It seems to me the feminine Japanese mystique is more intriguing than its Western counterpart's ---it lies in its grace, naturalness, humility and demureness, depth in self-restraint and sobriety.

Melancholic heart

at loss of what words to say

night stirs up past love

My mind finds the words
my heart turns them into language
the former is ruffled feather
the latter is beautiful plumage.

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POEM
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Peter Lim <sonatavivace@gmail.com>
11:06 AM (6 minutes ago)

to me




     I had no quarrel with time
     but it looks askance
     as though saying too long
     I have been around
     or worse--that something wrong
     I have done--

     the sentinel eternal
     the judge inimical
     the party unfaithful
     the heart unsentimental

     but
     I'll not be cowed
     to myself I belong
     if life is a battlefield
     I would be my own general

      winter chills in season
      unforgivingly
     but my heart
     shall not be frozen
     man shall never
     be smaller than fate
     there's no glory
     in out--living
     if with meaning
     I have lived

     life's chaos and angst
     has not diminished me
     I have stood up
     with dignity
    
     in my nameless humility
     and my naked humanity
     I am content  
     and joyful
     ( despair and regret
      set aside)
     with what remnant
     to me
     has been given.

Whatever you write
whatever story you wish to tell
everything is about life
in its abode where we all dwell

joy or sorrow
that marks every single existence
tell or write your story--it will be heard or read
what's living life but every single individual experience?

Do
      Do.....doo.....doo-dooooo I, I, I...... have a
d
     r
       i
         n  
            k....
                drink....dri--nk
                                            king.....drink....
                                                                      dri-nk.....king
                                                                                                 prob,  pro-b..
lem... prob...prob... pro-blem?

   ......spew......
                               you,  you,  bug..bug  bug---gers
why, why.... should you care?     You aren't...aren't my fa---fa--father!

Officer-on-duty to subordinate:  LOCK THIS BABBLER UP!

When I was young

the word 'shame' was loud and strong

in middle-age I began to realise

such mindset was wrong-



now in my 'soon to say goodbye' days

with what my conscience says I can easily go along

life might not be all joys and grace

yet to myself I've every right to belong

Because I was left behind
my right path I managed to find

Into endless beauty I will die
music to the end does keep me
to a happier realm I will fly
what there is, is mystery upon mystery

beyond the feel, the touch and sigh 
there's no throe  at all of  known misery 
I will dwell among the stars in the sky
amidst the flowers and the silent wavelets of the sea

Silence in the room

music, books and coffee

such great company

Anger in words unconstrained
the heart, a boiling cauldron
the poisonous arrow must be shot
aimed directly at the target-person --

stand aside, you watcher, be silent
this is none of your concern
you would not know the thickness
of my blood nor my hidden reason.

Cottage so humble
surrounded by lush flowers
richer than castles

A poem
even the most oblique
is drawn from some fibre
of the writer
in time, place and space
for inseparable they are

he can't hide
from the truth
as words are his servants
he is the master
and life-giver
or
no thought
would have been
what it is
as presented
to the reader
or listener

a poem
is the alter ego
of the poet--
the quintessential creator.

It doesn't matter
    where you set your sight
     as long as it is right

The world needs to be reformed
but by what and whom?
words run into hundred--millions
memoranda signed in some secret room

mountains of papers over time
pile to the ceiling one upon another
handshakes exchanged and freely flows
the champagne--none cares to remember

wars and conflicts proliferate
in every nook and corner
ammunition factories run overtime
rushing to meet the latest order

homelands destroyed and starvation pervades
families are displaced and loved ones are split asunder
day and night shells and bullets deaden every hour
every dream and hope for peace they shatter.

This is a typical travelogue:
bad food, poor sleep, rude people, cultural shock!

If you can find your still-point

in the midst of life's chaos

you would be prepared for everything

and all equanimity will be yours

With regard to nature
the scientist dissects
the poet gazes in wonder
and such beauty it adores and respects

Art is beyond mind

nameless feelings interfuse

mysterious music

The day is never made
     for my competing or winning
     quietly I should seek to create
     something that has lasting meaning

My heart is forest

it hides deepest mystery

am I in a dream

No luggage
and no baggage
this is the true gift
of calm old age--

non-essentials set aside
forgotten like an old book-page
read long ago. Buried is acrimony
vegeance, disharmony and rage--

the heart is kind and in a state of grace
love is its never-tiring message
understanding and compassion
speaks the most comforting language-

life shines in renewed light  
darkness has quietly made its passage
the years ahead hold promises
with every gladness to engage.

For your enemies you are prepared
  for your friends the same could not be said

Dear Sigmund

I am sorry to hear
about your travel-anxiety
if I were near
I could help with my Zen therapy

To know
the legal
first try
something illegal.

The best wish
is not having
to wish
then belonging
truly to yourself
needing
nothing else.

Dear child, this song is for you
it's about the love of a mother and father
she tills the field, he sails the seas
they love you like none other.

The field will bring you flowers
sweet things to eat everyday
mum will mend your clothes and shoes
dad will bring you diamonds from faraway

I am neither

pro nor con

either leads me nowhere

only openness I stand upon

Moments of the past
those that surface now
tomorrows'  awaiting
all to end in their languishing hour

time is a heartless machine
life but a frail summer flower
we look before and after*
asking questions that know no right answer.

I would have
no reason to stop
my heart is driven
ready is the daily prop-

the field I've tilled
hoping for a fruitful crop
this is a glorious summer
its best is yet to drop!

The wise
could be stupid
the stupid could be otherwise
thus, they equalise

The poor man has worries, but so has the rich man. No one knows which of the two worries more.

What should I write today?
my heart I should consult
but it would be much easier
if I ask you--the result
would be ten-fold more endearing
love is not about me alone but surely
both you and me in the sweetest embrace
what should I write today my love? do tell me

Does feeling
incorporate
unconscious thinking?

He who's empty
  has no fear:
  there's nothing
  to be taken away
  he holds nothing dear-
  
life is illusive
like will-o'-the-wisp
to have dreams
is to be deceived-

he who's empty
doesn't seek to compete
win or achieve
in being nothing
he doesn't lose anything-
unseen, unknown and unnoticed
he retains his life's intrinsic

Love I passionately
once did pursue
she replied:
I'm not for you.

The sweetest words I did choose
persuaded she could not be
she said:  
all this is silly poetry.

I pleaded in tears and beg I did
hoping she would show me pity
she  mocked:
go away,  you are vexing me.

She heard some later day
I was engaged to Molly
she rushed to me one winter night
poured me kisses and said: will you marry me?

You have your right
but it doesn't mean you are right!

Dear ...

Letting go is the main theme of Taoism.  
We take our self* too seriously,
we hold things too tightly (our job, our belongings, our love and desires, other people's opinion of us, values...)
but everything in life is fragile, ephemeral and transient.  

The more we cling to things, the more vulnerable we become and lose our equilibrium too easily.

Let go, hold everything lightly, the good and the bad for life is always in a flux.

The Tao way is acceptance of the process of natural laws, being in harmony with The Way which leads to self-understanding and insight, humility, compassion as the more we move away from our fixated  and deluded self, the freer and happier we become as we would have removed the self-imposed and false shackles that have impeded our growth for so long.

Unhappiness, according to the Tao, is caused by our ceaseless strife and restlessness; we don't own our self anymore and are thrown into the maelstrom of perpetual wanting and acquiring--
we never seem to have enough and the more we have, the more we want; we die a little everyday as we have forgotten the most essential things of life--
love, compassion, simplicity,  contentment, family life, friendship, the beauty and wonders of nature and all that which lifts us to a higher consciousness and a state of grace.

Let us learn to slow down, let go, listen, learn to be still and quiet and for those who take time off to meditate, all will be peace and self-fulfilment.

Be one with the Tao!

Those who are seen in and out of banks are people not likely to have peace of mind.

They worry when they have too much money while others worry about settling their debts.

Banks are not cheerful places to be.

You would never see me in any bank as I have no money to deposit nor debts to meet.

What love-letters?
an anachronism they have become
text or speak over Face-time
never mind if sterile amorous words is the outcome

Waves as emotions

each movement a reaching out

they laugh and they weep

Have I changed or not?
But no situation is the same-
I adapt and improvise
but retain my name-

yet to be sure
I'm not a chameleon
my skin I change not
like all of you I live and move on

Saying yes or no
is equally hard
two forces are at work-
not just the brain but also the heart.

Come to me
if you must
if it causes misery
such you shouldn't trust

I never wanted more

not having is where I best score

Dance then with the night
you don't like the colour of day
shut away the moon and stars' benign light
in the dark furtively hide away-

what is your heart's secret plight?
are there memories hurtful and grey?
what scenes of the past must be set right?
for what forgiveness would you pray?

There's nothing
to recount
our story was told
long ago-  chronicled
in the pages of time
we are not as before
we have since
turned old and cold

that little boat
we travelled once
together
(you wouldn't want
to remember)
in every strange water
now lies in ruins
on that forgotten shore
beyond recognition
just like
out irreparable hearts
once so free and bold

the fields we traversed
our hours under the shady trees
we read each other Keats' poems
amidst the whisper of the breeze
the love-light shone
in your eyes as you lent me
the ecstasy of every kiss
you would not let go my hold

there's nothing
more to recount
there's no solace
to be found
our memories
have been buried
in ashes--
manifold.

I choose to be empty--it purifies me, it's a process of letting go, of renunciation, of selflessness-- in being nothing, I find my true self, and the weariness and angst of living melts away like the dew in the sun and the dispersing of the clouds.

  copyright 2025

The answer lies not
in the sunshine hours of daylight
its true dwelling is in the silent sacredness
of the heart's deepest night

It's 2019-
not 1920
which means nothing
to me

in 2090
I won't be writing poetry
but this poetry-site
will live on--minus ME!