"ricefields" poems
My love, this is especially for you, I hope you will like it. With love from, Sylvia / Mijn lieve, dit is speciaal voor jou. Ik hoop dat je het leuk zal vinden, liefs van Sylvia.
as highest as the Chomolungma in Himalaya region
as magic as this Mount Everest correction
as huge as the Nightwatch of Rembrandt
as imposant as the Niagara Waterfalls when you shall land
as friendly as the Ricefields on Bali Island
as generous as the Space Needle together with Manhattan
as lovely as the puppet dolls my fiancé gave me in Jakarta
as beautiful as my wild Rose's voice when speaking about Indonesia
as wonderful as Serfaus at wintersport-season
as warm as Granada could be on Summerdays without a reason
as romantic as Venezia on dark nights
as cool as Paris sparkles in Autumnal lights
as truest as Jesus died on the cross at Calvary
my love for you so loyal as Plath's words, no fata morgana
so honest as Picasso's own Guernica
it means only most important and precious to you and to me,
this I tell to you as my only trustee and devotee.
Truest love ever known, most loyal ever shown !
I have told you all these with the help of God, amen.
Sylvia Frances Chan
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
It's almost mid-December
...no more november thrills,
....just colder winds that give me a chill
and, remind me of a kind of peace...a rural calm,
in the old country days...simple celebrations
and the natural beauty of hand-made stars
hanging outside windows of houses...
their low lights seem dots , yet....seen, from
farms, ricefields, and from the old chapel,
:::
the old chapel.....where people's most
ardent wishes, dreams and prayers, rest,
the old chapel, which sounds so heavenly,
when "silent night," and "o holy night" are sung
....in the cold hours of dawn masses...
no one feared the dark...people were guided
by lanterns.......star-shaped and lighted...
white-painted wooden Christmas trees
adorned the small living rooms...small, but
filled with that holiday warmth, shared with
family, neighbors and friends...
in lieu of those humble huts, rows of
pompous concrete structures now stand tall
over once vast pasture-lands and rice fields,
mostly gussied up with expensive decors...yet,
......bereft of the true Christmas spirit...
...silent nights, are not so silent anymore...
my chest goes high and low,
the late november winds have blown
farther away, taken over by the boldly cold,
yet, welcomed festive airs of december...
i'm always happy about Christ's arriving,
i am sad.......the old ways...they're vanishing...
Sally
Copytight November 27, 2017
rrab
Dec 7, 2017
Dec 7, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
I've ****** it up again,
You'll spend all day averting your eyes from my gaze,
As I stare on through you.
This proverbial hollowing in my chest feels far too real,
Excavated, yearning for my every breath to be filled by you.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
in my side
of the Earth
I was not tilted,
realized and emptied
my eyes are spigots
my mother left open to thaw
the glaciers of
supper
zenith visits the Summer
most often than the
wind blowing through the
curtain of my eyes
where I always see the dead
smidgen flowers all over
the ricefields
this measure of
tomorrow – to have been incarcerated
in the past that bears
no arms to
this very Saturday afternoon
fish breathe now
in enigmatic means
pulses of rivers
tangle joys with
naked boys of brindled youth
see once they jackknife
into a memorized depth
pellucid like my memory
of
uncollected afternoons
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC