Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

A baby bird

May 16, 2008


Like a baby bird, 

Who has not yet learn to fly, 

Who hasn’t had chance to open his wings full-span, 

Who hasn’t had experience of soaring free across the sky, 

Carving one’s own path, 

You have fallen. 

You who are so young, 

You who are so innocent, 

You who are so clean and pure, 

Untainted by this harsh, dark world. 

A fledgling youth, 

A wide-eyed deer, 

A new born babe with eyes still shut, 

You seek to open your eyes to see the greatness of the world, 

And the greatness you will achieve. 

The world will just have to wait, little while longer. 

Eunie kim10/12/03 

Eunie is sister of Eugene Kim, wrote for him after he came home from the hospital 

She bought a note book for him to write a journal, and she wrote this poem on the first page.

Empty nest syndrom

May 16, 2008


Let go, and let God,

Let go, and let you be,

 It’s been long overdue.

I hear it from your voice,

From the other side of the earth.

 A note higher,

 In a sense, I hear, courage,

 I felt your confidence,

 I know the packs of the commitments to grow on your own.

 I felt it so clearly,

 So deeply thrusting in my heart.

I felt the struggles you went through all along,

 Not knowing what to do with yourself.

It’s time to let you find own light.

I became a shadow, I realized.

The unseen shadows was harder to get rid of,

 But now my son!

 You are free with your God-given wisdom.

 You now can fly into the blue skies,

With all the sun shines spread over you.

 Nothing can withhold you now,

 For my heart is open,

 To let you fly alone.

The sky is blue,

 Go ahead fly!

 Into the infinite rhyme,

 Roaming through the rays of the sun,

 Hold your head high.

 Fly my son!

 Have no fear,

But with love you have within you.

The world is out there,

It’s all waited ever so patiently,

 For you to grab every moments,

To come to renew your strength,

 It’s there to embrace you,

It’s there for you to experience,

I know you will make exquisite snap shots,

 For every moment to come….one after another…

Capture the beauties,

 Print the hurts,

Slide the disappointments.

Now right this sacred moment,

 I, as your mother, I feel free.

 Thank you my son, for your courage, endurance,

 And most of all for your potential.

 You have done it.

You pulled yourself through, so graciously, so patiently.

 Within that time and space went ever so slowly.

Fly! My son, wing it hard.

Now your wings healed finally. 

 Learn how to let your wings ride on the winds as it blows.

Jan/08 After  Eugene left for San Francisco, I realized that I truly felt it’s time to let him go, so God can guide his life, and I clearly can see myself stepping aside.

So one night, I decided to let him know how I felt and what’s in my mind and how I felt. This was my email to him that night. I got his reply back in his email said: “God, it is beautiful, thank you for that mom love you so much”.

my poetry

May 12, 2008

It’s been there all along,

deep inside of me,

 attempting to scream out aloud,

echoes of the fear for uncertainty, 

 took me back to my dungeons.

There were times wanting to cry out,

 end up chocking with no air.

The life time collection of words,

faced no exits for the escape route,

bottled up inside, no where to hide,

 packed in to every cells,

yet entwined in the vast space it seems.

My heart is full with unseen,

unspoken words, so old,

 almost lost it’s meaning.

To express, painstakingly sorrowful memories,

with out a pity.

The beauties of nature inscribed in the colorful stones.

All the known for the truth,

 from the trials and tribulations,

making sentences to deliver on to next experiences.

Residual sadness for many hurts,

disappointments swallowed big lumps in the throat.

Its still there,

all mixed in together,

waiting to burst out,

through tiny crack if there is any,

To sing it in to the ears,

who care to listen.

To whisper the mystic realms,

for some one to understand.

Desperately more to give,

 instantaneously ready to release,

 the deepest kind, the motherly love,

needing to be recorded,

if not anything else.

As I regroup,

as I recoup what belongs to me,

 is my poetry.

Feb 03/08 leia cha