POEM: Inspiration

She’s a lovely but moody lady.

She doesn’t come to me when I call her,

Or when it’s a good time for me to write.

She only comes to me when she pleases.

My book depends on her, literally.

There wouldn’t be a book if it weren’t for her.

So, I learned to listen to her when she wants to speak up.

I learned to make her creating mood work for me.

I treat her with coffee and cookies when she makes an appearance.

We sit together at the table when she visits,

And we start writing.

I absorb every word she says,

And I let her lead the way.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 122.

POEM: International Women's Day

I wish you to be loved.

To be adored.

To be desired.

To be pampered.

To be beautiful.

To be cheerful.

To be fulfilled.

To be happy.

Not only on women’s day but on any day.

Happy International Women’s Day.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 59.

POEM: The Japanese Maple Tree

My neighborhood looks the prettiest in the spring.

When I go for a walk in the park,

I notice the blooming trees along the street.

I take out my phone and photograph the blooms.

There is a Japanese maple tree in front of my neighbor’s house down the street. 

It’s rather unique,

And I am fascinated by this perfect creation of Mother Nature.

I stop in front of the house and take a few pictures of the tree.

My neighbor sees me from her house, and she gets out.

She encourages me to approach the tree and take closer pictures from her driveway.

I gather she is used to the attention that her precious Japanese maple tree is getting,

It’s the only one in our neighborhood.

I thank my neighbor for her kind gesture,

And don’t hesitate to come closer to the tree.

It is indeed special.

I gently touch the delicate red leaves; they feel like velvet.

Legend has it that the Japanese maple tree brings good fortune to the household where it grows.

It can reflect and absorb the happiness and the sadness of the people who live in the house.

When the members of the household are happy,

The red leaves of the tree are full of life and velvety rich.

When the family is struck by sadness,

The tree leaves are crying in pain.

Today, when I notice the tree,

Its leaves are full and velvety rich.

The tree looks happy,

And the family who lives in this house must be happy too.

How can you not be happy when such a marvel of nature brings you joy every single time you look outside the window?

And it brings you so much contentment that you want to share it with your neighbors.

Legend has it that the Japanese maple three brings good fortune to the household where it grows,

And this good fortune goes both ways.

The tree with the velvety red leaves brings joy to the family that takes care of it,

And in return the family lets the tree absorb their happiness,

A nourishing balm for the velvety red leaves.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto (2021), page 154.

Happy Valentine's Day!

My dear friends and readers,

As we celebrate this day dedicated to love and affection, may your heart overflow with joy and warmth. Whether you're spending the day with a significant other, cherished friends, or simply reveling in self-love, may it be filled with moments that make your soul dance and your spirit soar. On this Valentine's Day, let's embrace the beauty of love in all its manifestations and spread its light wherever we go.

On today's Day of Love, I would like to share with you two of my paintings that I did in 2019 (acrylic on canvas), when I just started painting as a new hobby -- Love and Family. Both of these paintings are dedicated to those whom I love the most, my husband and my son.

In the beginning, I was painting very two-dimensional, but I hope to develop my painting techniques to create more complex works in the future, I am self-taught when it comes to painting.

Love, 2019

Family, 2019

The second painting, Family, made a cameo appearance in my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto published in 2021 -- page 35, to accompany the poem I Wish I Were an Artist from page 34.

Art (in its many forms) is also a great gift for friends and family, so I gifted many of my paintings to my friends as well, on different occasions, such as birthdays, Christmas, housewarming gifts.

Happy Valentine's Day to you and yours!

Photo credit: Victoria West

POEM: Christmas

It’s Saturday morning before Christmas.

I’m home with my kin.

All Christmas shopping is already done,

And the gifts are safely hidden until Christmas day.

Time to decorate the Christmas tree.

When I was a little girl,

I loved decorating the Christmas tree with my family.

It was my most beloved family tradition,

And I was looking forward to it every holiday season.

I loved the glittery Christmas balls, the lights, the tinsel.

And of course, the star.

As the youngest member of the family,

I was always the one to put the star on top of the tree, the final touch.

Years later, I have my own family.

Saturday before Christmas is the day to decorate the Christmas tree in my living room.

I kept my old family tradition alive,

And I passed it on to my next generation.

Now my son is the one who puts the star on top of the Christmas tree, year after year.

And I still love the glittery Christmas balls, the lights, the tinsel.

And of course, the star.

Everything is ready for Santa to come.

Merry Christmas to you and your loved ones.

~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto (2021), page 84.

POEM: Everest

The strongest.

The greatest.

The grandest.

The farthest.

The highest.

The coldest.

The wonderful.

The splendid.

The spectacular.

The magnificent.

The powerful.

The unachievable.

The impossible.

The closest to the sky.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto (2021), page 201.

POEM: Toronto Beloved

I love this city more than any other place in the world.

Warm, gentle, embracing, accepting, colorful, poetical, amazing Toronto.

Every single day in this city is a gift.

The gift of a new joy.

The gift of a new hope.

The gift of a new bit of happiness.

You got to love the city of Toronto.

Front Street.

The lake.

The tower.

King Street, and his Queen Street.

The Royal Museum.

The Entertainment District.

Yorkville.

The shops.

The eateries.

You see Toronto, you love Toronto.

Toronto my love.

Toronto beloved.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto (2021), page 202.

POEM: Sunset in Toronto

5 PM.

I go grocery shopping.

I listen to the radio in my car.

The radio host says,

Look out the window to the West.

And I do.

I am mesmerized.

I see the most astonishing sunset in the city of Toronto ever.

It is breathtaking.

The sky is on fire.

I park the car in the parking lot at the supermarket.

I take pictures.

I capture the gorgeous sunset.

When I’m done with the grocery shopping,

I post the picture with the phenomenal sunset on my social media.

The picture is unfiltered.

It shows its raw and genuine beauty.

Then I scroll my social media feed.

Facebook, Instagram, the likes.

The sunset is the topic of the day.

Dozens and dozens of pictures of the fiery sunset in the city of Toronto.

This is a sunset to remember.

Torontonians will remember.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto (2021), page 159.

POEM: The Terrace in Montréal

I missed going out so.

The second summer in a row.

After a gruesome year and a half,

The provinces are finally ready to open their gates to each other again.

English and French speakers can now meet and go out together.

I find myself on a terrace in Downtown Montréal,

Enjoying a mojito cocktail with my Québécois friends.

It’s a perfect day, and the mojito in my cocktail refreshes all my senses.

The other patrons are cheerful,

The staff is friendly.

There is an all-hugging good vibe and a feeling of ethereal happiness in the fair city of Montréal.

Such a simple thing, like a drink on a terrace, used to be an unacknowledged privilege,

And now it’s appreciated like a cherished treasure.

The normal is on the horizon,

Impatiently awaited and soon to be welcomed back.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto (2021), page 186. I wrote this poem in mid-2021, inspired by a trip to Montréal that summer, when things started returning to somewhat normal after the receding pandemic.

POEM: Niagara Falls

I love coming back to Niagara Falls every year.

I have seen the majestic waterfalls each season – spring, summer, autumn, winter.

It’s oven-hot to see it in the summertime and hell-freezing in the wintertime,

But worth seeing it, nonetheless.

Every time I see Niagara Falls,

I discover it in a new light,

And I see it with different eyes.

The ever-present rainbow adorns the falls no matter the season,

Like a loyal friend and companion who never goes away.

I am on the Canadian side,

And I gaze at the American waterfall.

I am on the American side,

And I gaze at the Canadian waterfall.

The place I fell in love with from the very first time I set foot on Niagara Parkway is where the iconic waterfall goes straight down the river, at a ninety degrees angle.

I am so close to the fall,

I can touch it.

Autumn is the best time of the year to come back to Niagara Falls,

When you can take a quiet stroll along the mighty river,

And it’s just you and Niagara, nobody else.

~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 182.

POEM: Living by the Lake

I live by the lake.

One of the Great Lakes.

I wake up every morning with the view of the lake.

I love taking a quiet stroll on the lakeshore.

I love the park, the beach, the marina, and the lighthouse at the lake.

I take the train to Downtown Toronto.

I sit by the window on the left side to gaze at the lake.

I watch the waves, the seagulls, the boats, the fishermen, the surfers on the lake.

I watch the sunrise on the lake.

I am fascinated by the vastness of the lake.

I am infatuated with the beauty of the lake.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 126.

POEM: Paris Je T'aime

Of all the beautiful places in the world,

Isn’t Paris the fairest of them all?

The place where you let your heart sing.

Where you listen to your soul.

Taking your dreams for a walk along La Seine.

Touching the sky from the heights of La Belle Tour.

Smiling to Mona Lisa.

Praying in Notre-Dame.

I don’t want Paris to be my home.

If the most beautiful place in the world were my home,

Then where else could I go to see the most beautiful place in the world?

I would rather live away and keep it close to my heart.

Paris is calling me back to embrace me again and again,

And I am coming back.

City of lights.

City of beauty.

City of love.

Paris enchantant.

Paris charmant.

Paris mon amour.

Paris je t’aime.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 192. I wrote this poem 3 years ago. No matter what happens in the world, I will always love Paris.

POEM: Writer's Block

It’s been weeks, and I haven’t written a single word.

I’m going through my worst writer’s block in a long time.

My heart feels empty when I don’t write.

It’s been a downtime.

I need to escape my writing funk.

Staring at my computer screen won’t do.

Getting out of the house is what works best for my written word.

My inspiration awaits me out in the open.

I go out to experience new things.

To see new places.

To feel new feelings.

To write new words.

I will chase it away and words will come back to me.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 127.

POEM: The Bookstore

There is a bookstore Downtown Toronto on Yonge Street which I dearly love.

It’s my favorite bookstore in the entire city.

I have been its patron for years and years and years.

I have bought half of my books from there.

I love going there every chance I get.

I immerse myself between the shelves and browse through books, my dear friends.

I pillage the fashion, the travel, and the fiction sections.

I talk to store assistants about books and new releases.

They love working there just as much as I love being there.

No wonder they love it there, I would have loved to work in a bookstore as well.

The scent of the books makes me dizzy.

Every time I go to my favorite bookstore, I feel like in heaven.

This is where I want to be.

I could live here.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 156.

POEM: The Teddy Bear

I used to be a boy’s best friend.

I was his birthday gift when he turned five.

He loved me instantly,

And we became friends for what I hoped to be forever.

He called me Teddy.

I was a big Teddy bear,

And I was a big part of the boy’s life,

Both literally and figuratively.

For years, I had been his best friend.

Mom and Dad got him a double bed just so that I could always be close to him,

And he could hug me whenever he wanted a hug.

When he was happy,

I was happy.

When he was sad,

I was there to comfort him.

My soft heart was his cushion.

Year after year I watched him grow.

Going to school.

Learning to bike.

Making friends.

Playing basketball.

And I loved him all the same.

Every time he made a new friend,

I was happy for him.

I was never worried that he would forget about me.

I felt loved and cared about,

And that was all I wanted.

What else could a Teddy bear possibly want?

Then he turned sixteen.

He met a girl,

She was his first kiss.

They started going out.

One by one, the toys started leaving his childhood room.

He wasn’t about toys anymore,

He was all about Star Wars posters and cool gadgets.

I got moved to the guest room along with the other plush toys.

I watched as the toys were given away,

Some to other children,

Some to charity shops.

My best friend was all grown up now.

I was the last one to leave.

It was a time when people didn’t get together,

Afraid of a terrible disease that had taken over the world.

I didn’t make it to another of his friends or their younger siblings,

Nor did I go to a charity shop.

And they couldn’t keep me.

Turns out, I was taking up too much space.

I ended up on the curbside in front of the house where I spent so many years as the boy’s best friend.

And here I am, outside, alone.

Passersby walk down the street,

And I can tell they are surprised to see me on the curbside.

Usually, the curbside is a passage for old furniture and other inert objects,

But have you ever seen a human-size Teddy bear next to fractured chairs and broken tables?

I can only hope that this is not the end for me.

I’m still in good shape and I wish I could find a new home.

I say a prayer.

Please don’t let me rot here.

Please give me a new life.

My friend outgrew me, but maybe there is another child out there who would love to have a Teddy bear as a friend to brighten his days and keep close to his heart at night.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 140.

POEM: Kensington Market

I am in search of inspiration for my next story.

I go to Kensington Market to find it.

Vintage is a hub of all forgotten stories,

And I love uncovering those hidden gems.

Kensington Market is the perfect place to find hidden gems.

I take a stroll along Kensington Avenue.

There are dozens of vintage shops along the street.

I take the time to browse each of them.

I am fascinated by the stories of the past.

Flapper dresses, mink coats, purses, necklaces, bracelets, jewelry boxes, candle holders, chandeliers, old magazines, portraits from other times.

Each of the items from the vintage market tells a story.

I love imagining those stories.

A Fendi bag in one of the vintage shops calls my name.

It may be some decades old, but it’s still in good shape.

I think of the woman who wore it and loved it before me.

Her name was Clara.

She was a fashionista,

And she loved fine things.

Stylish.

A fashion editor for “Vogue” magazine in the nineties.

Exciting fashion stories sprang to life from the glossy pages of the magazine, with her name on them, every month.

Fashion was her life.

She was the toast of the town in the Big Apple.

All men desired her.

All women wanted to be like her.

Her Fendi accompanied her everywhere – to the office, to dinner, to parties.

Then she fell in love.

She moved to Toronto to be with the man she loved.

She brought her Fendi bag with her.

She wore it when she met his parents.

When they went out to dinner Downtown Toronto.

When they went to see movies on Friday nights.

When they went to parties with his group of friends.

When she started her new job as a fashion editor in Toronto.

When she attended fashion shows in Toronto.

When they traveled together.

Once a staple in New York,

The bag was now her staple in Toronto.

She was happy with him for a while.

And then he broke her heart.

She returned to New York.

Part of her life in Toronto followed her back to New York,

Part was left behind.

The painful memories were left behind.

The Fendi bag ended up in Kensington Market.

Years later, it was my turn to wear it and love it.

When I bought it at the vintage shop in Kensington Market,

I found a little handwritten note in its inside pocket.

I will always love you. Clara.

She must have meant to give it to him,

But decided not to, after all, brokenhearted.

Sometimes I think about Clara when I wear the Fendi bag.

I hope her heart healed in New York.

Her love for fashion stayed the same.

I write a story about Kensington Market,

And I dedicate it to Clara.

The Fendi bag has a new life in Toronto, in my wardrobe.

Dinners, movies, parties, fashion shows – it’s where it belongs.

It is now loved again, and it is my staple.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 171.

POEM: The End of Summer

Red leaves on the ground.

Summer leaving,

Seasons changing,

Fall coming.

Sixty days of hot summer in the country of the maple tree,

And now it’s mid-September,

And today is the last day of summer.

My darling, beautiful, adored summer,

Where are you going?

I don’t want you to leave.

I’m not ready to let you go just yet.

I still want to hold your hands,

Hug you tight,

Kiss your peachy cheeks,

Caress your flowing hair.

I still want us to wear floral dresses,

Run with our bare feet on the beach,

Swim in the blue sea.

I want us to watch the moon and the stars

While lying down on the soft sand.

I want us to go with the car windows open

And listen to loud music while on the road.

I want you to sing along with me.

I want you to be my best friend forever.

I beg you to stay.

But summer is leaving.

The mornings are cool,

The sun is not as bright anymore.

Summer whispers in my ear,

Goodbye my dear friend,

We will see each other again soon, really soon.

She lets me kiss her one more time,

Then she breaks our hug.

Temperatures drop.

She sends me an air kiss as she steps back,

And her silhouette recedes and recedes and recedes,

Until she disappears into the morning fog.

Summer is gone.

Sweet summer please don’t leave!

But all I have left is her air kiss on my cheek,

And the autumnal wind playing with my hair.

Fall is here.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 63.

POEM: The Last Phone Call

I called my mother on an early spring day to ask her how she was.

She wasn’t feeling well,

And I didn’t keep her on the phone for too long.

I just wanted to hear her voice,

Then I went about my day.

And she went about hers.

Or so I thought.

In fact, it was her last day.

Hours later,

I got the phone call.

The one that said it had been her last day.

She is in a better place now.

I kept replaying the phone conversation from the morning in my head.

Thank God for that last phone call!!!

I will cherish the memory of that phone conversation forever.

Had I not called my mother that day,

I would have regretted it for the rest of my life.

The feeling of guilt would have never left me.

I got to say the last goodbye.

I will always love you Mom.

The last phone call.

The last words.

The closure.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 92.

POEM: The Bookshelf

My bookshelf is my retreat.

It’s what brings me solace and comfort every day.

I show love to my books every day.

I love spending time with them,

Browsing through them,

Making the next reading list for my nightstand.

I love keeping my bookshelf in pristine and impeccable order.

Each tome holds its orderly place on the shelf,

Following the alphabet,

Just like in a library.

There are two alphabetical rows for my books.

One for the books that I have read and loved,

And one for those that I am yet to read and love.

The books, once read,

Take a supporting seat in the back of the shelf.

And those that are yet to delight me with their stories

Are in the honorary front row,

Until their turn comes to join me in my reading nook.

It may not look like a rainbow,

But it makes the best reading sense to me.

My bookshelf is the reflection of me.

Tell me what books you read,

And I will tell you who you are.

~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 123.

POEM: Black

I am mourning my mother.

I’m wearing black for forty days.

I don’t feel like wearing color even after the funeral is over,

And I have said my last goodbye.

I keep wearing black.

Every morning,

I open my walk-in closet and select my next black dress to wear at work.

Then the next black blouse.

Then the next black shirt.

Then the next black skirt.

Then the next pair of black pants.

Until I have exhausted all my black outfits.

Now I understand why they wear black when someone dear to them has departed.

It’s not a social convention.

It’s not meant to display your pain to the rest of the world.

It simply reflects how you feel when you process your loss.

Once I’m done with the black section of my wardrobe, I switch to grey.

My next grey dress.

Then the next grey blouse.

Then the next grey shirt.

Then the next grey skirt.

Then the next pair of grey pants.

Until I exhausted all my grey outfits.

I am not ready to wear color just yet.

I make a slow transition from black to color by wearing grey.

I give myself time to heal.

Until I am ready to make peace with my loss and wear color again.

~~~~~~~~~~

From my book of poetry Sunset in Toronto, page 95.