Tag Archives: dream

Among the Stars (NaPoWriMo #27)

image

A snapchat sent to me by a friend in Denmark.

Pastel lines sprinkled on a street
Where wheels and stardust meet
Smear nebulae across asphalt galaxies:
The pathway of children’s suns.

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This is a poem written from a photograph. I got this image through the social media app “Snapchat” and saved it on my phone because I thought it was a captivating idea. 22 days until graduation! Feeling so nostalgic for the chalk driveway drawing days…

Thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

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Fishbowl Head (NaPoWriMo #23)

Fish bowl head Art Print

Art courtesy of Jason Pym

Visions swim in colourful blurs,
I have a fish bowl on my head.
Flailing, the sandy bottom stirs
I have a fish bowl on my head.
In murky water a song slurs
About glassless days. But instead
Visions swim in colourful blurs.
I have a fish bowl on my head.

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So I tried a triolet today which has a form of ABaAabAB – a bit tricky but doable once you’ve picked good themes with versatile rhymes. The image of a fish bowl on one’s head was imprinted in my head by Foster the People’s music video of the catchy “Call It What You Want” at a minute in. It’s very random, abstract, and just visually entertaining, so have a peek if you have time:

Thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

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Take the pencil (NaPoWriMo #20)

CS Lewis

(From quotesnsayings.net)

Like a cyclops wearing an eye patch, we’ve never been able since our birth
To know what has been printed on life’s next chapter
Like a pig snuffling truffle treasure buried deep under the earth
Detectives searching for clues hinting a happily-ever-after

Like a grain of salt in a spoon of sugar, how every choice will affect
Our daily cup of tea or coffee, is an elusive mystery until
The present is a ghost, we watch curled up on the couch to reconnect
Reading the miraculous events recorded from our will

Like holes in swiss cheese, what makes or breaks an ego
Can be answered twice by what we do or what we don’t
Identity as fluid as seaweed in waves, hidden in the gutter – no.
Wait anxiously for the turn of each page? I won’t.

I will be the generator of my own word.
And my story will be heard.

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Life is too short for waiting so take that pencil and write! Fill the blank pages with the future you’ve always dreamed about, because you are the only author of your personal book of life.

Thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

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Filed under Books, NaPoWriMo Challenge

Hello (NapoWriMo #17)

The only person you should try to be better than… is the person you were yesterday.

I am ecstatic you have returned again
My inspiration, my friend.
Maybe you can dispel this cloud of fear,
Would you like a cup of tea, my dear?

There is a person in each person’s life
Strong in joy, and grief, and strife
Determined and free-spirited in every respect
How can anyone be that close to perfect?

A person that everyone can look up to
I want to grow and become more like you
Work will let this dream be
Then I finally see
That I am you. And that person is me.

As Whitney says, “Learning to love yourself, that is the greatest love of all.”

And in one of my favourite quotes from the movie Wreck-it-Ralph, Bad-Anon’s motto: “I’m bad, and that’s good. I will never be good, and that’s not bad. There’s no one I’d rather be than me.”

Thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

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Dancing with the moon: A short memory

I remember the nights when the moon would shine by the window, peeking through branches of our backyard pine tree, gentle light falling onto the folds of the blanket. It was on these nights I would sit and stare at moon’s face, contemplating the shades that fell onto its smooth pearl surface, feeling special as the clear, white light washed over me.

I would imagine myself floating and leaping as I twirled weightlessly in the land of white dust, and leaving nothing but the light footprints of my dancing feet along with a trail of swirling powder behind me. I think of having gravity leave me, as I soar into the night sky of twinkling stars where the Earth looks perfect, a beautiful, sparkling jewel of life, with patterns of green, clouds, and bright city lights in the dark.

And when I drift back down to the planet, back to the bed where I have propped myself up, there the moon would be, smiling the soft reflected sun rays into the window, an inch higher in the black velvet of night. I would adjust view so I could gaze at the full, round face, and wonder more of things, like how moon’s surface hadn’t changed in the longest time, and that footprints had  virtually been stamped on it, staying in the dust where nothing stirred its existence.

I felt, on those nights, that I could have looked up at the moon forever, soaking up the reassuring glow, cherishing the moments I spent passing each second traveling in the dark midnight with a magical blanket of the calm, full moon wrapped around me.

And my dreams would fly on, in the sleepy yet alive city, surrounded by the purity of polar opposites black and white, carrying me in the late, quiet air with the distant chirping of a cricket symphony. Until moon would let me flutter down in my sleep, so high above the tree, wishing me a farewell as its light reached the edge of my bed, and glazed out the windowsill, leaving me with the still, dusty memories of our dance that night. And yet I would dream on, of the next time moon shall come to greet me, in the tangles of the pine brushes.

Published from October 9, 2009:
A giant full moon was spotted through our window a few days ago, and reminded of a little something I had written years ago. After a bit of searching, I found the notebook, and here it is. It’s different from how I remember, and though I find it ambiguous with very long sentences at times, there are some rediscovered moments and phrases here that I like. Although the moon has been associated with dark magic and eerie nights, I don’t find it so. Then again, I have never been in a dark forest alone under a full moon so… what do I know.

Anyways, thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

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Filed under Poems, Essays, and Things

Big Blue: A poem

Blue Morpho taken by Gregory Philips from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Blue_morpho_butterfly.jpg

The Big Blue is in front of me
Most beautiful species I ever did see
I grip the net tightly between my hands
Homemade and woven by  individual strands
From generations collected of silkworm line
I step cautiously, keep quiet focus in mind
Raise the net high, ready for a swift sweep…
And stop.
Watching the butterfly sway.
Take off in a flutter, into the clear sky
I let it fly away,
And wave an imaginary goodbye.

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“I realise there’s something incredibly honest about trees in winter, how they’re experts at letting things go.” ― Jeffrey McDaniel

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Just for fun footnote: The name of the poem comes one of my favourite childhood shows, Arthur. In an episode entitled “Binky Barnes, Wingman”, Binky becomes obsessed with butterflies and vows to catch one he calls “Big Blue”, who always escapes, satirizing the scenario of Captain Ahab and Moby Dick.

Thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

9 Comments

Filed under Poems, Essays, and Things, Words

A confession and an epiphany on life’s challenges

I am not competing with others or comparing myself to the world. Life’s journey is not about what is, but rather about what it possible. The belief that anything imaginable can be reached. Isn’t that what makes dreams?

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After years of life’s adversities, it is easy to forget how to dream. It is easy to forget the person that we once believed we could’ve become. It is too easy to lose faith and trust in ourselves and slip into a habit of being a chameleon, blending with mediocrity. Hiding from eyes that judge and destroying any chance of ever facing a reflected image of failure.

Alone  by Chris Polasko

Unknowingly, we reject those exact chances that can change us, teach us, lead us to new discoveries about ourselves and our abilities. How much have we missed in the shadow of self doubt? To catch a glimpse of our own potentials we must first gather up the courage to give it our all, take pride in our work and effort, risk a fall to leave regret in the dust.

Dust to dust

It feels good to work. Nothing can amount to the self satisfaction of knowing that today, in that one moment when you could have given up you chose instead to perform your absolute best. It may not have been perfect, but it was better than what you would or could have done in the past.

New steps and new material require greater concentration and effort, and it’s at times extremely frustrating. But “if it isn’t hard, just comfortable for you, then how will you improve?” You wouldn’t. It would stay constant; it would be like painting over the same lines on a piece of paper from first grade years later. Life is supposed to be a challenge and there are too many more opportunities in every day to waste them on thinking about what we can’t do.

:)

Because keeping our eyes looking forward will get us to our goals much faster, and easier. My teacher told me, “Hard work is the best remedy for frustration.”  It is true.

I am competing with myself and with the person that I will become in the future. Life is not about what I can do, but what my potential offers I will be able to do. I believe that what lies beyond the imagination can be reached.
Because then, I am free to dream.

imagination

Apologies for quite the sappy piece, today was a great day in the cloud that had been not such a nice week and I felt obliged to record this welcome turn of events.
-thebookybunhead

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Filed under Dance, Idle Thoughts, Life