This Wetlands Day, we offer a little gratitude for a place we seldom want to visit purposefully because of the inherent mud and mess.
But it’s an indispensable ecosystem that sustains when unnoticed.
So today, we thank those among us who do – without being seen.
🌾💦🤍
Land
Soaked soil
Humble and unseen
Soaks in morning mist
Quiet
🌱🌫️🦜
Leaves
Simple sprouts
Bird pecks grass
Its chirping whispers his
Thanks.
🌿🪶💧
Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
We mark Martyr’s Day today – for Mahatma Ghandi, and all who walked selflessly with others who needed them.
For strength that refused applause.
🕊️🌿
He stands
In the midst of –
Lifting wreaths
And muted bows
🕊️🌿
He walked
With us
In the same breath
On the same route
🕊️🌿
For life
Softened
Under watch
For the Soul
🕊️🌿
That saw.
That lauded not.
That stopped.
And evaded
The light.
🕊️🌿
Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
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Some realisations come too late.
🌸📜🕯️
Louisa Lum’s birthday began like any other. Gifts given, but drew a blank. A cake with so many candles, it frightened her.
And of course, flowers. Roses that dulled the midlifer’s spirit with their blush.
Then, there was the pink carnation.
A flower meant to charm. Its coy pink petals enwrapped. To make her heart a little less hard.
Tradition doing its quiet work.
The flower was ordinary. Nothing about it was intimidating, at first glance.
Then, while cleaning its vase, her fingers brushed against a thorn along its stem.
It pricked. She backed away from the vase, and knocked into a chest of drawers behind her.
They sprung open to reveal a stack of letters.
Her father. Someone else – she would rather not have read about.
It was truth, mis-timed. Cruel honesty.
Nothing broke – it wore down. There was a palpable distance between them, even while he was on his deathbed.
And the silence created something new.
The smell of the pink carnation’s petals lifted her nostrils, just as he passed.
And the truth hammered her heart with rusted nails. There had been clarity – but it hadn’t mattered one bit.
Damage done by a carnation’s accuracy, shoving her into a drawer just then.
Irreparable.
The pink flower wilted, leaving nothing in its wake –
Just a stack of letters, that should not have been read.
🌸📜🕯️
Original story for National Carnation Day by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
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It’s Lewis Caroll’s birthday today, so it’s the perfect day to relish in a little wonder.
With a little help from Alice and the gang.
Alice wore blue and white. Not just white. She learned to appreciate wonder…past childhood.
Adulthood, gained. Innocence, intact.
🪞🎩🐱
She stands
Imbibing wonder
Silent, pensive
In its presence
Plainly calm.
🪞🎩🐱
He dances in
A hat with quick words
Scuttles around the garden,
Greets her,
Falls, and rises.
🪞🎩🐱
The mirror shows
An image
For the self
To decide.
🪞🎩🐱
Then a half-smile
Borne of adulthood
Doesn’t vanish
But stretches with age.
🪞🎩🐱
She stands
Accepting wonder
Silent, with a
Stoic smile
Of age
That knows.
🪞🎩🐱
Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
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For those who must be remembered.
🕯️🤍🕊️
The locket. A small, plain heart framed by a nondescript,unpolished rim. The tarnished silver had dulled to the point of almost-disappearance; it was still part of Raine’s psyche.
It had belonged to Raine’s grandmother, and her grandmother’s mother. The wear and tear of decades of family misgivings had relegated it to a locked drawer.
But it had been once worn, and loved.
The unsterling silver had accompanied grandma through months of waiting for grandpa, who never came home after visiting Aunt Lily. It had borne months of freezing darkness and obscure shadows for the family.
Undiscarded, it remained.
The ladies – great-grandma, grandma, and mum, had polished the silver pendant till its gleam radiated as much as the sunlight streaming through the window. They held it dear, refusing to discard it even when the children, kudos for their piety, offered to purchase another lined with gold and pearls.
Decades passed – the locket stayed in the family, case intact.
Mum kept it in her jewellery box- for Raine to keep.
Recall.
To look after and guard, as she should.
Like all things that should be remembered, it remains.
🕯️🤍🕊️
Original microfiction for International Holocaust Remembrance Day by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
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Today marks the International Day of Clean Energy – a day not just about energy policies or fossil fuels, but power that LASTS.
That doesn’t deplete. That doesn’t scorch.
About how power systems (literal and otherwise), should be designed to last beyond their tenure.
Power that remains saffolds, not harms.
🌱💡🕊️
Power
Responsibility that lingers
Way beyond its tenure
Does not speak
Just seems.
🌱💡🕊️
Refreshed
No fodder
Does not scorch the ground
It walks
Safe space.
🌱💡🕊️
The lamp still glows
When dawn breaks
The heat does not scorch –
just warms.
🌱💡🕊️
Roaring flames soften
The brightness lowers.
True power resides,
Not lives.
🌱💡🕊️
Power
Scaffolds with its strength
Stays without drain
Or harm.
🌱💡🕊️
Lasts.
🌱💡🕊️
Original poem by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.
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We are approaching another round of celebrations – the Lunar New Year hides (or perhaps peeks) around the corner.
Festive occasions and dinners can become a source of discomfort because of the things we daren’t announce.
Some failures are carried politely – or not so.
🧨😉🧧
He opened the door to his parents’ home, inhaling a cautiously drawn breath. The clothes were-different. Costlier than before. His hair, neatly combed, bore successful Brylcream slicks.
His family noticed the Armanis first. “Wah. Changed job ah? Better pay?”
“So handsome.”
Everything about him spoke – progress. Except his now quiet demeanor. But there were too many labels to notice.
The celebration started the way it usually did. The family collected in a gleeful group around the table for the customary Lunar New Year Lo Hei – the tossing of the raw fish salad.For renewal.
Prosperity. Customary greetings of “ma dao cheng gong” (the horse heralds prosperity) and “xin xiang shi cheng” (may your dreams come true) resounded like speeches from an upturned loudspeaker. Everyone spoke of safe things. The typical roundabouts. Crafted politeness.
The meal lapsed into stoic Chinese silence, broken only by “Ah ma, chi yi dian yu(Gran, eat some fish).”They gaps were there for him to fill with disclosure and secrets.
One sentence could have changed their perception.
His life.
His silence never lifted.
His father glanced cursorily at him. He raised an eyebrow, scooped noodles onto his plate, and nodded.
The rest of the family paused briefly between mouthfuls of yusheng and noodles. His sister kept her head down. Her eyes became part of her bowl.
None spoke. They kept the same rigid silence, not letting him sit with what he refused to say.
That uneasy quietness hovered in the room, looming.
🧨😉🧧
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Peace does not arrive when called. It remains when allowed.
🕊️ 🕊️ 🕊️
Stop.
Set aside the frantic buzz of bees.
Sit in the stillness.
Let it come of its volition
Not by the force
Of your shove.
🕊️ 🕊️ 🕊️
Allow stoic
Silence
And calm.
Shun
Unwanted frenzy
Of Chaos.
The fire
Of Urgency.
🕊️ 🕊️ 🕊️
Rushing
the result
Shuts the door
to its still form.
Stop swinging
The door open
To see if it’s there.
Or banging it
With force.
She is reticent.
Blushes easily
And will turn quietly
Away.
🕊️ 🕊️ 🕊️
Peace will come
Donning the robe
Of silence
And stillness
If she will.
Open the door
If she arrives
Or wait
If she does not
Because
She would already
Be within.
🕊️ 🕊️ 🕊️
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Husband Appreciation Day is when we ladies pay tribute to our better halves – when we all can’t always be better.
He may watch sports permanently. Hog the newspaper. Or seem to sleep at all hours…
But shows up when it’s time.
Not perfect. Just present. And that counts.
🥂
He mentions that he’s just resting his eyes and wakes up three hours later.
He can’t find the food you cooked on the table, yet locates the chocolates you hid.
He does not do the dishes, but has time for the remote.
He suggests solutions when you asked for empathy, and sympathy when you needed silence.
But when life becomes chaotic, unjust, hair-tearing or plain unbearable, he stays quietly (or not) by you.
Dependable. Knowing. Frustratingly stoic.
So today we pay tribute to a guy who can’t remember when your birthday is, but somehow shows up with the wrong present.
🥂
Original reflective drabble by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. The drabble after the first wine glass set is 100 words.
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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
Today is Celebration of Life – a day when the ordinary is finally lauded.
Real beauty, like the iridescent neck of the common pigeon, is often unrecorded.
True beauty, though, doesn’t need recognition. It exists – and that’s recognition enough.
🐦✨
Feathers gracing ledge
Wings neat, furled and unhurried
Iridescent neck
🐦✨
Feet stride past, no glance
It pecks the ground, still unmoved
Head quietly bobs.
🐦✨
Bert sees its true form
Beauteous and unrecognized
Quietly dances.
🐦✨
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
The Getting Literal Writing Alcove 