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 Oct 31 Andy Chunn
Ayesha
were I a story
O, you busy, bustling world
would you then hear me?

were I a feeling
you had when moon slowly whirled
would you let me sing?

were I a loud poem
screaming in seas, gone unheard
would you bring me home?

Were I soft and sweet
like honey, I smiled and swirled
would you come to meet?

were I a quiet cry
silenced, stollen of every word
would you then stop by?

Were I a bright ray
O, you busy, bustling world
would you let me stay?
A song.
Do you remember...

When the fields bloomed
And the winds blew

When the birds chirped
And the butterflies floated
Above the daisies

Do you remember...
The sweet redolent fragrance
From the colorful flowers
And her skin

Mingling with the smell of the dirt
And his skin

Do you remember...
The sound of the silent wind
Rushing through the petals
And the soft moan
That chased after her breath

Do you remember...
The beauty of the tired sun
Dipping down below the sky
To hide from the night

And the softness of his chest
On her back as they watched it dip
How they intertwined their fingers in the passion of the song

Do you remember ...
 Sep 14 Andy Chunn
Nathalie
The smooth finish
Of the floor comforted
Her bare feet
As she paced
With anticipation

Her belly entertained
A flutter of butterflies
As the memory
Of his face flashed
Before her eyes

She married her
Fingers, bringing
Them to the centre
Of her chest and
Held them close

A relentless realization
Remained throughout
This capricious time
The love she felt
For her beloved
Could never dissipate
Even through the passing
Of time.
I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.
 Sep 2 Andy Chunn
Shadow
The darkness closed in
Silently
Without a single hint or warning

As the day shattered and fell
Haphazardly
On the cold forest ground
The daytime sounds
One by one by one
Slowed down
Until all that was left
Was the unspoken chatter
Of shivering leaves

Pulling up my favorite chair
I sat at the table
By the west window
Watching the remaining light
That clung to the horizon
Slowly die away
With each loud tick-tock
Of an old grandfather clock
Which proudly stood in the corner
Waiting to proclaim
The fast approaching hour

I don’t know why
But it always seems to me
That unlike the mornings
Where the sun’s light
Slowly spreads through the forest
Waking the sounds
That had been speechless
Throughout the night

When the darkness comes
It comes quickly
With the sound of a hush
Setting my dreams free
From the prison of my pillow
Faster than the speed of night
 Aug 30 Andy Chunn
Shadow
On a cold starless night,
He'd light three candles warm and bright,
We'd sit around him and he would say:
"What tale shall I tell you today?"

Everyone shouted out their favourite tale
And he'd tell them all in great detail!

He would tell tales of the mermaid's love,
Of the farmer's tears and heavens above,
He'd recite us an epic or two,
and we'd laugh and jest the whole night through.

He'd tell us about long lost loves,
And of bravery and what it behoves,
He'd talk about the seven skies,
And tell us about that mermaid's eyes,
He'd sing about the oceans and rivers and seas,
About wizards and sacred trees!
About fireflies and midnight breeze.

We would all sit around or fall asleep,
And our imaginations would pierce deep
Into the skies or the oceans blue
Until the night sky lost its hue,
And the sun's light peered through.

We all loved him and he loved us too,
but the hands of time always separate you,
So now he's above the seven skies,
and watches over us with big bold eyes,
I hope that I can make him proud,
And fly through this life strong and unbowed.

So that one day, when I'm old and yet hale,
I can tell my grandchildren this very tale,
To tell them of the desert sky,
And the little prince who could fly.

So that in peace I can pass by...
To live my life and feel the love, of which is told in many tales,
And be courageous in the face of life, for fear never avails.
I like it here, the quiet, the stillness.
The tranquility drapes my skin, flushes out my soul.
I need to come here quite often to reassess my infinite desire to control.
For here, amidst the smell of earth and the rustling of leaves, I become a simple Being, I become once again, me.
...amp
When on the sandy shore I sit,
Beside the salt sea-wave,
And fall into a weeping fit
Because I dare not shave -
A little whisper at my ear
Enquires the reason of my fear.

I answer "If that ruffian Jones
Should recognise me here,
He'd bellow out my name in tones
Offensive to the ear:
He chaffs me so on being stout
(A thing that always puts me out)."

Ah me! I see him on the cliff!
Farewell, farewell to hope,
If he should look this way, and if
He's got his telescope!
To whatsoever place I flee,
My odious rival follows me!

For every night, and everywhere,
I meet him out at dinner;
And when I've found some charming fair,
And vowed to die or win her,
The wretch (he's thin and I am stout)
Is sure to come and cut me out!

The girls (just like them!) all agree
To praise J. Jones, Esquire:
I ask them what on earth they see
About him to admire?
They cry "He is so sleek and slim,
It's quite a treat to look at him!"

They vanish in tobacco smoke,
Those visionary maids -
I feel a sharp and sudden poke
Between the shoulder-blades -
"Why, Brown, my boy! Your growing stout!"
(I told you he would find me out!)

"My growth is not YOUR business, Sir!"
"No more it is, my boy!
But if it's YOURS, as I infer,
Why, Brown, I give you joy!
A man, whose business prospers so,
Is just the sort of man to know!

"It's hardly safe, though, talking here -
I'd best get out of reach:
For such a weight as yours, I fear,
Must shortly sink the beach!" -
Insult me thus because I'm stout!
I vow I'll go and call him out!
The storm washed away
The cheerful sun
Chalked brilliantly
On the concrete
Raining so hard
Not even traces
Of chalk remained
But the beauty is
An empty board remains
For a new sun to appear
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