Autumn leaves waft in the wind.
As they float, my heart just sings.
They cleanse away my careworn mind,
and help me leave my past behind.
Crackling like scarlet stars,
leaping like life’s fresh new starts,
they relieve my long-held grief,
and help me turn a whole new leaf.
Why must I grieve for fallen leaves?
When snow will fall this Christmas Eve.
Snow shows me it is never late,
to change my ways and choose my fate.
I wish these bulbs that burn and blaze,
show me daffodils, and doubloons.
But I only trace the waning moon,
it wrecks me up and wanes me down.
When did my thoughts all trail away?
Why did the lights fade to darkness?
Oh, I cannot take more opaqueness.
Stars, guide me to those stellar signs!
Streetlights, flash me awesome words!
Please, save me from insanity!
But could some strange similes,
shatter down like sharp glass shards?
Towers glow on gravel roads.
Like blades, could they strike the skies?
What could these blades symbolise?
My greatest fails or finest traits?
Will I at last find those missing parts?
and move more hearts with whole new art?
I meander on in this mundane plane.
The seatbelts screech without a tune,
and the foulest fumes fog up the room,
so, I wrench my head to this window.
I’d strive to dive in these inky depths,
swim in this sea of starlit streams,
but these windows snuff my lucid dreams,
and leave me breathless, begging for air.
My page stays white as wispy clouds.
My ink dried out and disappeared.
But could this nightly atmosphere,
promise me some mighty words?
No fine lines flow to my mind,
as cruise ships cross those black waters.
But could some mindless metaphors,
roar somewhere down that beaten track?
Could these red cars be bleeding hearts?
Where on earth are those missing parts?
The day feels so dark and dreary.
My heart feels so wrecked and weary,
so, I head outdoors and breathe deeply.
Ripples of air shush down my sighs.
A palm tree soothes my swollen eyes.
It sure shadows the sunlit skies.
Gold streaks shine down the tree’s brown bark,
I can gaze for hours at these gorgeous sparks.
Oh, how they brighten up this boring tar!
This palm tree smells so sweet and swell.
Yum… Fresh coconuts and caramel.
Hmm… Some fruity scents I can’t yet tell.
One whiff of this summery perfume,
bursting with bananas and mango bloom,
whisks me to breezy beaches, far from my room.
There, I can simmer down on sandy shores,
I can sip that mocktail, one glass more,
and swim in seas, so cool and azure.
Those fronds flap so fast, oh my days,
like sprightly stars that burn and blaze.
I feel embraced by this tree's ways.
Oh eyes, please let me see a tree this large,
Please don’t let this be my mad mirage,
I hope I’m not gazing at my garage.
I'm so swayed by this scene sublime,
I pray for it to sway here all the time,
and banish my rancid garage of grime.
Please don’t desert me tree, I weep and wish.
Please make my vapid life vanish,
and whisk me to vast seas with a swish.
At once, this fickle tree disappears,
leaving me stranded and sweating here.
Oh well, at least now my mind is clear!
Hello everyone.
I hope you enjoyed my poem. This time, it is about a swaying palm tree I perceived one hot afternoon. I admired its gorgeous golden-brown bark, and flapping fronds. I basked in its sweet, ‘fruity scents’, which momentarily swept me away to ‘sandy shores’ and ‘azure seas’. I hoped this sublime tree would be true scene. Sadly, I learnt that it was my ‘mad mirage’ after all, as it disappeared, stranding me in my unpleasant ‘rancid garage of grime’.
Again, thank you Ishita for editing my poem, and making it sound more melodic, moving, and magical. As always, you are such a supportive sister, and I always enjoy sharing and editing my poems with you.
Firstly, in line 11, Ishita suggested ‘yum’, which sounds more fun, and less redundant than my original ‘hmm’. Plus, ‘yum’ carries no connotations of displeasure or doubt, unlike more dubious ‘hmm’. I had no doubt that these smells were yummy, so I chose 'yum' over 'hmm'.
Secondly, in line 25 Ishita suggested ‘I’m so swayed by this scene sublime’ which is more melodic and modern than my original, outdated line 25 ‘I’m mad about this mortal prime’. Her pun shows I am so awed, I am literally swaying along with the hypnotic palm tree. Furthermore, her line feels more hopeful and heart-warming than my ‘mortal prime’, concluding that this tree is my life’s biggest bliss, and closes one’s hope for enjoying future milestones and magical moments.
Thirdly, Ishita suggested line 33, when I was struggling to conclude the poem. She suggested that despite my sweat, tears, and loss, at least my ‘mind is clearer’, because I taken a brief repose, and admired this transient, but peaceful and pretty palm tree. Now when I reach the poem’s last line, I do not ‘weep’ because the 'tree disappears', but I smile, because I enjoyed the scene and my mind became clearer.
Thank you Ishita for making this whole poem more delightful, and less dreary. Your enthusiasm, and awesome ideas always enlighten me and brighten my days. You are such a talented writer Ishita, and I hope you get inspired to write your own poems soon. I for one would feel so excited to read them.
This mysterious source has many measures.
We must use this unit very wisely,
for every minute and hour is treasure,
for it slips from our palms so silently.
Sometimes the hours can feel so long and tiresome.
We can dance or play or sing in rhyme,
or eat food, smell flowers, or enjoy our freedom.
Take care, those hours won’t last all the time.
Some day or other, our world shall end,
so, stop scrolling Twitter or spreading hate.
Instead, achieve, travel, help and befriend,
make more memories before it’s too late.
If we always harbour grudges and stress,
once our hair goes grey, we’ll regret.
Life is too short for anything pointless.
Do more things you will never forget.
Hello everyone and thank you for reading this short poem. I hope it inspired you to be more productive, positive and engage in more pleasurable activities in your life, until death.
Once again, I credit my truly awesome sister, Ishita for helping me edit this poem. I appreciate her idea of mentioning how much we will regret our wasted time, grudges, and stress once our 'hair grows grey' - it is a more colourful and poetic reference to our venerability than my duller 'once we grow old' idea.
When I struggled to complete the last quatrain, Ishita conceived the last 2 lines, using the classic 'life is too short' precept, which did not occur to me as I was trying to write down oblique, and unusual ideas as usual. Ishita also just made sure all of my lines were grammatically correct and reworded some of my rambling and repetitive lines.
Thank you so much Ishita for being an excellent editor and sister. Writing poems is just not the same without your witty, and wonderful ideas. You are such a brilliant writer Ishita, and I hope you get inspired to write your own poems soon. I would feel excited to read them myself.
