Tag Archives: sky

Shades of Blue

the taciturn rain,

sometimes quiescent drizzle,

sometimes clarion storm

reminds me of turquoise memories


of electric glitter nail polish

shaded onto fingernails

pointing in the wrong direction

and chipping at the edges


of hair that looks like clouds

but coloured blueberry-slushie sky

and is iridescently sweet

like a gloom boy’s laughter


of sulky mp3 players

singing sempiternal distractions with

symphonies of dizzy dreamers

and skyward soul collisions


of apathetic faded scarves

wrapped around breeze-bitten necks

subtly referencing a beloved one

of the same jaded violin notes


of self-made backpack straps

a final flicker of glimpsing hope

before cosmic turns infinitely invisible

and footsteps cease giving chase


of cerulean paint peeling off bus seats

revealing a dull sheathe of grey slate

of wailing sirens intertwined with alarming red

of the ocean navy pen composing this poem


of the sky and the sea, melting horizon’s clarity

stark in mindless scratches adhering to scarred skin

the taciturn rain, so quiet, that cobalt eyes never noticed

coldness ceased falling, as blue memories caught up with me.


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sweet sundown sky

there’s a peach hanging from the sky

or maybe it’s an apricot

or a freshly-ripe pomegranate…

but whatever it is,

it looks deliciously sweet and succulent

and i’m very much tempted

to pluck it off the honeycomb fade

of the descending horizon

even though it might burn my fingers—

and take a bite of that tuscan sun

to taste a million explosions

dancing and flaring on my excited tongue

for a final palatable moment

all before the golden platter sunset

is ushered away from me

and the table is draped with velvet ebony

embroidered with scintillating stains

of sparkling yellow sugar

presented marvelously before me

and i open the silver tray in anticipation

only to be delightedly surprised

with a half-eaten moon pie.

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in which love is just another imagined story by a hopeless writer who has dysgraphia

“and though to my arms you are forever lost,
you are a prisoner in my fantasy.”

~Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz


you are my sweetest fiction,

conjured, derived from the very ends of

the lacklustre impediment

that is my algid imagination.

light calla lips flushed pleasantly

(though, i may only be imagining it so)

elusive soul a taunting fugitive

(from which i could never hope to catch

with bare hands and bare feet)

cerise smile melting upon liquid gaze

before i then realise—the blood was my own.

missing birthdays, unsent letters

piling into sealed dictionaries upon my oaken desk

and again, i weep the night sky

in the grievous absence of your starlight.

falling, falling; lilies, lilies,

plucked like shimmering innocence

from the skin of my gritted teeth, sighing


though, your divine body is not mine

to ruin and revere relentlessly

under eternal storybooks and lost volumes of

anthologies, the empty pages

all at once interjecting: “impossible?!”

but, is it always so? must my fluttering shyness

be short-lived like your tyranny?

surely we must not always adore the

blinking butterflies, cascading iridescence

billowing solemnly into my reverie—

accidental interruption.

aralias, aralias; painful, painful;

i am to dirty fly as you are to decadent fruit

dragged down rather cruelly into

the ad infinitum of your fiery veneration

and i am unable to twist my words into cathartic

crashing, collapsing, holding it in…

but, i do not mind at all; for i lost mine

the moment you slipped from enthrallment into

the ache of my charismatic sternum,

submerging me in pacific oceans of desire—

enchantingly alluring me into the cozen, shackling confines

of the prison you call your heart.

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Filed under Poetry, Valentines Poetry

luna cielo

for there never was

and never will be

a finer vagrant soul

to poetically allude me

than the billows of notes

that fall from your shade

and the stars in your lips

to sing a thousand serenades

dear, if only i could compose

about all my woeful throes

in lights enchanting as yours

no word a wasted recourse

and the aesthete that lies

beneath restless amber eyes

will dream up a promise

for fallen eternity’s premise

where the universe spins

as relentless time should be

and no whispers of parallels

between the lines of you and me

i’m quite dizzy from the sun again

but i’ll close my hands, count to ten

and wait against such fragile hope

that you’re the sunrise to decode

so why do i weep, ever still?

in the midst of my bedroom floor

only bare remnants remain, until

a voice paints a distant nevermore

of faithless keep, an endless rue

tomorrow’s heart, nor i nor you

southern nights, quaint afterglow

the days pass on as we’ll quietly go

i may be weary, yet do not think

i’ll give up when i’m on the brink

let’s chase the wind, and we’ll ascend

to an everlasting paradise we can spend

for there never was and never will be

a finer valiant soul to poetically allure me

than the muse of the moon and billowing notes

that fall from your shade and the stars that you wrote.

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Gloom Boys in Natural Blue

I have candy floss over my eyes, and no one can ever take that away from me.

I’m a double dare away from jumping into the clouds and getting lost in heaven, and even though their motionless lips tell me otherwise, imploring that the despondent sun will burn my frail skin and my charred cape will drag me back down into the ground, I’ll simply fly over them and defy what it means to be human.

For being an angel is not made of mere matchsticks and febriculic feathers, rather, it is the catastrophic sensation of breathing in your existence from your lungs and never letting it go, holding your oxygen in so tight that your chest will hurt, and tasting the very molecule that the wind is built up of, all before exhaling heavily and letting others share the light that passed the very chambers of your symphonic heart, and inhaling that decadent love once more like it’s the only sugar high you need.

I’ll be dancing a hundred footsteps as I reverently play the halo’s mellifluous beat around my head over and over again, but I shall never get tired of laughing and listening, and the glow never fades, the glow never coalesces into a darker retrospect of aspirations and bad habits, the glow is etched at the very back of my confounded head and if I close my eyes and wish a little softer, I can see pastel whispers floating and resonating behind my dreams, smiling quietly as it tells me fairy stories about twill reveries and acrylic oneirism.

Will you tell me that much? Will you beg in blazing yellow and speak in purple hand grenades, waking up again when the water parks detonate and soothing water splashes everywhere? This is not my gloomy lullaby meant to be kept under hushed tones and clandestine affinities, buried under the bones of ‘92, rather it is an everlasting caprice that is meant to be jubilantly shouted from the rooftops, until the nightingales and mynas and bluejays and hummingbirds mimic the colours in my eyes and echoes back a chromatic rainbow to be chased.

Am I not making any sense, or is the semblance of my self-optimistic throes withdrawing like violent ocean waves? It is not their fault, and it certainly isn’t mine. It’s yours. It’s all yours. This nonsensical tirade making me backlash the usual defamation that is my wretched soul, making me passionate for what used to be desert sand and black light, now efflorescent flowerbeds and ultraviolet ecstasy, making me smile and laugh childishly at the most fickle of things like a madman staring limerently into the cornflower moon. You let a playful cyclone into my bedroom while I was sleeping, and it ravaged my closet and spun me all the way to your window until I was sickly dizzy, and you held your hand out to steady me and pulled me in, winking cheekily at the cyclone and returning its breezy grin before waving it goodbye.

Now that I’m here, will you promise to keep me? Airplane conversations and clustered entertainment isn’t enough to leave me amused. Are you laughing at my sadness yet? Are you performing odes along to me mournfully singing about the underhanded depression that makes me mad all the time and fucks my worried flurried mind up when the night is young and makes me go down the long road home? I’m a car crash that you can’t ever look away from, and I can’t ever look away from you. But don’t follow me to the site of the wreck. If your favourite set of stairs is the one up to my room, piece together the trail of love notes I left in the kitchen that say it all, and when you find me, I won’t ever have to let you go up. Let’s be lucky people, you and me.

Amid tantrums and crybabies, you’re nothing but rare. I may not be a warrior and you may think I’m the worst, but I know I don’t have to sleep alone again. So won’t you stay awake, stay awake for me? If you’re singing about la-la-la-love, my tune is more to the beat of a la-la-la-lobotomy. You’re my yellow lovely jealousy, in natural blue and viridian green memories, I’m losing my mood in a late night phone call, shading everything else from silver to pink to hiding under porches and craving territorial phantasms, it doesn’t matter. My common sense is powerless when you speak, and I’m not royal but I’m stupid for you, and 11:11 can go away because I don’t wish for anything else. I’m tired. You’re tired. Let’s be tired together. It’s more fun that way, don’t you think?

I have gloomy clouds over my eyes, and only you can ever take that away from me.

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Filed under Prose

waves of whimsy

I’ll be your optimistic black hole
Full of love I can’t control
Let’s keep each other safe from the world…



comes in little waves

of sipped hot cocoa

and marshmallow bits

warming quiet souls

on a rainy sunday morn



comes in little waves

of day-old biscuits

and mouthfuls of chocolate

and a faint bite of pink

in strawberry and caramel



comes in little waves

of melancholy songs

and purple boys wrapped

in twinkling fairy lights

resting beneath telephones



comes in little waves

of such lone-star musings

huddled under covers and

writing epistles for sunrise

as ink stains the skylines



comes in little waves

of whimsical contentment

and peaceful nothings

amid beating quiet hearts

on a rainy sunday morn.

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When my eyes’ve grown tired
Cause no night can’t survive with just a flashlight of hope
When all I said was bitter
And words won’t bring her back for more…


The stains on my fingertips are subtly disorienting

As I stumble on my throat, refusing to breathe in

You’re moving too fast for me to ever catch up

And all we can do is laugh quietly before we sin

I tell every aching bone to whisper about sad news

The shadows and the mist bring me closer to you

They say that the blood you expelled is recluse

But I’m terrified that my evergreen will turn to blue

And it wasn’t my fault that all the skeletons in my closet

Came bursting out, when I could no longer contain it

Understand that my veranda is always welcome and open

When the decisions overwhelm, and I’ll wait until then

Strumming the starrified strings on my ten-string cello

Until my fingers pluck constellations of the final crescendo

And when you find your way to that everlasting enigma

Look up and listen close to the sound of my north star fantasia.

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Rumours and Hearsay From Astronomy

“It wasn’t her who broke the stars.”


But she felt guilty all the same

As she stared at the dull midnight sky

Scattered with shards of light that hurt

In astral twinges and lunar fringes

When it hits her unblinking eyes


“It was him who fixed the horizon.”


But he didn’t feel responsible at all

He was merely there by coincidence

When it began to have mended itself

Coalescing into incandescent dawn

And yet he couldn’t say anything


“There’s this girl who locked the moon into the nebulae…

…and that boy painted the firmament rather ebulliently.”


Such mere rumours that the bored planets

Whispered clandestine amongst themselves

Altering details and chasing phantasmagoria

As the supernova truth shrank into a black hole

And sucked the boy and the girl in its dark void.

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i was wrong to think

dear, that the lights would follow you

back home, where i sleep alone

with an extinguished lamp


perhaps you were too prudent

and needn’t dare to waste the stars

on such fickle promenades


or perhaps i wasn’t worth the weight

of a galaxy where you exist


or perhaps the infinite nights were too much a burden for you


but whatever the curious reason

i still stand solitary under a dismal sky

and you’re still kissing the sunlight

as the moon falls under the endless well

weeping grievously for its lost love


and my heart wouldn’t be forgiven

for all the scars it left on yours


but i hold starlight within my eyes

ones you shall never touch nor extinguish

like the cold lamp smouldering by my bedside


for i was mistaken to think, dear

that you were the only source of luminescence.

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counting stars and other mayhem

“Stars awake
But we can’t see them out
So why pretend?”


come count the stars with me

for i am far too afraid to see

how much darkness there is

drinking in light on a chalice


reflect the moon in your eyes

like the final breath of paradise

i’ll never be able to take another

so i hold it in like i’m underwater


conjure another whimsical dream

where everything is more than it seems

and black is white, and grey is none

i’ll be falling west like the tenebrous sun


so come and count the stars with me

i wouldn’t be afraid anymore once i see

that in the consuming darkness, there is

a star glowing next to me, bathing me in universes.

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Filed under Poetry