Standing Before the Glass

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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The Silver Locket

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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What Remains

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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What Was Not Said at the Table

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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How Not to Summon What Waits

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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The Way He Stays

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.

What Remains Unnoticed

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.

🐦✨

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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

The Space Between Wings

It’s International Hugging Day today…and time to make loved ones feel wanted with a hug.

But some hugs are better felt than given. Especially with someone who needs space to hug themselves.

Let’s hug the right way.

🦋  🦋

Flutters

Wings wrap around

An elderly comrade

Who pushes them back with new force

And shields

It  sees its old friend with clear eyes

Folds back its too-large wings

Flutters,no fold

Wings lost

🦋  🦋

It lands

Near its frail comrade

Waits, flutters by his side

For him to unfurl his hurt wings

Himself.

Then, steps backwards and dances off

With wings open, waiting

To hold its friend

With space.

🦋  🦋

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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.

The White Field

It’s Penguin Awareness Day, and being the cute junkie that I am, I’d like to pay tribute to these wobbly fellows.
They are cute. They are also firm and stand by those in the colony who need them. Even when forgotten.
But the day isn’t just theirs. It belongs to anyone who has stood stoically by others in the face of any adversity.
Not all guardians are remembered. All are necessary.
🐧 ❄️ ❄️ 🐧 ❄️
The snowstorm had created an unending white sea – one that Buzz and his family navigated year after year. White waves swam from an omnipresent sky, covering the colony not with protection, but with threat.
The sea was rogue this year – the waves splashed forward without warning. A snow wave had almost drowned Buzz – not that the rest of the colony paid heed. Not even his parents.
He waddled painfully past the wave and looked ahead. No other penguin. 
But one. A little chick.
He positioned himself beside it, nudging it forward with his beak, relieved when it finally trudged a few steps forward.
Snow continued falling; white curtains shrouded the Antartic landscape as Buzz forged ahead, a non-present adult in his colony.
The South Pole wind howled her discontent. Resilience reigned over her as the penguins made do, rotating their positions to keep the young intact.
The outer edges of the colony bore the cold. Buzz and his adult comrades slipped, uninstructed and observed, into different parts of it to shield the little ones. Like Buzz, the other birds guarded them with stoic silence.
They could have moved within the brood – duty bade them not to, and they acquiesced, without a chirp.
The snowstorm ended as suddenly as it started, leaving massive white hills in her wake. The sun peeked behind soft pillowy clouds, indicating safety to the birds as they ploughed on without pause.
The little ones, their soft grey fur and blubber offering warmth, no longer needed Buzz for protection. They plodded just as relentlessly as the elders, paying him no heed as they forged ahead.
They arrived safely at the next snow hill, their footfalls unheard and unseen. Like Buzz, they would grow and guard, unnoticed and unrecorded in a white field.
🐧 ❄️ ❄️ 🐧 ❄️
Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

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.

What Watches Quietly

It’s Edgar Allan Poe’s birthday today, so we honour him with – what else – a Poe-m.

And an acknowledgement of his restrained calls to prevent suppression and repression.

Fear breaks us, if we choose to let it.

🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛

He flies each day, feathers black and sleek

Perches on the same window’s edge

He does stare, but does not peek

Stays perched on the selfsame ledge.

🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛

His form lingers, my skin crawls

But I resist the urge to move –

His stare hardens, I nearly fall

And his feathers do not soothe.

🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛

His constant perches on the sill, 

The caws I cannot ignore

I deter his calls. but cannot keep still

His constancy in my pores.

🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛

It watches not, my wretched form

For what, I cannot ascertain –

Perhaps. for the pending storm

Of fear. within the rain.

🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛

The crow, it waits, and does not snare

But looks through fragile glass;

He sits, he stays, and simply stares

For my unease to break. at last.

🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛ 🪟 🐦‍⬛

Original Poe-m by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental.

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.