Hidden In A Sacred Place

One night I went to a place

Far from city lights and noises

Away from the hurried pace

Up in the purple mountain

It’s crest concealed behind the clouds

I flowed into an iridescent cave

Greeted by shining diamonds and rubies

In the farthest corner, I veiled my own jewels

My precious, precious dreams

I’ll keep it hidden in that sacred place

Photo Credit: Maxie Headroom via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: Maxie Headroom via Compfight cc


I went up the highest tree

Tiptoed over the edge of its emerald leaf

And behold the beauty before me

I let the gentle whispers of the wind

Tickle my ears with sweet verses

I leave with a promise of return

When the uncertainties have been faced

And the fears have been dealt

I’ll take back my gems

Unharmed from that sacred place


Let’s put our glass slippers on for Blog Hop!

It’s been six months since I sailed on a journey to the infinite virtual world – the blogosphere. I’m nowhere near the middle of my cruise; there’s a boundless stream stretching before me. I’m a novice traveller – occasionally hungry, lost and clueless. The good thing is this world never runs out of magic. Once upon a time, I bumped into a bunch of generous fairies willing to share their knowledge, offer encouragement, and impart some kick-ass advice. One of those fairies (though I’m not sure he’ll like to be referred as fairy :) ) is Johnny who invited me to join in the Blog Hop. 

I was a bit hesitant at first because all the others who are participating are already great at their crafts. They’re talking about the next book they’ll be publishing while I’m struggling to write my first sentence. Johnny told me, “just be yourself and you’ll tell great stories.” Those words take the pressure off knowing that I don’t have to create make-believe stories of impressive achievements to be able to tell great stories. I just have to be myself – my clueless, struggling self. So with that said, I’m in for Blog Hop!

It’s time to get to know the one I should be grateful of– Johnny (who is secretly a fairy):


Johnny Bravo is in the business of helping professionals sell their brands and take their careers to the next level. Businesses and professionals in every industry come to him for best practices in sales, networking and professional brand development.

You can find him at www.salesproblog.com or follow him on Twitter and connect on LinkedIn and Google+

Now take a peek at my wonderful and challenging writing journey:

What am I working on?

I wish I could say my publisher’s printing my book while I’m writing my next, but who am I kidding? I’m not yet there. Not right this moment, but I’ll get there someday. Someday soon…

Focussing back on the present, I’m doing a lot of ghost writing for numerous event websites to keep me afloat. Additionally, I’m working on perking up Regal Flair.I’m also writing a fantasy love-story for the sake of pleasure. I might post the plot here once I’m done editing.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Every writer has a unique writing style but I’m not sure what exactly make my work different from others. Hell, I’m not even sure how to define my voice.

Let me try though. Someone told me my writing is fun and magical and it hits me: “fun and magical” is what I’ve been aiming to be my brand. I adore writers who can hold you captivated in a different world they created through their words. I wanted to be like them – but different.

My work is quite imperfect – not sure if it’s a good thing but it’s what makes it different. It’s like a young woman with a scruffy hair mingling with others who are in a smartly tied bun. Or a painting with rough edges and odd hues lined up with perfectly polished works of art. 

Why do I write what I do? 

I’ve been writing materials which requires technicality long before I started this blog. I realized I was writing in auto pilot. I was writing just so my atm card would get loaded up every end of the month. It felt awfully meaningless. I was becoming stiff and I hated it. I was losing the joy of writing.

So my decision to write what I now do was fired up with the desire to claim my passion back. I want to fall back in love with writing by letting my imaginations do the work. I wanted to write in my own way, pour my heart out and just be free.

How does your writing process work?

Once the muse strikes, I hit my laptop. Stare at the blank screen. Chase the ideas rebelliously floating in my head. Get frustrated over the first few sentences. Get even more frustrated ignoring the resistance and distractions. Type the words out with all the speed I can muster.

After 300 or so words, I already gain momentum and writing is a bliss. Ahh, my favourite part! This is when writing becomes spellbinding. This is when I drift into my mind, floating with words. Then once I get over the effects of spell; it’s time to crop, trim and modify my messy output.

I change what needs to be changed, add some details, subtract adjective overload and try to make it better. Not perfect but better.The length of time I spend doing all these ranges from an hour to three days, depending on my satisfaction and uhm, mood. 

To keep the Blog Hop hopping, I have to tag three bloggers but the other one had to back out. I’m happy I’ve got these two amazing bloggers for you to meet: 

Liz Long

A lover of life, laughter, colour and how language fits in around it all. A previous student in linguistics, and recently re-discovering her passion for creative story-telling, she is fascinated by how language can alter our perceptions, paint vivid pictures, and appreciates the fine art and craft that is creative word-play.”

You can have a fun read of her works at lasoi.co.uk.

Brooke Brunson

My name is Brooke Brunson and I am a freelance writer/blogger living in Philadelphia. Besides writing poetry and articles for my blog and different magazines, I also work part-time as a parking cashier at Children’s hospital of Philadelphia. In my spare time I also like to draw and travel.                                              

                 For more info you can catch me on my blog at www.brookebrunson.wordpress.com



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Whenever I look at the stars I can’t help getting into poetic mood. Whenever I look at them, I’m instantly spellbound. Seriously, what is it with those gleaming dots? I see them every night yet I’m not immune to their effects. They’re magical, hypnotic even. With that said, here’s a very short product of the said mood:


Millions of silver flecks scattered over an infinite dark canvass

Reflecting in my eyes, piercing through my soul

The simplicity and intricacy of it all

Makes me wonder how great their Creator is


A single dot cannot light a tiny chamber

Together, they illuminate an entire cosmos

The depth of their glow is unfathomable

For mere mortals, it’s beyond the possible

When She Finally Found Someone to Love

Pixie dusts are sprinkled over the night sky

The girl closes her eyes and believes she can fly

Her laughter echoes over the mountains

Her hair is loose like flowing curtains


She bounces and pirouettes towards her fantasy

Living freely in her own reality

Ups and downs, her life is a plethora

 She’s crowned by a halo of light aura


Until suddenly life strucks her like a flash of lightning

Caged by demands, the world stops gleaming

Rules and norms to follow for her to bear up

What happens to her is that she’s grown up

Chasing success, she works night and day

Forgetting happiness, she makes no time for play

All of a sudden, dreams turn into ambitions

Obsessions that gradually turn into suffocations


High on her heels, she walks stiffly

She dresses immaculately, laughs demurely

She curses the wind for it messes up her coiffure

Can’t stand the dirt that ruins her haute couture


But one day she meets a prince who wakes her up with a kiss

Who sweeps her off her feet and fills her heart with bliss

She found herself dreaming about the great banquet

Riding a pumpkin carriage and dancing the night away


Showered by pixie dusts, now she can fly… once again

Carefree, heartily, she can laugh and cry… once again

The wind is blowing, her hair is loose… once again

What’s happening to her, she has no clues


The prince adores her in a rug of a dress

She regains her sense of true happiness

She’s as free as a magnificent dove

When she finally found someone to love


A Shoe Tale: Finding the Perfect Fit

I stand silently, my jaw hanging open, as I gaze at the enormous shining red door before me. Intricate flowers are embossed on the centre and at the topmost part are golden vines with diamonds as ringlets. It’s the queen of all doors towering elegantly over her kingdom. It’s the gateway to my dreamland.

My insides are pulsating with exhilaration. The door opens as if it felt my presence. I’m greeted by a blinding white light. It’s like I’ve been concealed in a dark box for a long time and now I finally escaped. I blink a few times until my eyes adjust. And I see the most breath-taking view I’ve ever seen. The walls are spotless white. Hanging below the high ceiling are several gigantic chandeliers. And, get this; there are endless rows of immaculate shoes. All shining against LED lights.

Gucci. Louis Vuitton. Miu Miu. Ferragamo. Louboutin. Jimmy Choo.

All the most coveted shoes in the world are in this place. Where should I start? I’m frozen with excitement and confusion. I sniff the air and it smells like fresh leather mixed with expensive perfume. 

I could remain on my place, sniffing and staring for hours, if not for the gorgeous blonde woman who pats my shoulder and says, “Hi! Are you gonna try on our shoes?”

“I’d love to. But I can’t afford any of it,” I answer with obvious despair.  “I’m just a student.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s free!”

What?! “Do you mean I don’t have to pay anything? You mean I can actually have a real designer shoe?” I gasp. Did I just die? Am I in heaven?

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” blonde goddess says, “But you could only choose one.”

I walk over the first row. For the first time I notice I’m not the only one in this palace. There are tall, beautiful women giggling and sauntering around. They’re all wearing long dresses. Powder blue drape gown. White lacy gown. Red long-sleeved gown.

I look at what I’m wearing. I’m in a sweatpants and a lousy old t-shirt. Why didn’t I rent a gown? I suddenly feel out-of-place.

Never mind, I’ll just get my shoe real quick and head home.

I touch the first shoe and surreptitiously wipe the drool off my lower lip. It’s a silver strappy sandals with little diamonds on its straps. I’m in love. I badly want to try it on so I put it down slowly. Almost reverentially.

 It doesn’t fit. Bummer.

 I try another one but it still doesn’t fit, as well as the other and the other…

 My feet are too small for a woman’s shoe. I feel exhausted by disappointments. Every time I look at a pair of shoe, it seemed more stunning than the previous one but nothing fits me so it’s useless. I’m in a dreamland but nothing in it is for me. Me, my sweatpants, my old, ragged, lousy t-shirt and my tiny feet don’t belong in this place.

I slump on the luxurious white couch to rest a little bit before I go off. I’m not gonna freaking cry over a pair of shoe, am I? I shouldn’t be depressed if I happen to be in a place where they’re giving away free designer shoes and nothing could fit me, should I? Oh my god. My eyes are burning.

Jimmy Choo Pumps

I’m wiping the stupid tears with the back of my hand when I feel someone perch beside me. I turn and, oh boy!

I’m staring at the most soulful eyes I’ve ever seen. His eyes look like he knows everything about me. Like he can see through my core, read my mind and tell my future. He’s wearing a sweatpants and a lousy shirt. Just like me! I’m not alone! And he’s holding a –

Is that a –

Oh my god.

Is that a lacy cream pumps?

 A very feminine, open toe, lacy cream platform pumps?

 “Try this on. This will fit you perfectly,” his voice is very deep and gentle. He places the pumps close to my feet.

“No thanks. I don’t like shoes,” I lie. “I loathe it, actually.”

“Don’t let your disappointments make you indifferent,” he says in a surprisingly soothing tone.

“I’m not indifferent! I’ve tried on everything in this place but nothing could fit me,” I say crossly. “You hear it? Nothing. Nada.”

“Not everything, I suppose. You haven’t reach that corner yet,” he says, pointing to farthest corner on the left with little butterfly paintings on the white wall. “Where you could’ve found this one – the one tailored just for you”.

“Why does it have to be placed on the remotest corner?” I’m still unconvinced. “If it’s really for me, it should be where I could easily see it.”

“Is that so? Wouldn’t that spoil the thrill?” he says calmly. “Aren’t you glad you’ve try on and seen those beautiful shoes? You would’ve not experienced it if you got what you want right away.”

“I’m beginning to believe I don’t belong here. I was about to head home,” I say.

“The door would’ve not opened if you don’t belong, in the first place. And I won’t let you go home without having this,” he gestures to the pumps he’s holding. “Didn’t you wish for it?”

“I did. But do I still deserve it? Though I gave up?” I ask.

“I’m proud of your tenacity. You walk through almost all those shelves, didn’t you?” the man answers. “You just thought about giving up. But you’re just taking a rest then you’ll get up and try again.”

“Tenacity? You don’t know me. I’m impatient”.

“You do like to whine from time to time,” he smiles while shaking his head. “But that’s how you cope. The world can be tough. No one can get on without whining. Believe me, I understand you. You get frustrated and cry but you carry on. Now,” he holds my hands and passes me the shoes.

I grasp the shoe and look at it. It’s even more beautiful closer. It’s unbelievably exquisite. Why do I have a feeling that this particular pair of shoe is what I’ve been looking for all along? Like it really is made for me. I know if other shoes happen to suit me, I would’ve kept searching until I found this one. It seems like the perfect fit… but what if it’s just like all the other I’ve tried on? Will it be worth it to take another chance and risk another disappointment? Will it be worth it to have faith with this stranger?

Taking another chance is always worth it, I decide. And who cares about disappointments? I can always get over it. And yes, it’s worth it to have faith.

I put the shoes down and slip my feet in it and –

It fits! So perfectly. It feels comfortably familiar.

I glance back at the man and see him smiling as if saying “see?”

“Thank you so much. Who are you, by the way?” I ask. “What’s your name?”

He looks at my eyes and says, “I’m J–


My reliable alarm clock yanks me back to reality.