Honey4Boyz

My grandmother planted a tiny orange seed, Not really knowing the wonders of it; A glossy Sunflower, fresh and new, With golden petals, dressed with dew. It grew and grew, from seed to life, Sprouting new leaves, the size of mice. Soon, very soon, the flower will bloom, Even when our life is in gloom. One month later, on a bright morning, When the shrill cry of birds interrupts the sleeping, And the morning sun starts to rise. I walked into the garden with a cry of surprise! So imagine life as Sunflower plants To grow up and become daughters and sons. We have ideas that can change our lives, To do so, we need faith to contrive.

There was once a helper in our house, Who babysit us and set up traps for each single mouse. One day she decided to leave, So we gave her a card and a gift. It was sad to see her go away, So we brought her out to dinner the day before May. She told us her sweetest memory was about me, And this helper goes by the name of Suryati.                                                                              -Brandon Hah☺

January finally arrives in the vale of Asia, Out of nowhere, an annoying sound alerts our ear. We looked out of the window, And saw a bird we know. The bird is called the Koel, And its description is easy to tell. Black all over its body, And red on its eyes only. Its morning call, (Made by its mouth and jaw) Would awake us instantly, And drive us crazy. We nearly made a petition, To shoot the Koel with some ammunition. We were irritated by the female Koel especially, And her call made us rest uncomfortably. February, March, April and May passed slowly. As slow as a tortoise can be. Suddenly, as June is approaching, The bird stopped its provoking. We immediately knew the Koel had moved on, And had gone to another patch of dirt by dawn. We walked into the garden, huddled together, “Good riddance to that bird!” we shouted altogether.                           ...

Oh thy little green frogs,  Who rest on sleeping logs,  And eat the beastly slugs, Or the small little bugs. Please be kind to these useful creatures, As they gobble up the pestful garden litter, I'm sure frogs are superstars, Oh what wonderful creatures they are!                                                                       Brandon Hah☺ Common Tree Frog/Four-Lined Tree Frog in my backyard. Discovered after I wrote my poem. Maybe I'm all frogs so I noticed the well-camouflaged frog. 

"After Apple-Picking" is a poem by Robert Frost. It's hard to put down in a short post what we had been through in 2016. It has been an intense year, a year of many crossroads in our natural and spiritual lives. We're not at liberty to share these personal moments here, perhaps this poem can do a far better job to express our minds, emotions and feelings in much more than words and what the pictures painted. We're still going through many of those issues, and the hour is late..... My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree  Toward heaven still,  And there's a barrel that I didn't fill  Beside it, and there may be two or three  Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.  But I am done with apple-picking now.  Essence of winter sleep is on the night,  The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.  I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight  I got from looking through a pane of glass  I skimmed this morning fro...

Jin is taking the LRT back from school every day, and it's a change from those days where he's chauffeured around to and fro school. He told me he's enjoying the public transportation route much better - to be in touch with the real world... and here's his thoughts on the public transit: I could have sworn I just heard, something that filled my heart with joy, something that made me grow a beard, something that...oh never mind. It was the cars and buses, roaring and whirring as they passed, the click-clack of the train's wheels, it was a sound to enjoy. It was that troublemaker heat, if he were alive I would fight him, many a time have I not felt jealous of the people in the train,  with air-conditioners at full blast, all for themselves. It was the air, the smoke polluted air, the dust of the vehicles,  the different odours of people. It was a potent mixture,   to breathe in the dust and smell the  polluted...

Child, though I take your hand and walk in the snow;   though we follow the track of the mouse together,   though we try to unlock together the mystery of the printed word, and slowly discover   why two and three make five   always, in an uncertain world – Child, though I am meant to teach you much, what is it, in the end, except that together we are meant to be children of the same Father and I must unlearn all the adult structure and the cumbering years and you must teach me to look at the earth and the heaven with your fresh wonder. - Jane Tyson Clement