A WordPress Blogger

A WordPress Blogger



A WordPress blogger

Written by Jenine Silos


Clicks in the evening, account signing in.

A WordPress blog pops in the screen.

An open email to check what’s within,

Only to see a comment is pending.

Heart throbs like a sophomore teen,

Lips curve without you knowing,

Chubby cheeks flushed in pink,

All for a single comment.

Different tabs in one browser,

Multiple sites you scan and gather,

Only to seek the rightful answer:

“Wordpress traffic how to garner?”

The evening end with Mister Google,

Telling you to read further.

You click to read what’s within,

Only to find a WordPress blogger.

Clicks in the evening, a moon shining.

A WordPress blog pops again in the screen.

A follow button you end up clicking,

He follows back and you go “Hooray-ing!”

Motivation now kicks you in,

A pool of words inside your brain.

Fingers move like a bullet train,

Afraid to lose the ideas within.

Dawn sneaks in, the moon is tiring.

A WordPress blog still on the screen.

Traffic rushes in, stats increasing,

Only to find you’re sleeping.


Annie Laurie, a Narrative Poem: Part 1


Arranged and written by Jenine Silos
Synopsis: Annie and Laurie are inseparable sisters. One man comes in and shatters it all. One is faithful, one is not. One believes, the other disbelieves. Can faith really move the mountains? Will the last be the first, and the first the last?


  • Little Annie
  • Laurie
  • Andrei
  • Lawrence
  • Ted and Jenny
  • Human Dolls
  • Ben the Kitty
  • Factory Workers
  • Narrator

There on the city boundary,
A house lies so small and gloomy.
Detached from the Triumph,
In all its glory and people,
A sister awaits a sister.

Sat in the usual chair,
A girl with the red hair,
Holds a doll called Jenny.

Now, she, Jenny, a toy ballerina,
Smiles at Ted held next to her.
Now, he, Ted, a toy joker,
Is a joker with evil stare.

A cat named Ben, fat and cheeky,
Nestled down below her chair.
He gives no sound,
He gives no yawn,
He is but a plastic darling.

The girl named Annie,
Sings in joy, sometimes in agony.
She plays with toys, indulged in fantasy.
Every day it is that way,
Boring her until one day…

Today again, like yesterday,
I sit alone. Waiting, dreaming, playing.
In this prison room, with Ted and Jenny, saying “hi” to me.
“Hey, Annie! You look lovely,” says Ben, my plastic kitty.
Inside this room, I take refuge, where everything is make-believe!

Little Annie, wild in thought and fantasy,
Starts to dance in merry.
In her world inside her thought,
Her toys her only friends.

In a routine they all dance,
She, the prima donna, and Jenny the ballerina.
Ted owns a magic booth,
With decisive tricks Ben is humored.

Welcome you, welcome guests!
Welcome all imaginary friends!
Here’s a world, here’s a place,
Full of fun and full of lies.

Like yesterday, I stand in awe.
Watching, wondering, imagining.
Sometimes I sew, sometimes I chew.
I read, I write, and sing a song, too!

Welcome you, welcome guests!
Come and greet me at your ease!
Here’s a world, here’s a place,
A prison of protection,
My Sanctuary it is called.

A cheerful world she creates.
Our little Annie is desperate.
She will soon realize,
Illusion is just a lie.

Oh, Ted, how long shall we wait?
Oh, Jenny, why don’t you speak?
Hey, Ben, stop that thought!
Danger is not the word.
Oh please, stop it all, she’s alright after all!

Little Annie becomes worried,
A routine she has done,
But her sister is still gone.
So when a knock is heard,
In delight she shortly cries.

Oh, Laurie, she is here!
How lovely must it be?!

Excited Annie runs to the door,
And with haste she opens it.
There beside the posts,
A woman masks in beauty,
Hair that is long and black,
She’s dressed in a simple garment,
And shines with a pretty smile.

She holds a grip bag,
With loveliness she greets her.
Though she is tired,
She overcomes for Annie.

I’m home, little Annie!
I’m home, my little darling.

My dearest Laurie!

A greeting kiss you owe to me.
Now that is sweet!
Oh, your hair is lovely!
Oh dear little Annie,
Forgive this heedless sister,
Your wait must be long.

Ten hours Laurie!

Oh, little you, so patient and kind.
A reward you must deserve!
Come and look,
A present I bring with me.

Presents I don’t deserve!
Only you that I need.
But Laurie may I ask?
What’s inside the bag?

Open it and you shall see.
Skillfully it is made,
Exclusively for Annie.

A doll?! Her face so little and white,
Her eyes so blue, huge and smart,
Her lips a pale pumpkin!
Her hair is red and it curls like a thread!
Tell me, Laurie dear, is it you who made it?

How brilliant must it be,
If talent is bestowed upon me!
Assemble was all I did,
A friend of mine has made it.

Do I know this person?
Have I met her?
My face, my dress, my smile,
Exactly she has nailed it!
Tell me, Laurie,
How it all happened?
Have I not gone past behind the door?

Alas, little Annie!
Andrei you have not met.
Describing you to him, is all that he need.
Dolls he makes a lot, a true genius of it!

A gentleman!
Is your friend not a woman?
Is this not a curious thing?
You speak of a man, is this not the first?

A good friend he is, no more no less.
A man without fear, except the one he calls God.
If you remain patient, and obey what I always say,
You will meet him in no delay!

Exciting shall it be!
Do you plan to marry?!

Marry!—a heavy word you say!
Oh little Annie, my little Annie,
You think too much, but you shall not!

Oh Laurie, tell me so, why should I not?
Kind and beautiful, Laurie you are that!
Sooner than you think, a man will like you, is this not normal?

Little Annie, so innocent and shy,
There are things yourself shall not bother.
Andrei is only a good friend of mine.

This gentleman, mysteriously genius,
Curiosity he kicks in me!
Laurie please, let me see,
Your sister is thankful, I shall soon—*cough

Annie, you are sick!
And you keep it to yourself,
And here I talk, taking heed I didn’t !

It is only a cough.

Even so, come, you must now rest.
Tell me, little Annie, did you sing while I was out?

Little Annie nods in respect,
And with Laurie’s assistance,
She is now in bed.
Let the reader understand,
Our little Annie is not a healthy one.
Confined in a gloomy room,
Unconnected to everyone.

Laurie shuts her from the world,
Unknown to the city of Triumph,
Laurie fears the city’s culture,
Annie’s body would not endure,
And Annie knows it all.

She does not say all the words,
For Laurie’s sake her lips are mute,
But she is a lonely soul,
And Annie knows it all.

End of Part 1.

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Listen to Me

child beggar

Photo Credit: travel.nationalgeographic.com/

Listen to Me

In a world with numerous people,
Here cries a voice so tiny and gentle
Will someone dare to hear?
Will someone notice a voice so little?

In a city with brilliant, colored lights,
Here walks a child so weak and fragile
Does anyone know that tonight is winter?
Does anyone feel what my stomach aches?

In a street with busy people,
Here comes a creature with outstretched arms
Will someone care to know I’m desperate and sad?
Will someone look at me, drop at least some bread?

In a world with lots of perils,
I care not for riches and knowledge
I survive only for a cent,
A cent which nobody even cares.

In a city where everything is business,
Victory is something one must achieve
But will someone accept me as their gardener?
Then why people look as if I’ve got nothing to share?

In this life where people come and go,
Will someone listen to me, drop at least a cent?
In a world with billions of people,
Am I just a dirty fly?

My second entry to Weekly Writing Challenge: Time for Poetry, from the Daily Post. I don’t have a kid but, I have a special feeling for children, especially those who are abandoned and cold in the street corners. Sometimes it gives me a guilty feeling that when I drink a cup of coffee in a coffee shop, one child is actually craving some left overs. Oh well.

A Morning Cup

I wrote this poem in participation for the Weekly Writing Challenge, from the Daily Post. Essentially, the whole content of this poem is inspired by my housemates–my sister, my young Uncle, and my cousin. We have different tastes in life, different tasks we are busy about, and different perspectives–but we never forget to smile to one another and care for each other. Despite the busy-ness, each Sunday morning is completed by a morning cup–of coffee! Of course.

A Morning Cup

Tweets in the morning, birds singing
A faint melody is heard nearby.
An open window for a morning air
Bushes sway like a dancing ballet
Lovely cheeks—softly touched by the early sun
The blue horizon, welcomed by a morning yawn.

Minutes, the legs are moving, arms stretching.
Then “Morning” words within the corners
Smiling lips above the ground,
Greeting, praying, and some are silent
Each is busy in his own interest.

A round table—set with morning goodies
Bread—sweet and leavened,
Cookies on a plastic plate,
Rice and egg for the sweet-less lover
Delighted glory—for a set of groupies
Different food, same smell of aroma
Different tastes for the morning haste,
A Sunday morning,
Completed by a morning cup.

A morning cup pf coffee

A cup of coffee please?