ruby lips (haibun)

Veronica Lake

Veronica Lake

When I think back of my childhood daydreams I see blonde, sexy…yes, even as young as 4…Marilyn had a sizzling look but Veronica was the perfect description of feminine mystique. 

She looked like a goddess when colour was not necessdary in movies. You didn’t need colour to see her blonde hair sweep on the side of her  face onto her shoulders. The way she tilted her head to the side and sucked on that elegant cigarette holder…made smoking seem so sexy back then. And you never doubted for a moment the colour of those ruby red lips.

heat of the night,
pulled her close and kissed
those ruby lips

those ruby lips
taste of Ripasso, smooth

© Tournesol ’14

Haiku Horizons – ruby

Dear Emma,

© Clr '14

© Clr ’14

shedding tears as I listened,
a young man grieving
missing his grandfather dearly
reminiscing old times
their special handshake
his awesome cooking
just for him…
their fun sleepovers
when they were younger,
made him sad to remember,
sobbing helplessly
I just sat and listened
shedding tears for his loss

a girl lost so many years
wasting time ill spent
schools, teachers made mistakes
labelled her for years
M.I.D. is what they said,
which crushed her spirit,
too many years
in wrong schools
her dreams shattered
of prom night,
or even going to college
but pushing, shouting,
insisting another opinion
three years it took
to get finally tested
gee, the psychologist
was that busy, I guess!
now she’s in regular school
but put back three years
due to school’s mistakes
she must bear the brunt…
ashamed of being so old
scared peers will laugh
call her ignorant or worse,
what a brave, determined
person she is!
I told her how proud I was
for her perseverance
she never gave up
so kudos to her!

this other girl found her brother
a thick rope had robbed his life
she mourned her loss
ever wanting to join him
more tears were shed
life was just too painful
the guilt profound
self-harm her only comfort
…solace she found
she talked, I listened
I talked, made her laugh
she promised to call
if her thoughts grew darker

…this girl so young
had no gumption
to get out of bed,
refused her school
just stayed and veged
her mom had passed
a year ago today
she missed her mom,
couldn’t see the day
going on anymore
life just hurt so much
I asked her
what her mom and she
did for fun back then
“baking baking and more baking!”
she said
her voice raised a smile
I could feel her lips curl…
sugar and shortbread
and gingerbread cookies
that’s what made her happy
and her mom did too
she agreed to ask
her foster mom
to give her privilege
to the kitchen oven
so she could bake
sugar cookies
mindful of those times
she had with her mom
just for today
she would try
tender moments in time
make her feel so sublime.

…My last day tonight until Christmas morning and not too soon! I left work feeling sad, dragged my feet on the pavement. Tears just ran as I thought of my day today…all the hurt and the pain youths are faced with these days. Whispering my mantra as I walked trying to distract those thoughts and it helped a bit but not entirely. Finally got home and read…reading helps a lot…a good distraction, reading the mysteries of a Montreal midwife in the 19th century. All the tales are true too, only the names have changed…my goodness sordid behavior was common even in those days! (The Mysteries of Montreal: Recollections of a female Physician by Charlotte Fuhrer.)

© Oliana Kim 2014/12/19

Hairy woodpecker (haibun)

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The day after my mom passed, we went to the funeral home to make arrangements. We came back to my mom’s house (formerly my grandmaman’s home where I was born) and kept my step-father company. I immediately sat in Mom’s rocker by the window looking out on the river and the bird feeder hanging in the centre of the window. I was surprised to see so many different types of birds pecking at the feeder for food; to name a few, a cardinal, finch, sparrow, bluejay, humming bird and a very insistent woodpecker. The latter seemed bigger than the other birds and would hang by the side to peck for food and fly back into the tree nearby. I was so mesmerized by this orgie of birds. My mom would spend hours rocking here.

At one point my left hand started moving and I was tapping my fingernails on the metal part of the armrest…after a few minutes, I realized that was exactly what my mother would do…tap tap tap…it was as if she was a part of me at that very moment.

tap tap tap
taps the tree skillfully
busy woodpecker

hairy woodpecker
dines on black sunflower seeds
shoves sparrow aside

© Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem

december endings chill(haiku)

© Clr '14 Mom celebrating winter

© Clr ’14 Mom celebrating winter

winter air cools
snow brightens my dearth
death chills

death empties
robs life never eternal
icicles form

rush to warm métro
they extend their hand in hope
spare change
holding a hot coffee
ward off bites of winter chill


(c) Clr ’14 warding off the chill in the Métro

(c) Tournesol`’14

Posted by Oliana Kim 2014/12/18

Heeding Haiku with HA, MindLoveMiserysMenagerie

Dear Emma, (haibun)

mom and me winter 2012

One more day and I am off until Christmas morning which I look forward to be there on the lines …if a youth is calling on such a day, I feel privileged to answer. One more day of work…the calls are getting heavier, my heart weighs but time will heal…with love and family, I am truly  blessed. As I prepare to cook and welcome Christmas morning, I am surrounded by the most important people in my life that loved my mom as much as me…my children and grandson. Mom, you are finally free and with us on this festive day…you will finally be able to bless us with your spiritual presence.

 love is powerful
I feel you so close to me
ever essence

(C) Oliana Kim ’14/12/18

freedom at last (haiku)

waiting, hoping
her release finally granted
death becomes her


such expectations
guilt ridden mixed with relief
freedom at last

© Tournesol ’14

Inspired by A Lingering Inconvenience

Posted by Oliana Kim 2014/12/18

solitude (haibun)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

© Clr '14

© Clr ’14

Solitude may not always mean sadness, it is simply being alone. Many times it is by choice.  It is interesting that loneliness, isolation, seclusion and privacy are synonyms found for solitude.  I suppose if it is not by choice it can be painful and lonely. However, if it is by choice, it is almost a refuge, a place to breath, collect one’s thoughts…create, compose.  Perhaps when we know of someone who is living alone, we could ask if they feel lonely and not assume all persons living alone are unhappy.  I love people; I am a very social person and love to laugh and enjoy the company of friends and my children. I also love my “alone” time where I can hear myself think.  The silence sometimes screams …those are often my thoughts waiting to be put “on paper”.

Walking home

under the umbrella

skies weep


View original 18 more words

too much traffic

PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright - Sandra Crook

Photo Prompt: Sandra Crooke


This would have to be the last one. He kept promising to stop. Then he would see those golden curly locks with those baby blues pleading for attention. It was as if he had to take care of those poor innocent wee ones. All alone in the park, shunned by friends and family. No one understood her as he did. “Just one more time” his inner voice whispered. But then she’d cry when he expressed his love. She would scream “I`m gonna tell…STOP!” He had no choice. But this place was getting too busy with tourists…he had to stop.

(c) Oliana Kim ’14/12/17
99 words written for Friday Fictioneers where you are given a photo prompt by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to write a fiction under 100 words
You can read more here:




no longer all my myself (free verse)

© Clr '14

© Clr ’14

are you here
by my side?
do you watch
when I sleep?
shadow my long
late walks home?…
I don’t feel so lonely
late at night
tired or sad after work
I feel your presence
in my heart
somehow you’re closer
when I’m alone
no longer feel all by myself
cos you’re right here by my side

© Oliana Kim 2014/12/16

purest intentions (haibun)

© Clr '14

© Clr ’14

Human relations are often complicated. It was so easy as a child. You had a thought, you blurted it out. That is, before you got scolded or worse, shunned by friends or smacked by an adult. But before any of that…before being tainted with dysfunctional human contacts…it was simple, right? And then life happened, people interpreted their world according to their personal experiences and children may have lived under the very same roof and come out with total different interpretations of their home life. Such is life and the beauty of interpersonal communication and human psychology. This prompt made me ponder on the weekend and I was anxious for it to be posted. I had written a haiku and a shadorma…I lost the shadorma when a technician via cyberspace had to fix my antivirus. Oh well, it has allowed me to write a series of haiku on the purity of thought…intentions from the heart.

I might be relating to my personal life with the death of my mother, family tension can be a challenge. I ask myself many times if anger or any ugly venom I feel is from their grief. I cannot and do not wish to believe in times of such grief people intend to hurt or demean. Their grief, too many times, clouds the thinking. And so I withdraw and hope things may change some day. In the meantime, I feel solace in my talks with my mother and ask her to help me understand as she is now in the “know” of so many things.

I also counsel unhappy souls who tell me “their stories” and I cannot only work with what I hear and yet, many times, even through the phone lines or internet connections I can feel or sense when some stories appear doubtful. But they are the person’s perception. I may try to explore alternative insights and hope that may shed some light to enable them to move a few steps forward.

Piecemeal puzzle,
blank stares, so ambiguous
mind reader, I’m not

masked games
troubled soul muddies any intent
of purity

pure and honest
how children know the rules
adults destroy

nothing can be more pure
truths told from the heart
hidden agendas trashed
left with pure chaste truths

© Tournesol ’14

Haibun by Oliana Kim ’14/12/16

Tackle It Tuesday – Chevrefeuille

I came back…

“Back” conjures up lots of things today, since I moved back to Quebec five years ago to be closer to my mom and my grandson. My sister and I had placed our mother in a nursing home six years ago and living 6 hours away  was difficult. So coming  back brought me closer but not easier to see my dear, lively, beautiful mother wither away.

So many different meanings with this word. Many Quebecois have back problems and a friend of mine explained it is probably from all the falls on the slippery sidewalks with our changing winters…ice storms and snow storms.

The first expression on the tele that became quite popular (you younger folks won’t remember…anyone born before 1970)…The commercial for hair products for men…”I came back to Brylcreem”. I will spare you the ridiculous videos of the commercials but feel free to check them out on Youtube.

“I have your back” is an expression we often use and it is comforting to know when you have a friend or relative who actually “does” have your back.  I senses my adult children had my back these past few days as well as a few close friends.  It is often during the most difficult and trying times that we see the people we can count on…who truly do “have our back”.

I can’t help but be reminded of the the line “I’ll be back” with Arnold Schwarzenegger.  I think that term is truly a classic. And then the song “He’s Back (the Man Behind The Mask) by Alice Cooper.

I shall end this note soon because I am winding down with ideas in this free flow writing.   I do enjoy eating however, and sometimes too much but life is too short and I guess I am just orally fixated, I talk too much, I eat too much and thank goodness I write to give my jaws a breakJ I do enjoy back bacon now and then, don’t you?  What a lovely addition for any breakfast or brunch…of course I like to pour some Canadian maple syrup on it too.

© Oliana Kim 2014/12/15

Friday Reminder and Prompt for SoCS December 12, 2014 “Back”

Happy Hanukkah!

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

may the glow warm your heart
miracle of lights
Que la lueur
d’Hanukkah enflamme ton coeur
miracle des lumières

© Tournesol ’14

Hanukkah – Dec 16th to Dec. 24th 2014

More readings: Inside Hanukkah and Holidays – Hanukkah

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Dear Emma, (haibun)

I finally slept…not long but still, I did dream of my cousins and children. Surely, I was contemplating on my family reunion yesterday. I suppose we can call a wedding and a funeral, an opportunity for family to get together.
Years ago, I used to love going to funerals of great aunts and uncles…I was not as attached to these old folks and loved to see all my cousins and second cousins. We would sit solemnly for a few minutes with our parents then sneak down into the lounge and giggle and drink soft drink. As we got older, we would smoke our cigarettes religiously now that we were adults and acting so smart puffing away.
I wrote a eulogy yesterday and was not sure if I would share it at the church but I wanted to share my “mom” with the world or at least with the people who attended…there were old friends I had not seen in decades. I asked the priest if I could say a few words and we talked about mom. I said I had a very similar career as my mother who was a hairdresser. He asked me what I did. He smiled and said that yes, hairdressers are certainly counsellors and great listeners as well. He thanked me and added this in his eulogy later.
My sister knew more of the people since she still lived in the area and of course being so present in my mother’s last years. I know it will be a huge adjustment for her since her full time job in the passed six years has been being with my mom at the nursing home. I am thankful she was available for her and hugged her and thanked her on the day mom died. I hope she felt my appreciation for whatever differences we may have or have had in the past, I will always be grateful to her.
After the service we went to a restaurant to be with family and I arrived much later with my children, grandson, and several of my close friends and my three cousins who had no vehicle. There was little room for us by that time and we had to sit apart…my children and cousins at one far end and the waitress added another table at the other end near my sister, where I sat with my friends.
My sister never looked at me once, we never hugged or said goodbye…I knew then there was definitely something upsetting her…something I must have done that offended her in some way. Mom often would say, “I can never understand what I did wrong” and I am not sure either surely in her heart I did.

Piecemeal puzzle,
blank stare, so ambiguous
mind reader, I’m not

I can’t shake this gnawing feeling I am getting and sadly, know, I will never know for we all interpret things so differently as if we were from two different worlds.

Yet as I sit here with a lovely photo of my mother, smiling, bursting with joy, my heart is warmed and my mind is quieted. I will go to work today, at peace.

© Oliana Kim, 2014/12/14

© Clr '14 A beautiful woman

© Clr ’14 A beautiful woman


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On l’a connait comme Colombe, mama, mom, Nanny, Mrs. dans la cour d’école Mon Seigneur D’Youville…Mrs. Roberts, Bette, Ma Tante Colombe, Mme. Clairoux…Madame Daudelin, Madame Gauthier. Elle est Maman de Karen, moi et cher Bernard.
Elle est dans le cœur de beaucoup de gens car elle était aimante, généreuse, ricaneuse et charmeuse…qui peut oublier son regard en battant ses cils, faisant fondre n’importe quel homme!
We called her Colombe, Bette, Auntie Bette, mom…she was so loved, she even had three men in her life who loved her. What was not to love?
Elle aimait rire, danser…la musique faisait partie de son quotidien. She loved children and especially babies. How she loved to rock babies, push a stroller and watch the faces of people admire her loved one. Elle avait un goût mignon et chassait des aubaines et s’habillait avec classe…oh, qu’elle sentait bonne aussi…ses fragrances de Channel, Givency, Clinique, Neiges et j’en passe.
Au promenade St-Bruno, elle insistait de pousser la poussette de nos enfants…elle regardait les gens pour être certain que les gens les admirait et si une personne ne regardait pas, elle était vite pour dire, « éh ben bête, ELLE! » Oh, qu’elle aimait nous pincer les joue…AH YOY! Elle me raconte quand j’était toute petite je ne pleurait pas alors un jour elle décida de me pincer pour voir si je pouvais verser des larmes…elle a vite conclu que sa petite Lynn pleurait en sanglots…le suis encore la plus braillarde de la famille!!
Ma mère avait le don de rire à des blagues …est petites jokes…quelques minutes après qu’on l’avait conté…it was sweet how she would often have a delayed reaction to jokes especially if said in English. And even if it was not too funny, she would still burst out laughing…elle riat avec éclat …un rire qui nous faisait chaud au Coeur.
Elle était fière de ses deux petites…moi et ma sœur, Karen…elle était encore plus fière de ses petits enfants, Chad, Olivier, Annie-Claude et son arrière petit fils, Tristan…elle aura voulu avoir une grande famille et bien elle était la ma tante, la marraine, la nanny, la maman de beaucoup de jeunes.
Elle nous manque déjà…mais elle est toujours dans notre cœur.
She will forever be in our hearts…her laugh, her smile, her warm embrace.

© Clr '14 Mom celebrating winter

© Clr ’14 Mom celebrating winter

Elle est la joie
le vent qui respire l’amour
un baume qui soulage
pour sa famille et ses amis
elle restera
notre sérénité
notre belle
Colombe d’amour

© Oliana 2014/12/13

Dear Emma

© Clr '14 Mom celebrating winter

© Clr ’14 Mom celebrating winter

Too wiped to write much tonight. Walking in the snow is challenging, mostly the slush and with a bad knee it get real tricky. Have so much to do until the service Saturday too!  Well, my roots of my hair can wait another day, my writing and reading will have to wait too; tomorrow morning is early off to Plattsburgh, New York to do my groceries for the holidays.  My daughter was nice enough to offer to bring me. She goes regularly to do her groceries there. We are pretty lucky to be so close to our neighbours, barely a 40 minute ride to get food at affordable prices and gas up of course:)

Already getting hassled by family about wills and rights and what not…good Lord, can’t we wait to get by the service?!

Need a nice distraction before sleeping. So off to watch a series I discovered at NetFlix, Rectify. So far it is not too bad. I already watched 4 British detective and lawyer series, one Welsh detective series and if you have any detective or legal series to recommend I can stream here, let me know.

Nite, Emma…nite world.

© Oliana 2014/12/12

secret stories (free verse)

© Clr '14

© Clr ’14

So much pain I see,
secret stories of incest
feelings of worthlessness
confused of their identity
so much pain I hear,
question sexual orientation
scared of being judged
dread being misunderstood
mostly disappointing
so much pain I feel,
rather than hurt their loved ones
they turn to ending their lives
feeling it’s their only demise
so much pain I feel,
their letters, phonecalls
instant messages
all screaming piercingly
in their silent agonies
so much pain I hear,
if only they knew
there are other avenues
if only they knew
they are worth so much more
we can only hope
pray and have faith
life might turn around
for some of these souls
young wounded individuals
a whole life in front of them
yet their vision sees no clarity
only grey and dark posterity
so much pain I see
so much pain I feel.

© Oliana Kim, 2014/12/10

Dear Emma,

© Clr `14

© Clr `14

Winter is sneaking in alright. I walked slowly from the Métro yesterday and took the scenic, longer route. I took photos at the Métro and the church across the street…lovely scene of the park benches covered with snow. The chimes were up for passerby’s to play holiday tunes.

© Clr `14
© Clr `14

© Clr `14
© Clr `14

I walked through the park and saw a couple sitting on one bench and a mother with her son who cared little if there was snow…he was trying to climb up on the dome. I stepped up on the slide to take a few photos of the park. The snow was falling softly and it was almost like a winter scene from a movie.

© Clr `14
© Clr `14

Walking home last night the snow was heavier and visibility not as great but it was just a normal Quebec snowfall. The snow plows were out to clear the shopping mall across the street to make ready for those holiday shoppers but this morning, the snow was still falling and blowing.

Today was a staff development day and Christmas dinner afterwards and my manager understood that I was not in the best of spirits to take part. So I am working a few hours from home in the warmth and away from the snowy streets of Montreal.  So I sit by my patio window and see the shoppers arriving despite the storm but not as many as usual. The snow plows are working day and night to ensure shoppers can get in to spend, of course. And I notice the cars are driving slowly and carefully on the icy roads covered with snow.  It is always tricky to drive on such roads for you think it`s only snow and underneath is dangerous ice.

Oftentimes the temperature rose and there were ice pellets to enhance the tree branches but curse the poor drivers.  It is supper time and the snow persists. Thank goodness for cell phones as I texted both my children to see if they got home safely. My daughter texted me she had arrived despite the terrible  roads. My son texted me to say a pizza delivery guy nicked his fender but he was home safe too.  Now I can continue working from home with my Bette keeping me company. Actually I think she just likes the heat coming out from the side of my laptop but I will pretend it is me she wants:)


© Clr `14/12/10

© Oliana Kim, 2014/12/10

fearless stride (haiga)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

red hat

© Clr ’14

foggy moon
cold keeps us indoors, but
I braved the cold

I braved the cold
with my new wool red hat
dodged the cold

dodged the cold
fearless stride with studded boots
got me home safely

© Tournesol ’14

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baby blues glowed (haibun)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

He was 13 only months old and could barely walk in his stiff white winter boots.  I took him out of his car seat.  I placed him on the huge parking lot at his father’s garage, that was filled with virgin snow.  He looked down and lifted one foot and saw his footprint in the snow; he froze with his baby blues widened, reflecting the light from the showroom.   He then started tiptoeing so as not to mess up the white powdery carpet.

Baby blues glow,

tiptoeing on white powder

pure enchantment

© Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem timeglass

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The Renaud scandal

“Oh Bette! You have to fix this mop on my head!!!” the tall woman walked in the beauty parlor with half of her long black hair in a sorry excuse for a bun and long strands of hair hanging over her forehead.

Bette was busy applying some purple concoction on Michelle’s head.  She wanted to become a blonde…overnight! She sighed knowing that Michelle’s dark auburn hair would probably take two or three bleaches before turning a dark blonde.  Her clients never understood how chemicals worked…they saw a movie with a blonde starlet and they all wanted to become blondes. Next month it will be Julia  Roberts’ reddish mane.

“Yes,  Madame Auclair, I can put your hair up between my two clients.” She was referring to Mrs. Higgerty who was under the hair dryer with rollers on her head. Some clients insisted being coiffed the old fashioned way and Bette preferred acquiescing rather than arguing. She came from the school of “the customer is always right.”

“Did you hear, Bette, that Doctor Renaud is leaving town?” Bette rolled her eyes but made sure Madame Auclair, the town gossip, did not notice.

Michelle, however, seemed intrigued. “Really, why on earth would he leave town? He just set up his practice a few years ago.”

That is all she needed to continue on her rant, “Well, apparently they say that some women were complaining of his way of physical EXAMINATIONS…”She waited for a reaction and only Michelle looked at her open mouthed, Bette rolled her eyes once more and Mrs. Higgerty was snoring to the hum of the dryer.

“Apparently, Mrs. O’Toole was very upset when she left his office and told Sara…you know the receptionist at the Dental clinic?  And Sara called Amy Cunningham, the cashier at I.G.A. and her daughter told my daughter…WELL!! I just could not get over it.” She puffed and had an air of satisfaction plastered on her complacent face.

Bette’s eyes widened as she knew that Sara was her two o’clock appointment …only twenty minutes away and that Madame Auclair was just shooting the breeze once again. If Sara gets a hold of her, there will be a real cat fight in her parlor…she had to think quick.

She finished applying the purple bleach on Michelle’s head, turned Mrs. Higgerty’s sleeping machine to cooler but let her snore some more and invited Madame Auclair to sit at her station facing the tall oval mirror.

Bette brushed out her long mane and started applying some paste in the front so her bang would obey better and then started twisting and pinning to do Madame Auclair’s usual French twist.  She was hurrying to get it done before Sara arrived. “OW!!! You needn’t stick the bobby pins into my head for goodness sakes!”

“Ooops, so sorry.” Bette had a huge smile in her heart…a little bit of poking would do this chatter box no harm, she thought.

She added lots and lots of hairspray to ensure her hairdo would last one full week which it usually did.

Madame Auclair paid Bette the exact amount leaving no tip…as usual and left.

Michelle and Bette both said at the same time, “Now THAT was close!”

Sara waltzed in, “What was close?”

© Oliana Kim, 2014/12/08

MindLiveMiserysMenagerie – Soap Opera

what is? (free verse)

what is love

if not unconditional?

what is trust

if not beyond faith?

what is deception

if not betrayal?

what is joy

if not lack of pain?

what is life

if I cannot believe,

trust, hope for, love?

if nothing is real

why should I be part

of this make-believe world?

(c) Oliana Kim ’14/12/08

still lost (free verse)

© Clr '14 Back to work

© Clr ’14 Back to work

I feel so blessed that she called me
in my sleep,
she sent a message
and there I was at her bedside
just in time too!

but now I feel so lost
I want to write
but all I see is ma Colombe
I interpret every prompt
as something related to maman
so readers far and near
bear with me
I am still lost …
still preparing for a service
still have to face the family
not all are as nice as me (grins)
but still
I am truly blessed
old friends from long ago
are promising to support me
some I have known since I was 12!
and of course my bestest since I was 20
I am so rich with wonderful people
who care about me
love my mom through me
so bear with me
just a little longer
I tend to linger
on ma chère maman, Colombe
her memory so vivid and present.

© Oliana Kim ’14/12/07

Dear Mom,

wpid-20141206_151347.jpgIt’s day 4, Mom, so I have to assume you have left this world. I felt you here the first night, my cat, Bette, did too. Did you see how beautiful she is? I name her after your English nickname. So you are always with me and she is almost as affectionate as you are, Mom.

I keep looking of photos of 10, 20, 30 years ago and how you were so present in our lives. The children have such wonderful memories. They are fortunate to have had you in their lives until their mid thirties. Of course that does not make me old, since I started my family at 12 years old…haha. You always lied about your age.

I remember when I turned 39 and I asked you if you could move your age up to 49 since it would look silly if we both were 39 like Jack Benny. Aging was never your strong suit, Mom. and yet age is just a number. You are as old as you feel inside. You always had that joie de vivre, that childlike innocence. Oh my the jokes we would tell you and you would often have a delayed reaction to the joke…either you were translating it into French or you just did not quite get it. But you laughed heartily even when you did not get it. That was something I could never do…pretend but you did it out of diplomacy and to make people feel good.

Love you Mom, and hope you are getting acquainted with so many of your fan club up there.

Me xx

Cold moon smiles (haibun)

© Clr 2014

On December 1st, I sat by my mother’s bedside as she slowly, painfully, slipped away. She left us  in the dead of night at 12:30 a.m. December 2nd;  seconds before, she opened her eyes facing me and I pray she felt my presence as she left this painful land. Her name is Colombe (which is dove in French); I imagined her flying with thousands of doves and angels. And now, the glow of the cold moon smiles upon us to let us all know she is free at last. Je t’aime, Maman, Je t’aime, ma Colombe.

white light
full moon welcomes
white dove


white dove
soars towards infinity
free at last


free at last
moonbeams form a stairway
steps to heaven

© Tournesol ’14

Tribute to Colombe

When I see this word “present” I may have thought of talking about Christmas gifts (presents) but my life changed slightly since last Monday with my mother’s passing.

My sister and I were talking about how mom was in the past and every time we would put verbs in the past tense, it felt odd…just not right. Mom is present in our life now and forever whether she is in the spirit world or on earth. I could not have agreed more with my sister…which is something we don’t always do…agree, I mean.

Two days after Mom`s passing, we had settled things with the crematorium, the church for a service, this coming Saturday and what was left was that I put an ad in the local newspaper and then compose a brief poem in French to put on a bookmark we will be giving to guests on Saturday at the memorial. One side will be a picture of my mother and the other side a brief poem. Since my sister is struggling with “past tense” I decided to write my poem to suit both of us even if we are giving the bookmarks to our guests.

I have only shared a rough draft (a first write) of what the bookmark would look like on both sides, with my sister. She loves it. So here is my draft I am sharing here with my WP community.  The back of the bookmark is a poetic note describing my mother in the “present” tense.


en souvenir de

Colombe Daudelin

née le 22 juin 1926

décédée le 2 décembre 2014




Elle est la joie

le vent qui respire l’amour

un baume qui soulage




pour sa famille et ses amis

elle restera

notre sérénité,

notre Colombe d’amour.

(c) Oliana Kim ’14/12/06

LindaGHill’s SoCS Friday Reminder “Present”

Dear Emma,

My mother was a compulsive shopper. The little shops near her house thrived on her purchases. My sister told me a few days ago that one boutique stayed open an extra year because of my mother`s weekly purchases. Imagine that!

Mother loved shoes, bags, hats oh my, she did love hats. And she had a very petite head, so it was not always easy to find a hat to fit her slender head. My sister and I have big heads, as do my children.

Once my mother purchased a Charlie Chaplin pot hat. Oh I loved that hat. She finally gave it to me one Easter weekend. In order for the hat to fit snug on her head, she had taped women’s sanitary napkins inside. Haha!! Leave it to Colombe to find a way to make something work for her.

The day after my mother’s passing my sister, my son and step-father went to settle things at the crematorium and then at the church for the memorial. Afterwards, I decided to sleep at my step-father’s so he would not be alone. I did have good intentions but a lot of family misunderstandings ensued…I hate deaths due to the aftermath, the stupid misperceptions, the greedy who fear of losing something and the more I heard, I cannot believe I belong to this family!

But I made it to the next day…my sister had a heart to heart with me to tell me how everyone hated my guts because they thought I had taken $$ which I had not…it is sad that money shades the colour of a person’s personality and that there is so much importance put on this. But I was stoic, strong and diplomatic…my son then drove me home.

Well, finally alone with my thoughts and what better way to celebrate my mother’s life but to go shopping! That’s right! I crossed the street and went to get some cosmetics, my mother’s brand, then noticed a lovely big pot shaped hat predominantly red. I had promised Justine at  that I needed a bit of colour for this winter and red might be the colour. So here is a photo of that hat. I am absolutely positive Mom would have loved this hat. It even has a ribbon in the lining to adjust to make it smaller…oh, how she would have appreciated this!

This winter I will proudly wear this hat and have Mom near me always.

(c) Oliana Kim, 2014/12/06

(c) Clr'14

(c) Clr’14

Ma Colombe

Once a dove
flew above and beyond
forever gone

once a dove
lost its voice
the earth wept

a special dove
flew up to heaven
lost my voice

dove of life
above and beyond

punched me

broke my heart
I grieve

cried searching
my dove

without my dove
endings hurt

necessary loss
life swept away
mourning dove

my youth switched gears
lost, am I

discovered a new role
an orphan am I

they all bowed
chirping farewell
Mother dove

An orphan is born when the last parent has departed forever.

© Tournesol ’14/12/03

Posted by Oliana Kim from WordPress for Android

colours of paradise (haiga)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

© Clr '14

© Clr ’14

lovers bathe in sheer bliss
honey to a bumblebee
as the sun sets

strokes of beauty
sensual and lush overflow
colours of paradise

rooftop serenade
bowing at sun kissed skyline
gently slips away

© Clr '14

© Clr ’14

(c) Tournesol ’14

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a lotus blossoms (haibun)


From my poetry blog at Tournesol dans un jardin

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

I love the story of how a lotus starts off.  Such a beautiful flower, appearing so delicate and yet it is so resilient.  This flower grows in ponds and lakes where water does not move much, hence it sprouts first under water in mud and murky water. Just as humans go through life facing loss, sadness, death, and dark moments, hopefully we become stronger and our mind is awakened, acquiring wisdom.  The lotus stems becomes stronger forming a bud that pushes its way to the light, above water and only then, free of dirt and mud, opens one petal at a time …just as humans open up to spiritual growth.  How fascinating!

In Buddhism the bud of the lotus represents potential. We have the potential to  spiritual growth  and  awakening,  and enlightenment. As the lotus flower emerges from the water clean,  this represents purity…

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Road Trip (sedoka)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

When I lived in Toronto the first few years, I would drive down to my home in Quebec which was a 6 hour drive. Leaving in the morning driving east, I would follow the sun all the way to Montreal. They were long trips alone, so singing with the radio blaring was the only way to stay alert.


(c) Clr ’14

single girl road trip
driving back to the country
winter wind at my back

chasing golden sun
singing old high school songs
on that long lonely highway

(c) Tournesol ’14

BJ Shadorma & Beyond at MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie

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spirit is infinite (haibun)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

© Clr `14

© Clr `14

The only death I truly accepted and understood the infinite journey was my grandfather’s death. Although I was only six, I was blessed to be in a family that was open about life and death; my grandmother being a midwife, talked often of the births she assisted and it did not take away my youth as so many of my Anglo-Saxon raised peers felt…French Canadians kept many European mores I think. And so I remember going to hospital to await the news the doctors would pronounce of the impending fate of my GrandPapa. I sat by his bedside holding his hand daily for a year, as I lived with my grandparents that year. I saw the priest perform his last rites, Extreme Unction and his last smile at me surrounded by his children the day he passed.

So for me, finite meant my favourite person had an…

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trickle of the sand (haiga)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

(c) clr 2014-07-13

(c) clr 2014-07-13

frightful dreams

whispers in the night

grim reaper

grim reaper

holding the hourglass

trickles the sand

© Tournesol ’14/12/01

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Dear Emma,

2014-04-14 21.50.36

© Clr ’14

I had a dream tonight, a young boy was sleeping next to me and sometimes next to my mother…it changed from time to time…we would wake up in the middle of the night and find a boy hanging from the ceiling…saving him each time…wondering if he was hanging himself or if an intruder was coming through the door that went out to a dark corridor…mysterious dark creepy house…darkness all around…no sounds but when we try to save the boy…mom and me.

Sleep swept over me,
fatigue weighs me
with this dream
the same dream repeatedly
wakefulness stirs me
fearing sleep again
visited by this dream
turning in circles
too late to call
how will I make it through the night
a cat howls under the balcony
my Bette stares, listens
stays close to me
won’t leave me
she dreamed my dream
I know she did
we wait for fear to leave
sitting here I want to believe
twas just a dream
and not a sign
waiting in the night
screams louder in the silence
waiting in the night
binds me with such dread
dreaming of the dead
strange fellows in my bed

© Oliana K 2014/12/01

howling in the night

who are you?
appearing in the night
what are you?
a sign , yet seen the light
lying by my side
stirring then you leave
find you hanging there
over and over I see
this fear I cannot bear
who are you?
appearing in the night
what are you?
a sign,not yet seen the light
or have I?
wretched guilt
takes turns with my fear
how powerless am I
wondering what you are
death surrounds you
howls into the night
wakes me with such fright
who are you?
appearing in the night…
dawn be my only guide
lead me in the light
who are you?

© Oliana K 2014/12/01

dreams do come true (free verse)


He sat for hours
looking out
but never seeing
chain smoking
and never breathing
chain recalling
distorted memory
lies embracing him
embellishing him
removing accountability
of all his destructibility
hearts and souls shattered
the lives that should have mattered
his children’s hopes splattered
illusions of his grandeur
wrapped in narcissism
held vigil with him every day
accompaniment every way
with his delusions
that’s all that mattered
despite the lives he shattered

I daydreamed for many years
envisioned life without these fears
of men and conflict
took time to heal

I dreamed of family
and Father Knows Best
kind and affectionate
I’d often have hope
to never calling me stupid
that mindless choking rope

with time, I fell in love with love
but just a child
fairy tale dreams
forgot to open my eyes
until it was too late
and after all
I’d made my bed,
let sleeping dogs lie
rules to live by

until illusions died
hit me smack in the face
soon hurt and disgraced

but dreams I’d stored,
kept reoccurring
were still a part of me
I followed childhood dreams
and made them happen
decades later
I’m proud I finally did…
never too late to try
never too late to realize
dreams that can come true
with hard work true and true
resolve and much determination
visions of what I could do
were not delusions
just delayed dreams
that really had a purpose
passion and true grit
enabled me to live
this dream of mine
high costs but worth the time
and every friggin dime.

© Oliana Kim 2014/11/30


dangerous crossings

Last week Georgia at Bastet and Sekhmet Library wrote an interesting story to a photo prompt here.

Sheep Control Pawel Kuczynski 36

Pawel Kuczynski

I commented that it would be funny if the animals came alive while wearing these fur coats. The attack of the skinned animals was a story weaving in my mind. We thought it would be a cool prompt and Phylor seeing the comments mentioned there was an episode on Ghostbusters where minks attack their owners.  So Georgia wrote The Minx Revenge,  So, here is my little story that came out of this discussion.


Colombe was a manager at a high end beauty salon, la Coupe Bizarre in Montréal. Winters were cold and she decided it was time to go to Laflamme Fourrure where she stored her furs for the spring and summer months.

She arrived on boulevard René Lévesque just before closing. A blast of terrible sounds came out of the warehouse. It sounded like un abattoir where they kill livestock, she thought to herself. “Non, c’est ridicule. Aller! stop being so silly!”

The clerk, Antoinette, at the counter took her customer card and went out back to fetch the coats. Colombe heard squealing and roars this time. She shook her head and wondered if there was something wrong with her hearing.

When the clerk returned with her three coats, Colombe asked her what was all that noise in the warehouse. Antoinette muttered under her breath, “Qu’ils sont idiots ces gens-là!”

“Pardon, je te demande qu’est-ce qui arrive dans votre entrepot avec ce bruit?”Colombe repeated.

« Ah, c’est rien…it’s just that the animals get restless being cooped up for so long. »

Colombe could not believe her ears but she was in a hurry, she was double parked outside and wanted to avoid a ticket and get across the bridge in time to pick up her son at daycare. Surely, the clerk was tired and her sarcasm was her way of venting.

A young man escorted Colombe with the coats on a garment rack and they went down the elevator to her car. The young man placed the beaver, wolf and lynx coats in the back seat of Colombe’s car.

Traffic was slow on the bridge. She felt movement in the back seat and looked in her rear view mirror. She was shocked to see the tail of a beaver flapping as if it was trying to fight off something. She had to keep her eyes on the traffic and she couldn’t stop on the bridge. She sighed, “I must stop drinking so much coffee. Mon dieu!”

A loud purring caught her attention and then a growl…it sounded like a dog, or was it a howl? She looked again in her rear view mirror but it was too late…the claws of the lynx and teeth of the wolf forced her foot on the accelerator and off the bridge.

La Presse’s morning headline the following day, “Une femme avec le visage ravagé dans le fleuve St-Laurent” …it went on to say police could not understand how this woman had her face savagely ravaged…unless the legend of a shark in the St-Lawrence was not a myth…”

(c) Oliana Kim ’14’11’30

House of dinosaurs

PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright - Randy Mazie
Photo by Randy Mazie

“Nana, push me harder,” squealed Tristan pointing his toes up to the sky.

“Wee! Nana, I’m flying!”

“You’re like Superman, sweetheart”, his grandmother smiled.

“Nana, what’s that building over there? I saw Tommy go in there with his big brother.”

“That’s a library, sweetheart.”

“What’s so special there, Nana.”

“Oh, it’s filled with magic, fairy tales and lots of dragons.”

“What? dragons? really?” he squealed.

“Indeed, there are.”

“Are there dinosaurs and gargoyles too, Nana?”

“Yuppers! for sure!”

The little boy jumps off the swing. “So, what’re we waiting for, Nana? Come one! let’s go before they go away.”

(c) Oliana Kim, ’14/11/29

Friday Fictioneers

fleur douce (haibun)

a dream in a dream
sand slipping through old fingers
autumn leaves turn red © Georgia

reminiscing of times past
a maiden and her prince (c) Tournesol ‘14

This was a tan renga challenge with Georgia’s beautiful haiku at Carpe Diem.  I could not help but see stories in my mind and had to write someting to continue my completion I had written at Tournesol dans un Jardin.


She looked up at the sun, slowly setting. The tide was low and the water so calm as if in sync with her every mood. Melancholic was she, the sea was quiet, respectful. Today was the anniversary of his death. They had been together for fifty five years…a lifetime she could not imagine without him. Five years had passed and she still slept on the left side of their double bed, feeling his presence now and then…a whisper of him.

They never wanted a Queen or King size bed like most of their friends had opted for. “It’s so much more comfortable, Emma! You should consider it…you with your sore back…you can adjust one side for you and one side for his preferences.” But Emma and Jean-Marc were fine with sleeping arrangements. Closer to each other, they could snuggle the entire night. When she was cold, she could rest her feet on his warm legs. If her back bothered her, she would fidget in her sleep and Jean-Marc would rub her back gently…the warmth of his hands were magic never needing pills and creams.

She sighed thinking of their last trip together to Quebec City. They had stayed at a quaint inn, Auberge le Tournesol. They had roamed the streets slowly as their legs were not as steady on the steep hills and cobblestone streets. Emma had pleaded with him to take the ferry to visit isle d’Orleans…they picked strawberries and had a picnic the next day on les plaines d’Abraham The weather was perfect for June and they saw the fireworks from their bedroom celebrating St-Jean-Baptiste.

Jean-Marc had written a short poem that weekend for her…it was the last he ever wrote, he died the following fall, November 11th. How fitting that the love of her life, her soul mate had passed on Remembrance Day. Jean-Marc was so curious about signs and happenstances. “What does this mean, my love? Did you think I would forget, you silly fool.” She chuckled softly through salty tears.

petite fleur douce
ton âme papillonne
égaie mon cœur


soft petite flora
your soul blossoms
delights my heart

(c) Oliana Kim ’14/11/28

Inspired by: Bastet and Sekhmet’s Library

Scent of a Man

Prayer, mantra and visualizing are sometimes means I try to get to sleep but insomnia has escorted me most of my life and incessantly the passed twenty-five years, I have yet to find the magic potion that will send me off to sleepy land.  Sleeping pills may help to get to sleep but you build a tolerance and may as well give up on that…it may be good for a few weeks or months if someone is going through a very emotionally difficult time but not as a sleepy time vitamin, that is for sure. Not recommended  by the food and drug administration…or something to that effect.

My aunt in Oakville would suggest to have a glass of wine…or two but that can add more problems running into dependency and it does not allow you to get into deep sleep. REM sleep, I have no problem! I get in that mode travelling on the bus, I can even get into that mode with my eyes open if I am very very tired…I always wonder if I am drooling in public times like that. Oh well!

Having said that, there are more subtle things that have sent me to dream land or put me in a comfort space…of solace.  To stay in the zone of free flow of consciousness, rather than writing a poem, I will write a story that explains these subtle experiences that appease me.


She had been in a relationship for almost three decades and never once had she been able to fall asleep in his arms. Their lovemaking ended with  brief cuddles and the mere touch by him in the night annoyed her whole being.  She always assumed she must have had some traits of OCD and touch excited her senses too strongly…who knew?  Perhaps it was her subconscious from her past that crept in and sent her into a flight or fight mode. Whatever it was, she and he just accepted it.

After her divorce she had lovers who did not trigger this response as intensely …her naval officer surely not but there was always something missing.  And so for a decade of celibacy and busyness with life and family, she later met a man who stirred her senses.  He was the first man who could hold her throughout the night…spooning was something she found quite confining to the  point of claustrophobia but not with this man. And when they parted she did not wash his pillow case for a month…she knew now what she had missed for so many years, a scent that was meant for her. His sweet scent despite his robust body of 6’4”, his tenderness despite those grizzly bear hands…and together in his embrace she felt safe and soothed by his sweet-smelling scent.

Memories of those moments, his scent, his embrace, do send her often to a lovely place of peaceful sleep and tender dreams.


Al Pacino had it right in Scent of a Woman but the same goes for scent of a man. I realized two years after my divorce when I would get a whiff of Eternity or Colors for Men, I would feel a slight weakness in my whole being; the scent of Old Spice brought me back to my childhood smelling my favourite uncle and my dad.  The scent of  Channel or Shalimar made me search for a woman that might look like my mother.  And even the sense of hearing, sound brings you back to exactly where you were when you first heard that sound.  Do you remember where you  were and what you were doing when you heard songs like, “Imagine”, “When a Man loves a Woman” or “Sexual Healing”?  I do and they are fond memories except for “Imagine” which are feelings of grief.  So many songs that flood me with memories that will never be forgotten. It’s amazing what our senses do retain.

© Oliana Kim, 2014/11/28

Written for Friday Reminder for SoCS November 29th.

Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is: “sense/scents/cents,” with a bonus word this week – “sent.” Choose one, use them all or simply write whatever comes to mind- it’s up to you!

Tanka: Within dreams

Within Dreams, Maja Pratengrazer

Within Dreams, Maja Pratengrazer

Tanka: Within dreams

I woke up searching,
longing for your tender touch.
Alas! `twas a dream.
Fleeing swiftly into sleep
where lover`s yearnings do keep.

© Oliana Kim,  November 21, 2013

Photography:   Within Dreams, Maja Pratengrazer, SciFi Fantasy Art -