Category Archives: Poetry

Dung Beetle

A poem, written by Natalia Toledo, translated…


They’d shaped up the dung

Round like the full moon

They’d carried it over their heads

Like vendors who sold foods on the streets

They are finding the bottommost layer of the world

To store and hide those stuff

As if they’re keeping the dung as

A sacred heirloom


The fires are made from the land layers of the world

A soft leaf fell asleep in my eyes

My shadows are on a march

Trying to appease to my needle-filled exterior, trembling

I’d found a home in a garden

I’d carried a fly on my back, which made me into half-invisible

I have a palm made of leaves

And, everything salute itself to me

And I’d returned that favor with my rancid scent


I sat, underneath a shadow

My back is a leaf of corn, tilted downward

Sadness, it’d opened up the land

Like when it was tilled for the purpose of planting

The dust of the world

Ground, in my eyes slowly

The aroma given off by the raindrops

Stayed on the edge of the skies, waiting to fall


The world is darkened

The mud overflowed everywhere, rushed toward the oceans

The bluish green sun came, and it’d wiped the men’s eyes

The land absorbed its moisture from the flowers and the plants

A shake, from its crevasse

Born, the very first man

It says here, that these four poems have a special kind of taste of nature.  From the dung beetles, she’d reflected the roles of women in her era, like how the poet carries that natives’ mindset, observing the small insect, and how it’d made her feel.

So, this, is how it goes, from the origins of man, to how we are like the dung beetles, working hard all our lives, and what for?  Are our lives more purposeful than those dung beetles, after all, they ARE, lower order of animals, and, all they care about, are their survivals from day to day, and this, is a metaphor for man (human, that is!!!), after all, we all struggle in our daily living, making ends meet, run around the world like headless chickens, and we just don’t realize, how much we are actually like those lower order of species!



Filed under Cost of Living, Creative Writing, Gender Roles, Issues on Gender, Life, Moods, Emotions, & Feelings, Observations, Poetry, The Observer Effect, Translated Work, Values, Women's Issues

Water Torture

Needing a Break from Taking Care of Demented Elderly Person, in Need of MORE Social Support!!!


Filed under Dementia/Deterioration of the Mind, Life, Loss, Observations, Old Age, Poetry, Properties of Life

Not Quite Old Enough Yet


Often felt that there are still too much fun to be had

Even though, I had been crushed by the years, to the point that I couldn’t even stand up straight anymore

But I still feel

As though right now, I’m still not yet old enough

Look at those big sycamores in the park

Living right next to the noisy streets

Their beards had already grown to the ground now

And they’d still tilted their heads toward the heavens

Wouldn’t believe, and kept touching that slow moving old bull that’s tilling up the land

Whose hairs had thinned out around the neck, from wearing the tilling equipments

And its teeth, other than chewing on some freshly grown grass

Were still staring into space, and it still didn’t feel bored

Just kept dreaming that it was a butterfly that could fly away

That had once kept guard over the dawn, as it’d been through the ups and downs, the highs and lows of its own life

And that man, who’s an elderly, had finally been returned, BACK to his childhood state

Drank down on that aged alcohol that’s too spicy for him to handle, and still puts on a smile, to greet all who came

Even though, he getting murdered little by little by the passing seconds of time

And, there are a TON of bullet holes on the outside of his physique

All those ancient buildings that had weathered through the years

Still stood tall and proud, without an inkling of fear

And that, is how one should FACE old age, with bravery, knowing that death is coming close, but still doesn’t waver or scare, and that, is truly, aging with grace.

Leave a comment

Filed under Coping Mechanisms, Cost of Living, Creative Writing, Lessons, Life, Maturation, Poetry, Translated Work, Values, Wake Up Calls



The honey scented cloud

The wind licked through it

So did the sun

And the butterfly too

Licked across her face

She lowered her neck and became

Flower petals fallen to the ground

Ahhhh, those were the fallen flowers

Inside the yard, left by the springtime

In bloom, then withered, and, we didn’t have the time to pluck it up

The spring followed the wings of the butterfly away

That, was the untaintedness of the poppy flower’s beginning

And so, how, will you return to that state of originality, from when you were in your infantile state, when the world had YET to have an effect on you?  Oh wait, you can’t, and, unlike the seasons here, you will NOT get a chance to relive that innocence again.

Leave a comment

Filed under Cost of Living, Creative Writing, Lessons, Life, Nowhere Is Safe, Observations, Poetry, Translated Work, Wake Up Calls, White Picket Fence, Writing

Looking Up Words in a Dictionary


The Soul, Bounced Up and Down with Joy

Between the Words, Eager to Go on that Field Trip

Replacing the feet with the Index Finger

From this Word, to the Next One, It’d Leapt

Climbing Over This Hill and that Mountain too

Even More Amazing than the Monkey King

And, there would be a Couple of Abysses

Falling into it, and you Can Soar, without Any Limits

And so, that, is the joys of literacy, isn’t it?  Like how you’d thumbed across an unknown word you don’t know the meaning to, and you look it up, then, it became a part of your knowledge?

Leave a comment

Filed under Lessons, Life, Perspectives, Poetry, Translated Work

The Aromatic Scent of Coffee

Found on a Chinese weblog, translated…

Growth, is a Process, and What, is Meant by the Pot of Gold at the End of the Rainbow? You will have to figure that out independently. The last taste that remained, is the lightly sweetened sensation, mixed, with a heart-awakening bitterness. And, we’d found ourselves, at last!

Glaring at that emptied coffee cup, that last remaining bit of pride got torn to shreds. A person’s life, is filled, with nothing BUT bitterness throughout. And so, why would we all, waste what little time we have on Earth, chasing after the unimportant things that don’t matter, such as reputation and fame, and money too.

I couldn’t figure it out, so, I’d gotten drunk on coffees instead.

Watching the dark-colored fluid circling around in my cup, from the lips, it went down, into my throat, then, into the depth, of our separate souls.

Taking with it, the bitterness, the feelings, the understandings, along with the inclinations you’d held, of your own lives.

Those who drank coffees knows how to savor life, with a heart that soared alongside the imaginations, traveling, through the passages of life, taking flight, rolling, giving off a sweet scent.

But, you’d have to wake eventually, it’s just that at that moment, you’d chosen the life fitting for you, one you would enjoy living. Don’t allow the life to make your decisions, make decisions about your own lives, because you need to have the quality of freedom that coffees have.

Some say, that coffees are lonely, and, you’re NOT drinking the coffees, because you feel alone or lonely, but because you need to be on your own, when you savor that cup of good coffee.

I had, already finished this cup of coffee that I have in my hands, my friends, have you, also done the same already?

And so, all of that, you’d “arrived”, in the short time it took, to drink up your cup of coffee, and, it’s a wonder, how something like coffee, or even alcohol, can make your imagination come alive, which, is probably W-H-Y, caffeine and alcohol, are so easily addicted on…








Filed under Attitude, Awareness, Connections, Creative Writing, Expectations, Moods, Emotions, & Feelings, Observations, Perspectives, Poetry, Properties of Life, Self-Images, The Observer Effect, Values, Writing


Jameson Wilds

I stand here, yelling and screaming.
My face flushed with anger and hate.
I scream “I fucking hate you!” as tears run down my face.
I can’t stand to look at you but I can’t ever leave you.
I scream “You’re always ruining my life!”
All you do is look at me with no words of your own.
I want to punch, kick, slap and beat you.
I want to tear myself away from you and all that you are.
Your lies, your deceit, your fears, your self-loathing, your torment and your judgement.
They all come with heavy prices that I have to pay and I’ve paid in blood.
I scream at you “I wish you would just fucking die!”
And you still have nothing to say.
I want to see that there’s feeling in your eyes and not just a cold and callus stare.
I want you to acknowledge…

View original post 112 more words

Leave a comment

Filed under Abuse, Being Exposed, Coping Mechanisms, Cost of Living, Healing Process, Innocence Lost, Maturation, Miscelaneous, Poetry, Self-Images, Story-Telling, Suppressed Memories, Wake Up Calls, Writing


Problems that come with modern day technologies, I’m afraid, translated…

In This Day and Age

The Poor Still Hold Their Dignities

Without the Money to Buy the Smart Phones

But, in a Crowd

Everybody Lowers Her/His Head to You

And so, this is kinda paradoxical, I suppose, making fun of how we are so side-tracked and so distracted by what we have in our hands, along with the modern day advances of technology and what not, it causes problems.



Leave a comment

Filed under Addiction, Awareness, Communications, Connections, Early Exposures, Emptiness of Modern Man's Souls, Life, Observations, Poetry, Story-Telling, Technologies, Translated Work


Let’s see, what’s C-O-O-K-I-N-G here, shall we then???  Translated…

Two teaspoons of ambition

Three-hundred fifty grams of greed

Five milliliters worth of rumors

Six cups of lies

Eight bottles of blood

The cruelties of a few tanks

The patriotism of a few helicopters

Adjust to the temperatures of the explosions

Wait, to hear those helpless screams

Along with the calls of sorrows for deaths

Then, you will, savor this delicious product

A dish of W-A-R

And, we’d still ruined OURSELVES, because all of the ingredients for this “recipe” is NOT found anywhere E-L-S-E, but inside each and every one of us, which makes us that much MORE responsible, for what’s happening out there (in the world???  Hello, hello, hello???)

Leave a comment

Filed under Awareness, Despair, Everyone Else's Fault, Excuses, Hindsight, Life, Nowhere Is Safe, Observations, Poetry, Stupidity, Wake Up Calls, Writing