Lobo

Shunned by family and pack
Its fur not white nor black
But a shade of silver spoon
Howl at yonder crescent moon
To hear only a fading echo back.

-Wren

Cups

Dreary and campfire warm
Under the dim half-lights
Over the dusty stone floor
On creaky stool and table.
He sits with a cup in one hand
And newspapers in the other
Alone reminisce a year
Where warmth shared together
Here, over a couple of cups.

Wren

Chaud Aftermath

A season's come and gone
Exams all said and done.
Teardrops and sweat beads
Of progress, been  the seeds.
Vent emotions were shed 
Reason, born from the dead.
Texts, tabs and notes all closed;
Thoughts into earth decomposed.
Snow led to dénouement
Like a clean white swan.
And here today I sip
No black coffee on lip.
But a chocolat chaud
And a tired soul lauds.

-Wren

5th Boulevard and Hope Street

The first boulevard was crossed with unease.
Thoughts, numbers, and memories.
Step by step, add and balance to find
About the calculations that determine:
What is this within my water aliquot?

Second boulevard was passed with anxiety.
Puzzle of various structures and lines.
Acerbic compounds churn in alkaline.
Forming acetals as in my salicyclics
For hourly aspirins to soothe headaches.

Soon walking by the third boulevard
In the domains of tiny and unseen
That lives in food, water, rock, sea,
Air, groves, sewage, and statues.
See the unseen in the mind's eye.

Fourth boulevard where the earth shakes,
Cataclysmic explosions and grand waves,
Mountains surfing boulders downhill,
And meteors cleaning slate of dinosaurs.
Early comings of the 12 21 2012.

Fifth and final boulevard of humans.
It is one thing to have knowledge,
But on this road, can you explain it?
The living unit explored to fullest,
Lyse it down in one of the pathways.

For the Hope Street that comes afterwards.
Today, I walk through the dim-lit boulevards.

Wren

Time

Is long when you spend it on something boring.
Is short when you spend it with someone you love.
Is wasted when you spend it on something that is easy.
Is spent well when you spend it on something that changes you.

Is money.
Is a gift to evolve.
Is fair for everyone.
Is short.

Is a fraction for us as individuals in society.
Is a speck of dust for society in humanity.
Is a indistinguishable pixel for humanity in the earth's history.
Is a near-zero for earth's history in the grand schema of universe.

So how will you spend your fraction of gift in this world?

-Wren

Voz

A man differs from a beast in that he speaks.
Animals merely roar, call and screech;
But a man can tell tales of the highest peaks
Sing the songs to many hearts' reach.

Express innate soul in stanzas and verse
And birth change in empowered pitch.
So today we celebrate newly given voice
For the people given humanity in speech.

Hopefully the nations will stop being beasts
And decide fate with voz and not garras.

-Wren

Past Works

Okay I'm totally copping out today, and posting you some of my favourite poems I've written so far. :) Hope you enjoy them.

Lemon Ginger Tea 
Death of Butterfly 
Moment's Momentum
Tabasco
Flu
World is Hell

Best of luck with your exams,

-Wren

Rooibos and Apples

Scent of mid-fall picked apple
Crisp snap off the branches
Shiny skin glimmering crimson
With the acid and sweetness.
Infused with mellow-black tint
Of rooibos blossoms' nuttiness.
Like a midnight bonfire smoke
And dreams brewed thick.
Ahora, tomo un sorbo té con azucar.
Sweet and fragrant as cane sugar.

-Wren

Screen

Sitting tilted postured afront this screen
I see the line blink black and gone across
A blank report yet to be thought or seen
Neglected like a wet rock growing moss.

The essay demands itself to be written
To be born, to enlight, and to be graded.
Merely a slave, I grudgingly be bitten
By bitter whiplashes of time ticking
Of the overseer wall clock's serenade.

Blank screen still mocks. Oh, Puck.
I scribble a piece worthy of muck.

-Wren

Pen

Inking darkness line by line,
Flanking sharp midst of white,
My tool of expression sublime
On the paper shows its might.

For she glides gracefully through
With footprints of words rain,
I reaps what my hand sows
From his tango with my pen remains.

A painful duet, a wonderous dance.
Weapon of art, dark-tipped lance.

Wren

Parallel Clouds

Floating freely in lucid blue sky

Above the soft warm cloud below
Sometimes the tenderness is missed

Like the mystique held by mists.

We had our updrafts and downbursts.

What potential novels we'd write

When the parallel clouds meet?

Some songs are never written.

A hurricane we'd never make.

Some clouds are never meant

To spin into a dust tornado.

Did you know the alphabets 

Never arranged U and I together?

Law of grammatica kept us apart.

I'd blame God on those days.

But in my solemnest moments

I'd realize we'd need to remove

J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T

We'd not able to spell "happy"

If we were ever together.

Some clouds are never destined

To form into a thunderstorm.

A volatile chemical reaction 

Plenty of collisions and lesions

But I an enzyme, simple catalyst

End of every pathways still 

Still separate, disparate story.

Cross me out from beginning

And end, while you react away.

Work up away into nothingness.

Leave me exhaust and same

Before the reaction even begun.

Some clouds are never meant

To connect into a hurricane.

-Wren

Autumn Holidays

Let the leaves start dripping like rain
The sun begins to procrastinate
As her morning rise becomes late
And denouement like burning plane.

Sorrows and exams I'll endure
In midst of autumn's tantrums.
Look to take my pain in pure
Into red harvest of doldrums.

I need a holiday; alas summer hath
Already sent me his warmly bygones.
So in the crisp-chill fall's bath
Of wind and wetness, I say my bygones.


This wren's hoarse singing
Has come to hackneyed end
Temporarily like pause on
Your iPod or vinyl record.


I'll be gone for a while.
You won't notice me while
I'm gone, but if you do,
I'll surely miss you too.

-Wren

10-01-2012

Alone in Purgatory

It feels like a blank place where I'm here.
Didn't expect this one when I first thought.
Not hated enough with my sin severe
For sandy hellfire burning drought
Nor loved enough with my gooddeed
For blest love, food and wine flow.
Stuck in limbo. Indeed. Indeed. Indeed.
Feel so empty I hear my voice echo.
I hope it reaches you someplace I know.
And you would take me back to you.
Because it's so empty here in limbo.
Because it's a place without you.

-Wren

Artist

Holding softly like grabbing warm butter
A flick, a stroke, and a quick dash;
Feeling the world beyond the mind's shutter
Brush on canvas, magic on sash.
Give childbirth to beauty aflutter
Smooth flight of the monarch.
From the horsetail, life is born.

-Wren

Rock Paper Scissor

I feel like a scissor
Trying to beat down rocks.
In an uneven matchup.
Guess I'll make more scissors
And chip down those rocks.
Until I manage to win.

Wren

Bravery

It's not about not fearing anything.

A child who doesn't fear wolf
Is not brave but merely naive.

A drunk who doesn't fear driving
Is not brave but merely drunk.

A blind who doesn't fear guns
Is not brave but just can't see.

A viking who doesn't fear death
Is not brave but just reckless.

I'm fucking terrified of losing something.
It might work; it might not.
I know I have to get it done.
I admit it. I'm scared.

But I'm going to do it.
That's bravery.

I hope.

Wren

One of Those Days

Even the music feels off,
The tune you love most
Don't perk your ear up.

Books read like black-bar'd
Every few lines crossed out,
Eye drifts off to doodle.

Just a day where hiatus
Comes one bit too early
Mid a seven. Indivisible.

-Wren

Photograph

A memory invoked once again
Of a time past way back
Saw somebody once again
But rose-glasses this time I lack.

Like rediscovering a bee
Enclosed in honey amber
It was nice to again see
That time did not alter

You at all. But you don't recall
Me. I was an unseen observer
Cloaked by years. Now I call
Myself by a new name. Never

Known. Yet now I don't care.
Maybe back then. Not now at least.
It was surely interesting, I dare
Say. Like a stream, I've changed .

But you seem stuck in a stone epitaph.
Grey and still like an old photograph.

-Wren

Fear

Fear is good.
It helps to keep us from death's embrace.
We don't put our hands in fireplace
For the fear of third degree burn.

But ignorance is not.
It makes us blind to sheer cliffs in front.
Deaf to the bomb blasts and gunshot.
Tongueless to deadly amanitas.

Ignorance breeds irrational fears
Makes us scared of things we shouldn't be.
More scared to sharks than sting of bee
More so of ghosts than human beings.

Learn more.
You'll fear more.
But you'll learn to fear correctly
And not based on prejudices and irrationality.
Blindfolding ourselves completely with blackness
To ignore ahead the ravenous tiger huntress
Unblind the mute eyes and rapidly learn
To fear and fight. This is courage earned.

-Wren

Damascan Cry

You don't even know me
Hiding betwixt the buildings
Can't even see me
Sneaking tween the dwellings.
Yet you shoot me
Scoping me down from ceilings.
Stoneface. No mercy.
Slice head off a flea.

All I wanted was a voice for me
To talk freely and freely sing.
I hoped you'd spare an ear for me
For human equality on everything.
I just wanted for us to be the country.
Not we as slaves; not you as god-king.
You shot me, killed me, and not to be.
Put 'round my neck a red hemp ring,
Left me dangling by a taut string.

I see my brother shot crimson in brain
And my friend, corpse marionette,
By the throat, his eyes blank, my eyes rain.
So I raise my gun and casket
Ready to fight 'gainst this systeme insane
Your deaf ear to our cries, you'll regret.
For the freedom, stench of iron will rain
For me, my friends, my sons: With pain, comes gain.

Homecoming

A dwelling is not a home,
A mansion is not a home,
It's a place where your heart
Keeps its two chambers filled
With memories and memories
To be made, with your friends
And people you call family.
I'll be back in my second part
Of my four part-life series.
So as the September rain falls
Back home as the autumn calls.

-Wren

Also here's a picture of a badass cowboy on a tiger holding a child:

The Desert

The Desert

A desolate vision of shrublands 

Filled with dry stones and sands

Interspersed with tumbleweeds

In the arid landscape bland.

A man would want cold mead

I'd want ice filled brew indeed

Even the rattler seeks a rock

To hide from the sore sado-sun,

Whose vicious heat rays mock

And kill water down like a gun.

Dry gas exhausts man insane.

As he dreams of western rain.

-Wren

Another random speedsketch - Wren

Double Decades

Double Decades

Two decades already I lived.

Don't feel too different.

Still too much of childly mind.

And too much of a cynic heart.

Guess I haven't learnt my part.

I hope to live a full century.

And I've already lived its fifth.

No Olympic gold medals for me 

Or a doctoral degree.

Guess I haven't done my part.

Take my next twenty years

And do something new with it

Learn hard, live hard, play hard.

More sweat, more blood, more tears.

I'll see myself again. 

Two decades later.

From now.

Goodbye.

-Wren

Random line-sketches by Wren

Butterflies

Butterflies

When I talk to you
My neurons fire slow
Butterflies from my gut
Travel upstream
Through my brain stem
Following a path like so.
They flutter in my Thalamus
Hitting many switches
Causing my palms to sweat
While pores open to kisses
Then they travel to the front
And nestle in the pre-frontal cortex
I bat my lashes, but they wouldn’t leave
Instead they secrete a poison
A love juice to paralyze me
So that I couldn’t see
Blind and giddy, I’ve fallen in love
Intoxicated without choice
But with the distinction
Of butterflies, not doves.

-Rani

Break the Ice

Break the Ice

I know the solution
The solution to our hesitation
To our awkwardness
To the wall we’ve built
The wall of stones,
Bricks,
Silver,
And Titanium.
Of Carbon in graphite
And awkward roses and thorns.
I know we built this wall to protect
Protect the shame
And evade rejection
But a wall built so strong
Cannot be brought down
With ease
The colloquial --
Please forgive me
The wall still remains
As you are my first,
And I, you.
But don’t fret my love
Because I have a solution.
The wall can only be defeated with Touch
Only then will the ice be broken

-Rani

Bitter Leaves

Bitter Leaves

Somewhere, 
Sometime during my childhood,
A bitter seed 
Had been planted inside of me.
Now,
I’ve grown
And my leaves are stained 
With black
Patches 
That have crusted my beauty.

-Rani

One Question

One Question 

Because some things are inevitable,
Because the mode of life is unfair
Because equilibrium does not comply with the human heart
Because empathy is not a force that fills empty space
Because Destiny made it so
Because the textbook told me I should feel this way
Because my mother does not see that it pains me
Because my brother is better deserving
Because he was the first born
Because he is better bred
Because he is more extraordinary than I
Because it seems like I don’t need it
But it pains me every time I think about it.
I will get my mother’s love
But only the conditional, not un-

-Rani

Summer

Sit upon the blanket of unmowed grass
Watch the formless clouds float by
And the occasional brunette lass
Jog by while you gaze on a seagull fly;

Smell the briny scent of the waves crash
A fresh breeze from the westward sky
That make a leaf dance from a nearby ash
Breath in deep, out comes a sated sigh;

Not too cold, the sun keeps company
Like a warm, avuncular, distant campfire;
Not too hot, the wind is in symphony
A day without aches and without tire

As Red bids goodbye to day and light.
Stars flicker greetings in summer night.
Filling my mind with vast heavenly sight.
Calm and beautious. Warm summer's night.

-Wren

Hand in Hand by Wren

Neutral

Sensation of nothing being there.
Nothing being here or there.
Just a clear day. No sun. No rain.
No fame or infamy. I'm just fair
And sure I'm here. I'm not insane
But I'm not sure if I'm sane
Either. Just bland color of grey.
Not white not black. Not blue
Either. Just bland color of grey.
Impartial being. A judge. Imbue
With the power to be without hue.
Still here. In safe color of grey.
Not hurt. Not joyous. Just grey.

-Wren

My Requiem

People say, the purple nightingale
Caught in thorny brambles, bleeding,
From the chords, it breathes an exhale
Of beautious melody as it's bleeding.
Ha. So you only lived once? I did more.
I killed off past mes. Lying in view
Somewhere deep down the blacken'd shore.
Lived, I. Spell it backwards. I'll show you.

I've lived through these thorny trees
Sung my final song with all the pains
And agonies that makes I, myself, me.
So I look up in the skys and rains
Greet me and fog up these glasses
I don't know if it's tears or water
That drip slowly off me, molasses.
Maybe after the downpour. Later.

So hear, hear. Here's my blood requiem.
To myself, a past, that is no longer here.
Get off my mind. Dose of good opium.
Here's my goodbye filled fears and sincere
Hopes for a better me. Not resuscitated
But an entity reformed of the insane.
Riddle into Voldemort. Spirit rended.
But third is the charm, alive again.

So I look up into the grey sky today.
The sun sneaks out. My hopeful ray.

-Wren

Inversion - by Wren

Schrodinger's Cat

Curious physicist found a magic cat
Locked in a box for years where it sat.
Is it dead or alive? He thought alone.
Too afraid to open for he had known
Schrodinger's cat might die when box disclosed.
Fear of death of cat, he kept it closed.
But he yearned and yearned to take the cat out;
He wanted the companionship the cat brought.

One day, he braced his timid heart and mind,
To open, to whether a live cat he'd find.
He set a time, planned it all. Butterflies
Danced in his gut, while his throat filled with sighs.
Day before he went to open the box,
He was shocked. Box was shattered. A fox
Held the kitten in his jaws by the neck
Alive. Cat was. He reached out for a peck
On the cat. But the fox trotted away
With his prize feline in a swing-sway.

Why did he fail to save the cat before the fox's move?
Why do people act the same with their unrequited love?

-Wren

Anthem of Discordia by Wren

Glass Lilies

Upon a foreign land of Kathmandu
Above festering streets and crowds,
Found an unknown gate to Xanadu
Red and greenness of morphing clouds.
As a sarangi master squeaked out tunes,
I enter'd through thousand eyed-walls
Below the archangel's gate du lunes.
To drop into a crimson-milk falls
Titanium ostriches cackled above
Earthy elephants and floral fiends.
Kosher salt rained down with love
As giant silicon ravens intervened.

Seven towers sprouted downward
Splicing the buttery concrete beneath
Revealing skin-boned Yeats the bard
Dancing barefeet with yuletide wreathes
Atop his head, with neon monocles
Singing metal-dubstep of jazzy blues.
Earthen crack spewed fire and oracles
In forms of Kevlar wingless cuckoos.
Machines acidified into quicksilver.
As the towers moved, the sun flashed
Into congealing rays of purple fever
As the bard kept jigging unabashed.

Down the towers into the great depths
I saw a field of Venetian masks
With thousand expressions in depths
Of these grotesque Venetian masks.
As they cried, laughed, and sneered
I ran as they gave chase like hornets.
Next I saw a forest of clones mirrored
Of myself mimic'd. Game and sets
And matched. So I keep running
And running and again running
Into something that is so stunning
With beauty that is so stunning.

A resplendent grove of crystal glass lilies.
That hum foreign cherubic songs
I want to pick one for you.
So I reach to pick one for you.
A deafening shatter and crack.
The world vanishes deep black.
Mere one glass lily remains.
I reach, but it slashes me crosswise
And as my hands filled with shards
Hold the crystal flower in my grip.
The Sandman releases his grip.


-Wren

CD

The relics of old times like cassettes, I see you disappearing into the shadows of the DVDs and Blue Rays. Some laptops don't even have CD drives nowadays, just a couple of USB ports to connect a CD drive player. iPads don't even have that. I remember you in the old days. Let me reminisce the old days. Even though I'm only 19 years old, and old days isn't really that old.

You installed my first video game, Starcraft. I played it off the CD drive making that familar whirl-whirl. I didn't know what CD crack was, and if I lost the CD, I was screwed. Literally dependent on playing off you. Like playing music off a vinyl. Without the vinyl, the record player is worth less than a lampstand. Thank you for all your playtimes with me 'til you were scratched and bruised.

You held my movies and musics. No grooveshark or internet to stream them music. No piratebay to hunt down the movies. (Even though I never used the website to get them movies.) I remember then again, I watched it off a DVD most likely. However, you guys are like siblings. And your younger brother deserves some credits too. Both are on the way of disappearing slowly.

Like your father floppy disk and your uncle cassettes, you too are in your middle age years, CD. You still work, but your yuppie brother DVD and son, Blue-ray, are taking over the family business. As well as those kids from your high school everyone ignored, the internet and USB are encroaching on your family business. Things aren't so golden now, but I still know you.

Maybe I'll talk about you when I'm old. Really old. Old enough to tell my grandkids that back in my days, we had round donut shaped disks. Only could hold five hundred megabytes, which would probably be not enough to hold a single item design in diablo 7. Still I won't forget. Like a curmudgeonly old stereotype thinking of the good days. Maybe I'll play my music CD I got for last Christmas. Although it is Katy Perry.

-Wren

Coinflip

Fifty-Fifty, fairness divine.
Toonie-Loonie, debates resign
Of who starts first after the toss
In a game to find win or loss.

The deciding judgement hast been cast
Into clear air, roundest silver
It goes up slow, and comes down fast
Justest outcome coin delivers.

Sometimes just go toss heads or tail
Then just do it, success or fail.

-Wren

Tree

Up, up and up. Towards the sun.
Through decades of time and seasons.
Leafs sprout, grow, drop and again they grow.
Like springtime greens and autumn grain.
Barks and branches move to and fro
In winter wind or summer rain.

Up, up and up. I see it go.
It's unstoppable. No, no, no.


-Wren

Red and Blue

If a man from matrix gave you two choice:
One you know and love, filled with reality
Or born into reborn into a world you don't;
Everything goes your way there. Get the money,
The women (or men), the things you want,
And whatever you desire. You don't worry
About god or wars or cruelty or poverty
Because everyone's satisfied and at peace.
Your thought controls the world to be
The way it must operate and your wish
Is the driving force of this other world.

Which would you live in? The former or latter?
For me, with no doubt be the former.
The latter is an imaginative hell on earth.
A man can't feel joy unless he has learned of pain.
No satisfaction of food comes without hunger.
A sense of achievement is robbed without work.
Success feels nowhere good if you have never failed.
It'd be like watching your favourite team win
But already knowing the future they'd win.
Everything would go the way you imagine it,
But won't that be the ultimate boredom?
You'd feel smug and brag to your friends,
But you already know how they'll respond.

Your lover will just do what you imagine there:
Ever predictable, not outside of what you want,
Only feels pain or jealousy when you dictate it,
Monotony rules supreme. Insanity soon follows.
What good for is peace, the abstract intangible,
Without knowing the atrocities of warfare?
What good for is crimelessness, if everything
Is already given to you for free and limitless
If a thief stole your Ferrarri, you'd hate him,
Only because you worked blood and tears for it.
If you can get another one instantly, why hate?
Ultimate monotony, everything's cookie cutter.
In the end, you'd imagine for the other world.
But that's the only thing you won't get back.

I toil, strive, and work. In the world of reality,
I sometimes win, but usually lose out more.
When I gamble, I don't beat the house odds.
Hunger I can feel and poverty I've seen,
Aftermath of war and crimes on the news,
Pain of rejections and loves that never fruited,
All makes my success worthwhile and joyful.
Those random windfall make for surprise,
A bite after a full week's fast is heavenly
Peace is loved after seeing instability and pain,
Appreciate little conveniences in life to full.
This is the world I know and love. A villain.
When you beat it, you just gotta love it.


-Wren

Pathways

I've met my old friends again recently at a noon-lunch
After much cheery reception and sating the munch,
We talked where we were, what we're doing nowadays
One's a disciple of mechanical engineering that pays
Another one guides foreign learners to the university
Campus, he learns physiology to fullest capacity.
A third works in a biology lab sequencing DNA
Searching the marks of ancestors of green algae.
The fourth moved from the Burnaby mountains
To UBC, studying summer econ by the fountains.
How diverse we split. It's been only a couple years.
I wonder next two decades. We'll have changed.
Future us would laugh at current us over a couple beers.
Laugh at our joys, pains, burdens that we managed.

I look forward to that day.
But I also still love today.

-Wren

Looking at the Black Ceiling

The lightbulbs phase out black;
A vortex of void and dark;
I close my eyes. I see nothing.
I open them. Still see nothing.
Blind as a blood-smelt shark.

No heaven-starred night above.
No wolf-yearned orange moon.
A sense of unseen tranquility
And the scent of silence soon
Overwhelms me into serenity.

Follow the ever-forgotten Morpheus
Into deep down the hare burrow.

Wren

Photopoetry #1: Blossom

Okay. I think I'll start doing series of poetry based on random photos I find. Here's the first one.
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Blossom

Auburn autumn's harvest seems a decade afar
Sultry winter's death is a bygone memory
Even the mild-glow sun of spring can't par

Beautious blooms in my garden sanctuary.

Endless sky owned by the solitude sun
Raining down raisin rays of riveting heat
Over sweet scents of chromatic blossoms
Where synesthesia of vision and smell meet.

In harmony the honey-pollen and summer

Dance in devilish elegance in devious temptation

In melody the honeybee, their tune-hummer
Nature's symphony unmatched by any sensation.

Magic and music is in the air this glorious season.
'Tis a horrendous sin that is worse than treason

To unenjoy the temporal art beyond any reason.

I breathe in the summer: the glorious season.

Petal
By Denise L

Moment's Momentum

Life in motion be smooth as lotion.
Slippery and soft; high and aloft.
Let my dreamful moment's notion
Not just an illusion, but a potion
Opening gate to goals not scoffed.

Shadow of yesterday in the city
Cluttered crank and, crumbling dank
Mistakes and flaws, half-outlaws.
All left behind like false idol-deity.
Like Titanic sank. Rolled over by tank.
Lessons learnt. Took only guffaws.

Light of tomorrow in the bright sun
A journey path not yet walked upon
Travel planned but unperfectly done
Make my detours as I make my run
As I walk, ride, and fly in joy and fun
Miles of smiles to be walked upon.

So I live tonight, the today, now.
Won't die, throw the die, or sigh.
Live regretless with pow and wow.
Know that in this memento of present
Is a gift of momentum, godsent.
Live moments that you won't deny.

Wren

Over and Under

Too little is a venom cured instantly by giving
Too much is a poison healed only by slow removal

Rare steak can be simply cooked a bit more
Burnt steak is hard to salvage for the mouth.

Hunger is solved through simply eating more food.
Obesity is mended through tiring exercise and diet.

Not enough meds for that headache? Take more pills.
Quadruple overdose means dialing 911.

If the sea levels are under, we get more real estate.
If higher, say goodbye to friends in Japan and LA.


The poor can be satiated with little gratuity.
Problems of the rich need more than money.

Wren

Watch

Palpitating right down to left up
Marking the unnoticed ghost
Of time. Faithfully and steady.
Reminds us of our appointments
Promises and meetings kept.
And those perhaps forgotten.
Ticking and tocking, a silent
Invigilator of flow of life.
From new to firm to wrinkly.
I salute thee my wristwatch.
Forever loyal to thy duties
Until time or battery stops.

Wren

Six

One
Two
Two
3 3 3
Four Four Four Four
FFFFF
IIIII
VVVVV
EEEEE
Six                            Six                   Six                         Six
Six
Six

Wren

A Tale of a Petit Prince

The sun arched overhead, warm and humid.
Sparrows danced freely in the summer wind.
Majestic marble'd castle stood vigilante
In midst of floral field of bees and birds.
The mansion housed a small prince
And his equally petit, beau princess.
Like two books shelved side by side;
Like a graphite pencil and an eraser;
Like a silver fork beside a silver spoon;
They were a small couple with big joys.
Living a life by enjoying the little things.

But, one day on a dark overcast night,
The moon muffled and stars covered,
A being shadier than the shadow itself,
Slipped in and stole the princess away
From the majestic marble'd castle.
The petit prince ran and ran for her.
But the shadows retreated too fast,
A mile after, the prince out of breath
And gone was his life's reason to breathe.
The clouds vanished and desolate boy
Was alone, accompanied just by th' moon.

Next morn, he was no longer mourning.
His tears was vanished, but not his will
To recover his best friend and lover.
With a saber in hand, and map in other,
He ventured out into the wilderness,
Leaving the majestic marble'd castle.
Through the bogs and marshes,
Over lava field and under bridges,
Crossing rivers, fjords, and lakes,
The petit prince made it to the dark
World where his beloved was kept.

From tiny gremlins to fat ogres,
From idiot imps to wise witches,
From solid zombies to unreal ghosts,
He defeated everything against him
From achieving his belov'd princess
Finally, the shady princessnapper
Appeared and laughed and laughed,
"You are only a small boy, no talent;
Go back to your home, this instant."
The petit one did not reply however,
Only raised his equally petit blade.

Clang and clang resounded in the hall
Of grimy and rotting skeletons.
Shadow slowly pushed the prince
Into corner with his seven-feet foil.
Petit prince did not panic or despair,
He slipped between the big legs
And slid his tiny dagger-blade in
The Shadow's gap in bone armor,
And with a swan-ripping scream
He vanished. Banished from earth.
The princess recovered. Loving hug.
Back to their home they went.
To the majestic marble'd castle.
And lived happily together as one.

The moral of this poem is,
No matter how big the challenge is,
Regardless of how weak you seem,
Even though the fight is unfair,
And the trials seem way too hard,
Persevere and fight for your love.
Whether it be your romantic love,
Whether it be dreams and goals,
Whether it be becoming the best,
Jump through the fires and battle
The seemingly indestructable foes.
Like the petit prince of this tale,
Nothing would have been gained,
If you did nothing about your love.

Wren

Petit Prince by Shirley Bi

Huge thanks to Shirley for this awesome drawing.

Drive

You are on the highway,

Pavement to the tires, 

Accelerator pressed down,

Going with the traffic flow

Behind that car, keeping 

Distance. Follow the cars

In front and drive.

Fast, but not really.

Better than average.

Realize what you are.

You are a racecar.

From front to back 

And back to front.

This is quite clear.

From side to side

Left to the right.
What are you doing

On this measly path?

Going seventy within

The sixty MPH zone.

This isn't your road.

Going with the flow.

You can go faster.

Break the limits

Set only by yourself

By watching the other

Chevys and Toyotas.

Get that speed needle 

To the red zone

Where you've not been.

On that racetrack,

Unleash your life

You may crash,

But you can't win

Unless you speed.

So drive onward.

Drive your life.

Wren

Next poem:

Previous poem: Better

Better

Lost a big opportunity,
That train to wonderland
A chance for something
Broke my heart inside
An aorta lacerated
That day dazed by, that day.
Looked into the mirror,
Shattered it down
Fragments of my flaws.
My glassed-red fist
Is my reminder to be
To be a someone.
Someone better.

I know I'm good.
At least I hope so.
I know I'm me.
I know what I can be.
Looked again into
The boy in the mirror.
"Time to grow up boy.
Time to man up
Time to realize your dream"
I know this is silly.
I also know it's not.
I know I can be better.
I know I'm better than this.
I know I'll be a someone.
Someone better.

Started a new path,
Cut down the hedges
Make my own path.
A race against myself.
The old me in a fisticuff
Versus the new one.
I won't take this easy.
If life's going to punch me
In the face, I'll kick back.
Mind over simplicity
Strength over comfort
Charm over just as now.
A step every day,
On this a new path I carve
With a machete of will,
I definitely will get there
To finally become someone.
Someone better.

When I am better,
I won't miss the opportunity
Once again. Run and catch
That train called you.
I'm sorry. I apologize.
I am still not there yet;
I'll understand if you'll go.
I won't make you wait.
But know my words are true.
I can. I shall. I will become.
Someone that you can admire.
Someone that you can respect.
Someone that you can love.
And when the next train comes.
I'll be on board first class.
Or die trying catching it.
"Man is born to surpass himself."
Time to wake the fuck up boy,
From your slumber in the mirror.
And grow up into a man.
And become that someone.
For her.
Someone better.

Wren

Next Poem: Drive
Last Poem: The Jump

Landscape in 7B - Warren Koo

The Jump

The verdant valley hugs the river down.
No glasses. I see blurs of torquoise-brown.
Humid mists taste of an unknown fish-paste.
Almost like licking a goldfish in haste.

I'm on the bridge near Nepal and Tibet.
Over five hundred feet up from being wet
By plunging into the mud stream below.
I forget why I signed up. I don't know.

A thick rope attached to my heel and vest.
The jump is my long-awaited final test.
I look down. Shouldn't have done that. I swallow.
Make peace with God, then jump. Geronimo.

Blurry jungle slips into warp drive
Vision becomes a van Gogh work
Like a fuelless falling Boeing
Sound of a jet stream in ear
Taste so refreshing.
Goosebumps.

Then I stop.
A few feet away
From the waters
I begin my ascent.
Then again my fall.
Up then down.
Down then up.
Then I stop.

Still blind as a tree without my glasses.
My mind works like winter molasses.
Only one thought somehow processes:

The Jump was amazing.


-Wren

Next poem: Better
Last poem: Lemon Ginger Tea

Sorry guys, didn't have enough time for a HQ picture. So enjoy this Gentle Turtle via  MSpaint.

Lemon Ginger Tea

Usually I am a man of black coffee.
I pay my daily two-o-two fee
For dark roast standard at blenz.
But one day, I put on a new lens
And chose a cup of lemon ginger tea
To please my cold-struck throat's plea.

Tinge of citrus, like peeling tangerines
Warm as mittens on snowfield serene
Poke of ginger like an elusive fae
Yellow as Vancouver sun-shown day.
Still my soul yearns the black brew in me
I like you but... You're not my cup of tea.

Wren


Next poem: The Jump
Last poem: Odd Blessing


Here's a random picture of a fish that took me three hours to draw:

Insanity Incarnate by Warren Koo

Odd Blessing

An odd blessing it is
To have too much to eat
Only to be preoccupied by MT
Or finals or term assignments
That break your sleep and hearts.
Or when that printer is empty
Of ink or the morning bus
Packaged with smelly strangers.
Or the HST adding ten cents
To the daily ritual of Lattes.
Having enough rights entitled
To care even of scruffy bitches
And lab rats used for science.
An odd blessing indeed.
Our great problems seem like
Royal grimace and disdain over
The carpet colour and texture.
An insult to the poor and ill
Like shouting to them to be entitled
To cake when they hath no bread.
Really, are we without will?

-Wren


Next poem:Lemon Ginger Tea
Last poem: Coffee


Note: Here's a lazy kitty.

Coffee

Bitter but familiar,
A friendly flavour you are.
Plain black, my daily bread
Extra creme and sug when i'm sad
Double dose to ward off doze;
Mocha on days just to pose,
Iced for Vancouver's hot day
Never decaf. Coffee's dismay.
You make my mind anew
For a toll of two bucks and two.


-Wren


Next poem: Odd Blessing
Last poem: Death of the Butterfly

Death of the Butterfly

Butterflies bright in the stomach dancing
Eloquently their mating wing-hues splendid.
Suddenly all dead. Face-up and leaving
Only these bee stings in my heart's beating
Hope ground-up amorphous and teardrops dried
No is a wound healed only by time's sieve.

That negatory was a serrated blade indeed
Not designed to kill, but to cause searing pain.
Feigned smile outside; while the inside bleed.
Cloudless sky outside, while the mind sips rain.
Even with seven billion souls glitter under sun.
All forgotten, made hopeless, just by one.

Wren

Next poem:Coffee
Last poem: Vacance Dream

Note: One of the poems I wrote earlier in February-ish, but never had time to upload. 

Vacance Dreams

A day gone, a day gone, a day wasted.

Something shall be done, hope lasted

For a few hours at least. Maybe I'll be 

The next Chris Angel, and see

To it that I learn the trickiest illusions:

Cut myself in halves and quarts

To freak strangers' minds to parts.  

Or I'll be a Picasso drawing visions

Into frescoes surviving world wars

That'd survive nukes and burning tars.

Cubes and boxes, shattered faces,

Smashed in with artistic maces.

Perhaps, ingenuity in computer arts

A next Jobs, billions off iDarts

Throwing them like enraged birds

At the consumerism pig herds.

A master chef? Do the Ramsey

And fire words spicier than kimchi,

While skillet sears up fragrant entrees

For modern kings in clubs du cabarets.

Starcraft bonjwa could be one too.

Be the next MKP or Polt, all-in you

Every game. So gosu that Huskies

Casts my MLG final victories.

God of martial arts, so fearsome fast.

Snap onto the bullet after the gunblast.

Jet Li fingers. Literal sonic speed fist.

Break your nose with a snap-wrist.

A dream on the summer. Time is free.

Time to finally become I dream to be.

Wren

Next Poem: Death of the Butterfly
Last Poem: Neon Rose

Neon Rose

Few days ago, I've found a new rose in the garden,

A mystical, glorious, shining, beautiful rose.

In the day, glowing like the lost flower of the Eden,

I sat and admired; I watched and cleansed my sorrows. 

The bright day swapped his shift with the soft night.

I stood to walk away from the garden.

Then I felt a glow aback, soft-lit light

Of the Neon Rose, chroma so ardent.

In a bed filled with flowers, one glittered

For me: A colored light for the blind dog,

I could only see her, neon that glittered.

Joy I felt like a lighthouse in the fog.

A light in the midst of shadows in dark,

A bright bleach stain on the fabrics of dark.

I'll save you from collectors and wild beasts.

You can be my priestess, and I your priest.

Wren

Next poem: Vacance Dreams
Last poem: Lover of Knowing

Lover of Knowing

I see, I observe, and I know.
I do, I think, and I move.
You're like a summer snow,
In my life in the midst of unkow,
I'd like to learn you, in love
To experiment what we sow
Can be beautiful like a doe
Pure and genteel, a dove.

Amidst the bright field of clover
Where I met you first and once.
Unknown, the Pandora's ounce
I'd like to open, and uncover
Who you are. Are you my lover?
Like couplet bunnies, shall we bounce?
Crouch on the lawn, and pounce.
Drunk in bliss, never sober.

Who are you? I'd like to know.
I'm a lover of knowledge.
Let me find your soul, let it show.
You are the lover of knowledge.

Wren


Next poem: Neon Rose
Last poem: Hiatus


Note: I'm back :)

Hiatus

I will be going on a break for a week or so
Just to get my exams prepped ready to go.
I will miss thee all, who read my poetry
But this will be better for all, you'll see.
Thank you all, I'll see you in a fortnight
With new insight with a vision of light.
Ace the tests I shalt try with utmost might.
I promise you, I'll be back alright.

Wren

Beyond Imagination

Imagine a man indebted
With millions in gambling red
And houseless and broken.
Someone comes to burden
All his IOUs for him.
For no rhyme or reason.

Imagine a family shattered
And scarred of abuse
In alcohol and violence.
Someone comes to burden
All the pains into untruths.
To restore unity and harmony.

Now imagine a world sinned
In blood, warfare, and betrayal
Turned away from light and lost.
The Son of Creator comes to die
To save those he created.

Grace incomprehensible and so deep
Bless the Shepard who died for his sheep.

Wren

Within the Tomb

Cold shale besieges the corpse laid
Clad and Clammy wrapped in cloth.
There is no comfort among the dead.
No breath. No light. Not even a moth.

Something stirred. A warmth unfelt
A brightness unseen in the catacombs.
Great quake. Mighty angels knelt
Down to the One who broke the tombs.

-Wren

Cross upon a Hill

A cross upon a hill
Still stands today
Reminder to all
Of saving grace.

A soldier is respected
In death in line of duty.
A firefighter is revered
In death in line of duty.
A paramedic is recognized
In death in line of duty.

Let the Son be remembered
In death above and beyond
The duty called upon him
For He loved the world so much.

The cross upon that hill.
Let us remember the gift.

-Wren

One Ending

And they all lived
Happily ever after.
The end.
A blank page follows.

My finger flips over the barren paper.
An accomplishment do I feel?
A feeling of completion?
No. Not just yet.

Time to pick up the next one.
Let the new story begin.

Wren

Standoff

Waiting
Our generation
One bullet
In the chamber
Left.

Hand at the ready
Calm and steady
Eye to the eye
One shot one
kill.

Lets settle this.
At high noon.
My pen to your exam.
This is the end.
Die.

Wren

Forecast

I see a storm of glory
Raining down on the seas
The whole earth shakes
The whole waves breaks.

A far into the horizon
Voicing thunders of rage
The lightnings crackle
The black clouds cackle.

On a dingy I brace
For the upcoming storm.

I see a funnel of grey
Bringing up the ground
The whole sky shakes
The whole earth breaks.

A far into the highway
Screeching in a state of spin
The whirlwind screams
The tornado supremes.

In a Toyota I brace
For the upcoming storm.

I see an endless white
Freezing flat everything
The whole ground aches
The whole earth glace.

Approaching in a wave
Roaring snows of titans
The temperature plops
The blizzard drops.

In a tiny cabin I brace
For the upcoming storm.

Wren

Flu

Flu

Enervating.
Cold.
Hot.
Cold again.
Sore.
Draining.
Like falling into a quicksand in the desert night.
Dizzy as though a scorpion stung you in the throat.
Devoiced.
Losing my train of thought as though the bridge is gone
And the break is broken, going down.
Down.

Wren

BESTEST POEM EVER.

I think today, I have decided to share with you my best poem so far.

So scroll down, I will give you a masterpiece of a poem fitting this day :





















An invisible ninja writes
Pristinely between the lines
Rightly so to keep his mights
In check, in confines.
Lost if you are if you can't find.


Freshly white texts camouflage
Oh how devious you so are!
Oh indeed how devious you art!
Looking for a ninja text image.
Sorry if you didn't find this. You've been troll'd.

Wren

Inspirational Plagiarism

Imagine. Your world. Delivered.  Ideas for life.

Now that’s progressive. Thousands of possibilities. Get yours.

That was easy. Do more. Impossible is nothing.

Sense and Simplicity. Once you pop, you can’t stop.

Have it your way. Because I’m worth it. I’m loving it.

Connecting people. Born to play. Imagination at work.

Taking you forward. Zoom Zoom. He keeps going and going and going.

Have a break. Just do it. Taste the rainbow.

Life’s good. Finger lickin’ good. So good.

-Wren

Note: I challenge you to identify all the companies/brands of slogans used in this poem :)

Hooded Boy

Hooded Boy

He's being followed in the shadows
He's certain. He's uncertain why.
His girlfriend tells him to run,
His steps become slightly faster,
Neither a sprint nor jog.
A man after all, he doesn't fear
The shadows in a free country.
Unarmed and unsuspicious,
He walks on the sidewalk.
In his pocket a Skittles bag,
No guns, no drugs, no knives.

He was just walking home.
He only returned in a body bag
With a bullet to the back.
White shooter to a victim, black.

How do you even make sense
Of a vigilante, self-appointed.
Going hunting on a neighbourhood
Armed against unarmed people,
With some sort of deluded
Divine license to shoot and kill?
Given the story vice versa,
A black man shooting a white,
For "self-defense" unprovoked,
Would make no headlines, but
Certainly some prison lines.
How is it that there is not even,
Not even an arrest and charges?


He was just walking home.
He only returned in a body bag
With a bullet to the back.
Justice for Trayvon is in lack.

Wren

Life of a Penny

Life of a Penny

On the ground.
Hidden behind the couch.
Never looked on.
Given but never loved.
Hundred together matches one loon.
Ten thousand equals one paper.

Tossed at the homeless.
An afterthought.
Worth less than itself.
Queen on my face,
A leaf on the back,
Still on the sidewalk.
Waiting to be picked up.

-Wren

Tribolium confusum

Tribolium confusum

On my back, head to sky
Limbs flounder to grasp the cloud
A drowning man, reaching for root or rye
Silent as a flea, I was loud
In my head, covered in powdery shroud.

I am the confused one. Tribolium
confusum. Named for slapstick comedy
Value. When I flip, I don't get up.
Trip on flat ground, a daily tragedy
Life of a Bohemian rhapsody.

Now amongst trials and tribulations,
I trip again. Some six score troll
Plays a game like God on nations
In the Middle. I am not in control
group, in tests of heat and acid, I roll.

Through inferno and caustic baths,
Haunted lectures and daunting exams,
Unjust judges' de-grading wraths,
I will persist. I will be no sham
Immortal from nukes of university exams,
Darwinian survivor, Tribolium confusum.

-Wren

Note: A Tribolium confusum is a flour beetle that is flightless, defenseless, and seemingly clueless. It likes to flip itself on its back a lot, and most of the time, it takes them a long time to get back upright. However, these guys are prolific around the world's grain silo and can survive high radiation. The confused flour beetle is a true inspirational creature, and a silly one to boot. 

Rift

Rift

There always seems to be a time in which everything is cramped; deadlines everywhere; the crunch time to get everything done; the mind overwhelmed with thoughts; like being in an elevator with the max capacity so much that the elevator wobbles uncomfortably when a person sneezes; or like being on a Japanese subway during rush hours; or a PNE line for the rollercoaster that weaves in backandforthandbackandforthandbackandforth.

Take

A

Breather

And


Blink


And


Think.


We'll get through this.
And look back at this.
And see how time passed
So. So. Quick and fast
Like jumping over a rift.

Step.

Step.

Leap.






Drop.

Made the landing.

Wren

Monday Morn

Monday Morn


Every muscle aches
A brain has no clue
What it dream'd 
Seven seconds ago.


Fourth time snoozed pressed
Half open eyelids
Intermittently stare
At a vacant ceiling.


Short black out
Fifth alarm awakes
With a few great sighs
I begin another five days.

Wren

Note: You know what I mean. I hope.