Friendship offered, warmly met
Creating such a bond
Melding a relationship
From a casualness to fond.
It all invoked a strong regard
Which built a warming grace
Incorporating responsibility
For each other to embrace
A crucible of affection,
A passion to enfold
Anticipations joy to feel
Each smiling face as gold.
Built a  nice dependence
That each other will be there
Should the slightest shadow  
intervene
To cause each other care...

But then, just only yesterday,
Where we arranged to meet
In that cutest little cafe
On that sweetest little street...
I waited for your smiling face
To happily appear
But alas, you never showed at all
Confused, I shed a tear.
Then your cellphone kept on ringing
As I tried call after call
But alas, it went unanswered
With no messages at all.
Distraught,
I caught you at your door
A distance on your face,
The coldness in your startled eyes
Cruelty
Put me in my place.
I reeled away in torment,
Sad realization sewn,
That love had flown right out the door
Leaving hurt and I,
Alone.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

A chaos of multiple languages
overloads my system,
and the blackout hits hard.

An hour is still an hour,
or is it transforming into something else?
In French, they say l’heure, so sensual
Italian ore speak in tasty sounds.

But what if I want to choose
Spanish tres horas?
I miss the Polish godzina so much
moving my mother tongue's rhythm.

I need more space in my brain
My head is so heavy,
My heart enjoys moments like
a child on a playground

Making my language smoothie
I feel chromatic delirium.
Spinning through a galaxy into a black hole.
I should have listened to my mother
telling me, Agnes, do one thing!

Nobody dares in old Beijing—
the reeking air hides thunder.
A silent fang in motion strikes,
All consequence asunder.

Thought leans toward a slanted truth;
contention pays the fee.
For somewhere, someone whispers low—
Blank walls report the plea.

Everything is monitored,
each whisper, breath, or tread.
To thread an injudicious thought
could mean you'll end up dead.

Distance offers no relief—
pull not the dragon’s tail.
For agents ride on silken wings
to read your foreign mail.

And yet, the jasmine still unfurls,
the ink still stains the page.
A rebel hides behind a smile—
a poet, disengaged.

Paper lanterns flicker low,
Silent courtyards sing
Red banners herald portends
That dreaded whispers bring.

Distant looms the Emperor
In the dynasty of jade
Where impulse slays the endgame
Of all the endgames, played.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ