When a bipedal opt to climb trees of prejudices, chauvinism, and cynicism

instead of walking on the fair grounds of wisdom, compassion, and humility—

Monkeynity exists.

Then “. . . happily ever after” becomes pure myth.

(Copyrights belong to Pixelz.com)

Quick press on home to summon Siri:

“Best of the City,”

From Google to cherished faculties:

Three-hundred-sixty

degrees in Capilano Bridge at six-thirty,

to find the greenest spot for selfie.

It’s quite a challenge for two ordinary

Orientals to take the best selfies:

One so tall and one too tiny—

stick ain’t gonna work really.

Roasted pistachios, cashews, and hickories

to feed the fur flies at Stanley

and him, who is genuinely happy.

When the violin plays as Gondola reaches Grouse summit,

her joy is brighter than all of the lights in the city.

A walk at cobblestoned Gassy

ended at the clock tower

with busses here and there

—and lots of “crazy.”

YouTube/Burt Bacharach/Arthur’s Theme

(Thank you Pexel and WordPress!)

You are most awaited

for the colors,

the warmth,

the light and life

you bring.

Bloodroots bloom

in the East welcoming you

while all can’t wait to end snow blues.

Wetland poppies are copycats of daisies—

Azure butterflies are hovering confused.

Rusty, sticky

saps are hanging,

teasing from maple trees

while aphids and leafhoppers

wait for fallen grace so patiently.

New lambs

jump with gusto

too tiny to think of rodeo.

Big Antartica,

be gayo!

Mountains sing

flourishing in hues of green and pink;

While cascading rainbows of tulips,

hydrangeas, and daffodils

groove and stun in fields.

Nature bids farewell

to snows

and winter chills.

At two-thirty,
very carefully,
quietly,
I lift the dirty-white blanket
to get up in bed.
I glance a few
making sure
not to disturb you.
I walk to your side,
and sit on the floor
enjoying the view:

You,
in this rarest early morning
when your snoring
has gone AWOL.
I grin coz it’s adorable!
Though the clock
is a relentless irk,
I can’t deny joy:
This, seeing you in peace-
I have not seen
you so at rest
for quite long.

Still,
into you still:
Staring,
memorizing,
trying
to embed
in my eyes,
in my head,
in my mind
every fine line,
every defining curve,
every minute mole
in your face.

I admit
having the second,
the third,
the fourth thought
of letting you go.
But we both know
right
owns the last
and final word.

In silent tears,
I move closer a little above your ear,
smelling your hair
for one last time.
Kiss is a luxury
parting hearts can’t afford.
So I close my heavy lids
thinking our lips
are rich–
and they indulge.

The true fortune of a man

are the friends who choose

to be with him

when they can be somewhere

else around.

People pay

the apt and agile

to get things done.

People pay

the brightest and freshest minds

for ideas, perspectives and beyond.

People pay

for the expertise

they lack.

Because,

“people need people.”

Who doesn’t need people?

And friends,

they’re simply people–

the best of them all.

To cut the sentimental,

middle-aged lady’s going

endless musing:

I thank God

for those generous souls

who opt to be my people.

I am humbled

to have you all.

It’s a kindling thing–

One must have done

something good

to earn the title.

And or

one have done

such good

over the course of time

or experience.

Because to have

another set of eyes,

an extra pair of hands and feet,

a reserve of mind, heart,

and soul–

more so, more. . .

It always helps.

So to have–

whether it’s a feel

or just thoughts–

of having one with you

as you ride

the rough waves

and gusty winds

of life,

is a gift

ever from above.

And nothing from above

ever is little.

In doubt?

Ever check the sky.

YouTube/That’s What Friends Are For/Perry Como

YouTube/That’s What Friends Are For/Ladies of Soul

There’d be songs and poems

to sing

while melodies in its invisible wings

carry hearts to wishes

and fondest memories.

There’d be a bowl of popcorn,

and marathon of Stallone’s,

while four feet get romantic,

and while two learn some moves

from actions.

There’d be mirths in the rain,

icings on noses

lots of yellow daisies and red roses,

blue forget-me-nots and pink tulips

on bedsides and doorsteps.

teasing strawberries from pouting lips

and cherries on a belly.

There’d be us in a glorious sunset

at Sandy Beach.

Barefooted, we’d walk hand-in-hand

trailing the imprints

of the greatest lovers amongst us

such as the waves and shores,

such as the seas and sands—

ever inseparable.

But surviving the constraints of time,

We arrive in quiet tears of joy.

Then we kiss.

We taste the universe

and have the dampen earth

in our lips.

YouTube/Moon River/Renee Dominique