Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
i prayed every night:
when morning comes
don’t wake me up.

& i woke up
every morning.

i don’t know
what to believe in anymore.
I. Moonlit Shadows, Whispered Name

Xiǎo bái lóng, a name soft on the ear,
She dances 'neath the moon, banishing all fear.
Petals, like snow, from her fingertips flow,
A gentle breeze stirs, where soft laughter will grow.
Dawn's tender hue, the twilight's fading grace,
Her laughter etched, in time and shadowed space.
A spirit kind, with dragon's heart so bold,
Fierce yet gentle, a story to be told.

II. Plum Blossoms in the Storm's Waking Dream

The world's weight borne, on shoulders blooming bright,
Like plum blossoms, in the storm's fading light.
Resilient strength, in adversity's harsh reign,
Pain turned to art, a beauty born of pain.
Though shadows creep, and darkness fills the air,
She stands unbowed, with courage beyond compare.

III. Lotus Blooms in Rain's Gentle Aftermath

After soft rain, the lotus finds its grace,
Roots in the mud, it turns to light's embrace.
Each petal speaks, of journeys long and deep,
Survival's beauty, secrets it will keep.
Through currents soft, and edges sharp and keen,
Her own true path, a tranquil, vibrant scene.

IV. Spark of Hope, in Time's Woven Thread

A spark she is, in darkness' deepest hold,
A golden thread, in time's grand, ancient fold.
Each heartbeat's rhythm, hope's enduring light,
A gentle glow, dispelling darkest night.
Xiǎo bái lóng, her spirit's radiant fire,
Compassion's rivers, quenching all desire.

V. Starlight Gaze, Dawn's Gentle Teaching

Her laughter's echo, a sweet, lingering sound,
Deep, knowing eyes, where ancient stars are found.
A smile, a bridge, to dawn's warm, golden ray,
Teaching gentle strength, along life's winding way.
Resilience's grace, and beauty's vibrant art,
The exquisite joy, that lives within the heart.

VI. Treasured Moments, Forever Blooming True

In her sweet presence, moments turn to gold,
A treasure found, a story to unfold.
Wrapped in her spirit, forever blooming fair,
Xiǎo bái lóng, a beauty beyond compare.
To my Xiǎo bái lóng.
I gave her this nickname, and like this poem, styled as much like Li Qingzhao as I could.  It probably isn't very good.

Li Qingzhao (1041-1101 AD) was a Chinese poetess known for her delicate, sensual, and emotionally charged poetry –

Xiǎo bái lóng translates to "little white dragon" in Chinese. In Chinese mythology and culture, dragons symbolize power, wisdom, and good fortune.
I’m trying so hard to maintain the flame
But my candle continues to flicker.
I’ve shielded it from the heaviest winds
But the breezes of sameness assail it.
I can’t see my way if it goes out completely
With darkness now poised to swoop in.
ljm
Health problems that cause depression.
February 2024 (Lunar New Year)

Red envelopes, a digital glow.
Her apartment, a small diaspora.
Dragon dances on a screen,
fireworks muted by time zones.
He sends a photo, plum blossoms,
a scroll with a calligraphic wish.
"Xīnnián kuàilè" she types, fingers flying,
a pang of home, a new year’s echo.

March (International Women's Day)

She speaks of her grandmother,
bound feet, unbound spirit.
He listens, a quiet respect,
a history he seeks to understand.
Emails filled with stories,
feminine strength, ancient wisdom.
He sends her a poem, Li Qingzhao,
translated with care, a delicate offering.

April (Qingming Festival/Easter)

Ancestral graves, a digital visit.
He lights incense, virtual smoke,
a gesture of shared remembrance.
Easter eggs, pastel and bright,
a Western symbol, a gentle contrast.
They discuss life, death, rebirth,
the cycles of nature, the soul’s journey.

May (Mother's Day)

He sends a package, silk scarves,
a teacup painted with peonies.
She calls her mother, a long conversation,
then calls him, a voice soft with gratitude.
He speaks of his own mother,
her simple kindness, her enduring love.
They find common ground, mothers remembered,
a bridge built of shared sentiment.

June (Dragon Boat Festival/Father's Day)

Zongzi, sticky rice, sweet dates,
she makes them from a recipe,
a taste of childhood, a memory shared.
He sends a photo, a dragon boat race,
a vibrant spectacle, a shared experience.
Father's Day, a quiet reflection,
his own father, a man of few words,
but deep, enduring actions.

July (Mid-Year/Independence Day)

Summer heat, a digital escape.
He sends photos of his garden,
lush greenery, a peaceful haven.
She sends photos of her city,
concrete canyons, vibrant energy.
Fireworks across the divide,
a shared moment of light, a distant celebration.

August (Qixi Festival)

The Weaver Girl and the Cowherd,
a celestial love story, told and retold.
He sends a handmade card,
a constellation drawn in silver ink.
She writes a short story,
their own tale, a modern myth.
Longing, distance, a love that persists,
a thread connecting two distant stars.

September (Mid-Autumn Festival)

Mooncakes, round and golden,
shared through a screen, a virtual feast.
He sends a recording, a moonlit poem,
a melody of ancient words.
She sends a painting, a rabbit on the moon,
a whimsical image, a shared smile.
The moon, a silent witness,
a shared sphere, a common sky.

October (Double Ninth Festival/Halloween)

Chrysanthemums, symbols of longevity,
he sends a dried bouquet, a lasting gift.
She sends a photo, her costume,
a playful spirit, a moment of lightness.
Halloween, a night of masks and stories,
a shared fascination with the unseen.
They discuss aging, wisdom, the passage of time,
a conversation deep and meaningful.

November (Thanksgiving)

He cooks a traditional meal,
a table set for two, a place for her in spirit.
She makes Shànghǎi làjiàng miàn,
a fusion feast, a celebration of her heritage.
They express gratitude, for each other,
for the unexpected connection, for the love that blooms.
A shared warmth, a quiet contentment,
a thankfulness that transcends distance.

December (Winter Solstice/Christmas)

Dumplings, a winter tradition,
she makes them with friends, a shared warmth.
He lights candles, a quiet ritual,
a celebration of light in the darkness.
Christmas carols, a familiar melody,
a shared appreciation for the season.
He sends a small, carved wooden box,
an intricate design, a symbol of hope.

January 2025 (New Year's Day)

A new year, a fresh start,
a promise of change, a hope for reunion.
They make plans, tentative and exciting,
a journey across oceans, a meeting of hearts.
He sends a poem, a promise of spring,
a vision of shared days, a future unfolding.

February 2025 (Lunar New Year)

Another dragon dances, brighter this time.
She plans a trip, tickets purchased,
a promise of presence, a physical connection.
He prepares his home, a space for her,
a welcoming embrace, a shared future.
Hope, respect, love, a foundation,
a new year, a new beginning, together.

March 2025 (International Women's Day)

They walk, hand in hand,
through a garden bursting with spring.
Stories shared, faces seen,
the distance collapsed, the journey begun.
A new year, a new chapter,
love, finally, tangible and real.

Future 2025

He proposes on the ninth day of the ninth lunar month, a double nine, symbolizing longevity and eternity.  Nine days of introductions to family and friends, a whirlwind of new faces and shared meals, laughter bridging cultures. Nine months of courtship, exploring their adopted city together, discovering hidden corners and shared passions.  A wedding, a blend of East and West, traditions intertwined, vows spoken in two languages.  Nine days of honeymoon, a secluded beach, the ocean a constant rhythm, their love a new melody, echoing into a future filled with promise.
Woke up from a dream, a year in reflection.
A roadmap, a year of sharing, caring, learning..... And I am thinking.....   This is the person I want to spend every day, every month, and every year with.
A tickle on the back of my neck,
the hairs on end,
the grip on my heart,
the butterflies in my stomach,
the knots within;
telling me,
You are the one.

A glimpse in the periphery,
a shadow in the corner,
the warmth of breath,
the scent on the wind;
telling me,
You are near.

Moist lips upon mine,
a lingering taste,
a familiarity,
an intensity in my heart,
the rhythm deafening;
telling me,
I am in love.

The world shifts,
a kaleidoscope of senses,
a sudden clarity.

The ordinary becomes extraordinary,
the mundane, magic.

A silent understanding,
a language spoken without words,
a connection forged in the depths.

The pull of gravity,
a force undeniable,
a surrender to the inevitable.

A dance of souls,
a symphony of emotions,
a tapestry woven with light.

The fear,
the vulnerability,
the exquisite joy.

A fragile bloom,
a delicate unfolding,
a revelation.

The world fades away,
only you remain,
a beacon in the darkness.

A whisper of destiny,
a promise unspoken,
a truth revealed.

The heart recognizes its home,
the soul finds its counterpart,
the journey begins.

A moment suspended in time,
an eternity captured in a glance,
a love discovered.
I think this speaks for itself
In the beginning there you were,
a particle,
like me,
oppositely charged,
making our attraction a foregone conclusion.

Your resonance,
in harmony with my quantum fingerprint,
a symphony of the stars,
pulsing,
vibrating,
in concert with one another.

Two particles entangled,
always aware at a subatomic level
of the other,
even light-years apart.

A connection that spans infinite distance,
breaks the barriers of time and space,
where the wormholes of the cosmos
weave the fabric of dimensional reality.

And all along,
that particle,
your soul,
was always the one that I felt.

Eternal.

A flicker in the void,
a shared frequency,
a silent understanding.

No need for words,
no need for touch,
just the knowing.

A dance of subatomic forces,
a ballet of light and shadow,
a cosmic embrace.

The universe whispers our names,
the galaxies spin our story,
the nebulae paint our portrait.

We are fragments of a whole,
reunited,
reborn.

A constant,
a truth,
an unbroken thread.

Through collapsing stars and nascent worlds,
through the birth of planets and the death of suns,
we remain.

A silent promise,
a cosmic echo,
a love that transcends all.

No beginning,
no end,
just the infinite now.

A particle,
a soul,
forever.

I have a weird theory, rolling in my head, can't explain it.... just a feeling.
So in a cryptic form, within this poem, I present it to you.
Tears from the mystical sky
seeped in through my shoulder—
as I let its fervor tears
dampen my lowly soul;
he said, “hear me out”

The way it moves around
sailing toward to broaden
mysterious mists—the plastic clouds
covering most of the gleam of the sun
and the way he murmurs into my ears—
I can never get out again.

While strange stares pierced through
my core—a menacing way of
forcing unraveling fragile pieces
of my silent port, and there I
let a foreign one
travel his way through—
sailing beneath my springs.

On this day of August's chilly afternoon—
while the tears of the mystical sky
tumbles through my shoulder—dripping
my cold dry bones.
after a week of not writing.
Next page