Rare riddles are oft bittersweet,
a never ending search for poisonous feed,
sand greyish desert coloured ****,
so many studies, not edible this seed?

Emeralds green in forrests deep,
sunken wood drifted apart and seep,
mortal words that never sleep,
in a city full of leaks.

cherished thoughts wandering celestial high,
whose orphans are these lost kids…sigh….
flickering fields, amish nigh;

shiverings on personal corpses,
numb of words, ah… stunts in shortest.

The words refused to be arranged as it must.
I lost my commands of the words, no, it’s no plus,
these words mock mankind as their playful lust,
sorry, now I can only say in the past tense:" Friends, 'twas....."



©  SYLVIA FRANCES CHAN

60+ We are the poets of late Autumn and early winter and soon our
time will be done

40-60 Ah such rich mature blossoms, vibrant and vigorous under the warm summer sun

15-40 Fresh green leaves,the beautiful pastel shades of fresh spring flowers nurtured by gentle rains. Ready to reach full maturity and become even more beautiful...

Please dissolve your feelings
And make an exciting concoction
Let’s drink from the cups of love
For passion swims freely sans words
Let love flow freely between our souls
Get drunk and enjoy the stupor
Let’s meet at the confluence of love
And drown ourselves in ecstasy