Our Lighthouse
Metaphors written to Miss Hancock by Charlotte
Miss Hancock is the lighthouse that guides the captains who were lost in the boundless ocean of literature and education. During the days with with sunny weather, when everything goes easily and smoothly, she is an old and abandoned building that serves no use. The students don't realize the importance of her when the sea is gentle. However, during the dark nights when the sea roars, she is still willing to guide the ships to safety. Thus, it might be to late to notice the lighthouse's importance .
Metaphors written to Miss Hancock by Charlotte
Miss Hancock is the lighthouse that guides the captains who were lost in the boundless ocean of literature and education. During the days with with sunny weather, when everything goes easily and smoothly, she is an old and abandoned building that serves no use. The students don't realize the importance of her when the sea is gentle. However, during the dark nights when the sea roars, she is still willing to guide the ships to safety. Thus, it might be to late to notice the lighthouse's importance .
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