Monthly Poetry Magazine

Read the Poems



Read the Poems


MARCH 2015






Mother’s Hands


The moons my mother knits she knits to light my path
For fear I may stumble in the dark
Young nights, smell, shape and wet of patches that bath
Didn’t I cry in the rain that surged across the park

Why her hands so gentle and precise
The hook breeds the creative patterns
Needle counts and stitches change but concise
She yearned and repeated stories of January lanterns

Waves of blankets grow, stretch, flood the little room
Crossing between high mountain and big river
Tropic’s paintings, rubble trees and durian flower’s bloom
Open up inundated memories of heavenly window ever

I see miles of pleats and folds
As sweet legends of mother’s unfathomed love unfold

The lullaby rhymes liken hundred flowers blossom
Remember histories of her worlds and the God she knows
Holding eleven children in her worlds and the God she knows
Holding eleven children in her tenderly tenderly bosom
Her weavings, nets of a thousand yards of falling snow

Collecting dreams and tears of moons and sun
Floating on the sapphire high seas of the late night’s valley
Rejoices my mother, riddles she runs
And wanders mysterious ciphers of her wisdom gallery

What sadness did they comfort, pains heal, hope assure
What memories, what dreams, what forgotten hurt feeling
Guide her steady untiring fingers and feet swift and sure
Summon up tides of courage and wings soaring

When gray rain whips winter nights’ eternal nameless lane
Sweet mother still walks me in rainbows’ silver pain




Graceful Petal


O, how much more shall poet poetic seem
By that sweet rhythm which goodness shall give
The soul looks fair, but fairer are sonnets it deems
For that vivid images which do in it live

The intend-blooms have touched fully deeply
As the scented breaths of poems reform
Hang on such words and delivered as wantonly
When season’s voice changes, their veiled faces form

But, for their moral only is their gesture
They sing unnoticed and aged fate
Clinging to self. Sweet rhythms aren’t sure
Of their sweet lives are sweetest colors made

And so also of roses, tender and graceful petal
When that recedes, my verses distill your mortal




My Ranee


I place a cluster of orchid buds with flow of care, blaze of riot
From the Tapang trees of Batang Lupar
Between your breast, the flames that South China Sea couldn’t quiet
O, a hibiscus of Mount Sadok you are
A sparrow in Julau valley’s brilliant sunset

Flying across the mountains
Resting over the rugged clouds holding the drizzles
Napping at the hiding clefts of a thousand canyons
No spices from the tropical jungles
Can compare with the pleasure of your sweet fragrance

Come, sweet morn ray, let me be the true drunkard in summer wind
Let the foxes and deer leap around the waterfall
Until the shadow of night shields up with tender wings
Until the light of your face shines upon mine with warm rainfall
O, refresh me with ripen Rambutan wine from your father’s garden ring
Strengthen me with December Lansats from Kalimantan at nightfall

O, daughter of Skrang offing
Your lips burn like red rainbow of blushing sky fixed on the ivy
Your eyes flow as sparkling spring
Let the breeze comb your hair under the Durian tree
For I am faint with the fire of January’s lazy yawning
The aroma of your breath is better than the wine of Saribas Valley

I place a cluster of orchid buds with flow of care, blaze of riot
From the Tapang trees of Batang Lupar
Between your breast, the flames that sea water couldn’t quiet
O, a hibiscus of Mount Sadok you are
A sparrow in Julau valley’s brilliant sunset



At the edge of my mind

At the edge of my mind, the ancient wind of life
Shows me the nerve of nature, blows softly through those rising senses
The shape of long black mundane thought shall shine
Like silence of the night shocks me into suspense
With the faint fingerprints of light
In search of the soul being long forsaken

When the sun was itching, getting to the other side of the storm
The clouds walk among the liquid pearl the bladed grass
Listening to gale’s lies, teasing the awakening dreams transform
Condemned a carefree eager in the twilight overcome an impossible task
To die a triumphant death far away from home
On the cross of civilization, gently and willingly an era has come to pass

Nothing in his life that he lives will
Become him like the leaving of it
As he ascends so quietly the everlasting hill
On which he is to be gathered to people of his
He who now anchors in the shadow of memory is eternally in standstill
Let the tempest subside as the sun’s eyes throw gazes to the summit




My Lover’s Eyes


My lover’s eyes are glistering in the morning sun
Her lips are far more red than Coral lips’ red
Her faces are full moon fair snow pink fun
Willowy hairs brown soft flow on her head

I see roses in her rose garden oozy red and white
But such roses are better smell I in her cheeks
In Dior’s perfumes there may be delight
But prefer the breath from my lover I seeks

Hear the rolling pearls speak, her voice I know
That spring music is her, her is silent sound
Limbang’s street saw a goddess’ pleasing glow
My lover walked like Cleopatra, scent the ground

By blue water to Brunei, leaning my love as rare
Yellow scarf kisses my face time and time bear compare




No More Hurt


No more hurt at that which perils have done
Roses conceal not pricks, profuse icebergs but
Rains and fogs stain both sadness and fun for one
And feisty mildew lives in sweetest bud

Locked in a bitter war of words, even wind in this
Escalated into unprecedented struggle tres’ compare
The level of intrusion into corrupting senses amiss
Forgiving your faults beyond your faults flare

For to mop up the blood around the body emend
Your perilous plot anathema do advocate
Without tacit backing a moral plea commend
Such credentials are tarnished in hate

That rose an arrogant loneliness must be
To that aroma picker which hastily snatches can’t see