I am sure my mail lady loves me
She does stop by my house frequently
She brings me letters, bills and adverts
And with great force my mail she inserts

Though jammed, crammed, mashed and squashed is the mail
Like an abstract origami fail
Of which she fits into my mail box
Deftly and quick like she’s on the clock

And without so much as a toodaloo
She leaves as if she is just passing through
But I know she just wants my attention
Her act is just a cry for affection

I’ll let her know her message is received
I’ll leave behind something she can retrieve
A purple handmade folded paper crane
Which I’ll then crush and vigorously maim

Life Cycle

As a girl I was innocent and naïve
as a twen I became a Mum
must increasingly be on the alert
with no one raise-certificate to educate kids
this was very tiresome to the bits

possess too many intellectual inhuman papers
to build a huge factory perhaps with pampers
where paper weapons can be produced
never say they are "of no use"
but nowhere to find certificates
to educate my kids

look at the giants like Kennedy and Gandhi
they found their peaceful death
at 's worlds greatest slaughtery
the killings with their own products
amongst their own beloved people
such inhuman tragedies
murdered by those paper weapons factories

coursed by human devils
driven by darkest evils
the paper feel, never more

our worst nightmare
I declare
the truth in life's most misery
papers running off
weapons became true rifles
the paper that was trash
a biggest mess
they showed us their biggest ash
as soonest paper weapons' biggest tragedy

killing giants like Kennedy and Gandhi

such a highest treachery
such a comedy
not the divine one
that's pure pun

I must increasingly be on the alert
it never hurt
but eternal absurd!
the papers?
I truly miss them
no sheet to write on
now running out of paper

have to rescue one of the papers
to tell you this biggest tragedy
no human comedy
nor divine

my kids...?

they are
just fine!


© Sylvia Frances Chan

Washed out flame
Never to reignite 
Face to face
Mouth to mouth
Breathe the terror out
I’m overwhelmed by infinite doubts

I forgot my virtue at the door
At least that's the excuse I'll misuse,
They say tattoos cover any bruise
But then again, so does continued drug abuse

Baby, be my "everything that went wrong”
Fatal love songs remind me of my recklessness
I’ve got another Hail-Mary to choke out- it’s the day of genesis
And you’re my only shame but I lack all eloquence

Digging my own grave
In hopes of learning the lesson
I’m five feet deep,
Torn lace is the only mark of my indiscretion 

Silhouettes fake perfection

© 2014 Peach

The art of forgiving: Not an easy picture to paint.