Poems for Elvis Sihoi
***
This poem was quoted at Batley Library, Batley Poetry evening on 18/11/23, England
I am the sun
That rises up
Before you,
I am the morning dew
That always
Feeds you,
I am the dusty road
That leads you,
And it's all
Because of you.
You are my heartbeat,
You are my meaning,
You are my daylight,
And it's all
Because of you.
29/05/23
***
I’m afraid to give him
Too much love,
It might hurt him,
Not to give him enough love,
It might make him suffer,
My heart is mindful
When I shower
My little boy with my love.
02/10/23
***
With joy
I grow into his roots,
With happiness
I let him
Have my heart,
And if I could
I would accompany him
To the end of his life.
02/10/23
***
So much worries
Run through my mind,
He becomes too big
To sit on my lap,
He runs too fast
To catch him
And stroke his
Little cheeks
He turns into a bird
Gradually
Wishing to explore the world
That opens
In front of his eyes
I’m afraid
Of losing him.
28/12/23
This poem was written after Beehive Poetry night at Josef's K cafe. I listened to an Iranian poetess Samar Shahdad two poems which she translated in English. She seemed to me so amazing poetess my poems appeared nothing against her poems in my understanding. So this poem came into my mind.
I read it at Rhubarb Poetry Night, at The Triangle pub, Shipley, Bradford, England on 27/03/24 and in the Serendipity Extraordinary Ordinary anthology book launch at Lawrence Batley Theatre on 21/04/24.
I won’t be remembered as a poet here. I’ll be forgotten - quietly.
Sun will fade my name away and dust will cover its footprints.
They won’t read my poems. I wasn't famous here.
From pages where blue ink will leave evidence of my presence,
They will make airplanes
And kites.
But maybe somebody will remember me
As a guy who hung out with a kid
Here.
Somebody might say, the boy was his son.
Famously named as Elvis.
I might be remembered sitting in a café’s corner
And talking to him in a foreign language.
I might be famous
For a split of a second
In somebodies memory for letting Elvis
Wrap his little arms
Around my neck,
Putting his crumpled paper tissue,
Silver teaspoon and ruler
behind my terracotta jumper
While somebody else were reading their poems
Here.
18/03/24
***
I created this poem being inspired by the workshop ‘Blue is the light that got lost…’ hosted by Gaia Holmes. Kings Cross Library, Halifax, England. I attended it on 09/03/24.
I read it on Beehive Poetry evening at Josef's K Cafe in Bradford on 15/04/24 and in the Serendipity Extraordinary Ordinary anthology book launch at Lawrence Batley Theatre on 21/04/24.
The light goes off,
Smokey blue overlaps gold.
I can’t see him,
His voice,
His breath,
His hushed moves,
Tells me,
He is there.
He feels secure
Seeing my
Pitch blue shadow,
Hearing
Lazily cracking chair,
My voice
Singing him a lullaby,
He falls asleep,
Knowing,
I’m next to him.
09/03/24
***
The poem is written at Gaia Holmes’s workshop at King Cross Library, Halifax
He looks at me with blueberry in his hands
Rolling it in his tiny fingers
Being not aware it might drop on the floor,
Not knowing that his mum might burst into a scream of horror
Seeing pressures berry being wasted
He smiles and laughs singing La-la-la
He shakes his legs. His trainers clatter on the floor.
His eyes deep brown as blueberry in his little hands
I see he is reading my eyes maybe musing
They look like grey berries. His little heart
Absorbs the juice of love and happiness
And I can see he cannot have enough of the safety he receives from my eyes.
11/05/24
***
This poem is dedicated to my mother-in-law.
Published on Facebook pages – Facebook Poetry Society, Igniting The Spark, Ivo Bierands, On My Mind, Poetry UK, The Love of Poetry and Writers Help Writers on 06/09/24.
She is wetting the little boy’s body gently,
Applying Carefully a little white wet rag
On his head, arms, tummy, back
Scooping water from the bath.
She covers his ears with her hands,
Water is not allowed to get in.
It’s dangerous.
Love spreads on every inch of the little boy's body.
Now he is ready to be washed.
Her eyes are focused on not hurting him
While she is massaging shampoo on his bright wayward hair
Using both hands.
Boy does not cry,
He plays with a showerhead in the bath
And splashes water with one of his feet
He smiles at his grandma,
He says her – Shī*
She puts baby shower gel on his arms
And rubs with her warm hands
Tenderly
Going over every hand and his little busy finger.
She tells him – ci lai*
The little boy doesn’t.
She lifts him and washes his back, bum and legs.
Without rush,
As slowly as she can
She clings to the moment
The boy is still a child.
16/06/24
Shī - wet (in Chinese)
Ci lai - stand up (in Chinese)
Ci lai - stand up (in Chinese)
***
This poem was published on Facebook: On My Mind, Ignite The Spark, Poets And Poetry Lovers, The Love of Poetry and Ivo Bierands on 31/08/24.
This poem was read at Serendipity Poetry Evening at Cloggs Coffee Shop in Dewsbury on 05/09/24 and at Beehive Poetry Night at Bradford Library on 06/09/24.
Beibu Gulf greets me tonight after eight o’clock
Coming out of its shores
Splashing big silver waves
Far into the Silver Beach
Sky black scattered with dark grey clouds
Too high,
Unreachable for the gulf.
I smile
And dress off in my swimming pants
I let its huge wild hands cradle me.
I hear its voice whispering to me
It wanted to come to my home tonight
And play with me
It missed me these long nine madly hot boiling days.
I missed it too.
Now I let the waters of Beibu Gulf
Wash me as its baby.
And washes me with joy
My feet, my legs, my waist.
I plunge into its warm hugs
and it washes my hands and arms
My face, my hair and my body
With its salted
But love-filled water.
I return home and sleep tight like a baby
Until the sun is rising on the horizon
Six o’clock morning.
I muse about my little boy Elvis,
I have to get up and be ready
Before he opens his beautiful chestnut brown eyes.
29/06/24
Robots
His little hands stretch up,
‘Robots!’ His terrified eyes scream - loud.
I lift and hug my boy.
We have to escape as far as we can.
His little hands cling firmly around my neck,
His fingers dig deep in my skin
Making me muse
There is nowhere better than in his dads arms
To be safe.
His chestnut brown eyes search for robots.
‘Robots!’ He screams.
‘Don’t you want see robots?’ I ask.
He shakes his head in panic.
Robots!
Two robots!
I carry him away to the bouncing nets.
No robots here. Just music for the robots to dance.
Lets go home, I say, but he screams – Robots!
We’ll go quickly while robots dance at the end of the playground.
He screams. Two robots!
I say lets go quickly while robots dance.
You’re safe. Your dad will protect you from the robots.
He repeats the word – safe. His mind still haunted by two gigantic robots
That came for nothing more than dance.
15/07/24
***
Published on Facebook pages – On My Mind, Igniting The Spark, The Love of Poetry and Ivo Bierands on 30/08/24.
It might seem that I work for no pay,
But I’m not.
I’m paid by Elvis with his endless love
And I don’t understand where from
Such a little heart gets so much love given.
It burst over me like a waterfall
With hugs and trust,
Laughs and fear of losing me.
More than eight hours a day
And more than five days a week
I’m cascaded by his unconditional love.
It's continuous and everlasting
Making my life be meaningful.
15/07/24
***
Your mum parked her scooter and we came home
Through warm white illuminated streets by street lamps in Beihai
Nine o’clock Thursday night.
You bent down halfway through lifting your hands as high as you could
Behind your back.
And you ran clumsy as fast as you could.
Are you a running chicken? I asked.
You just laughed and I did the same.
Now we both ran along a footpath
And laughed our hearts out.
We waited for your mum to reach us in her steady walk
Her face was thoughtful when she looked at us.
And we ran again
Turning into running chickens on a hot and humid summer night
As if we were Marvel superheroes
Who can turn themselves into whatever they want to be.
25/07/24
***
He takes from the ground two tiny tree leaves
And brings them up to the slide,
He laughs pushing tree leaves down the slide
And follows them with his tropical boy eyes,
Now
It’s time for him to get down the slide too.
He turns himself on his tummy and gets down with a joyful scream.
He waits for my reaction.
I smile and say, be careful.
He secures temporary priceless tree leaves in his hands
Before other children can take them
And throws them in the air as high as he can
He seeks for them on the ground
To start everything over again.
03/08/24
***
Published on Facebook pages – Igniting The Spark, Ivo Bierands, On My Mind, Poetry UK and The Love of Poetry on 02/09/24.
When my little boy cries
His tears are true and pure,
His little heart means no harm
But an innocent joy.
03/08/24
***
Published on Facebook pages – Igniting The Spark, Ivo Bierands, On My Mind, Poetry UK, The Love of Poetry and Writers Help Writers on 03/09/24.
look at our boy
And the way he lives in his world
Happily and lively spinning round and round
Endlessly,
Pretending an airplane, a train or other things he likes to be,
Feeling safe,
Surrounded by his two nearest shining stars.
I wish the real world would be
The same.
10/08/24
***
Published on Facebook pages – Facebook Poetry Society, Igniting The Spark, Ivo Bierands, On My Mind, Poetry UK, The Love of Poetry and Writers Help Writers on 04/09/24.
My heart absorbs your boundless joy of being with us
And it radiates
Passion
To stream its love to you
Endlessly,
Infinite,
Forever.
03/09/24