Archive for the ‘Fiction’ category

Poetry: Too Soon

January 8, 2019

Too Soon
by Rachelle Chang

I saw you here the other night,
And here you are again.
No one ever comes this way
But me, and you, in the rain.

This place, it is so strange and far
From all that I have known…
I linger here, but not for long,
I’ve been too long alone.

And you, I know, won’t leave this place,
While I must journey on;
Tell them for me, when they return,
That I’m already gone.

I came too soon, you see, I came
And now I stay too late;
I ask you this: when they return,
Tell them I could not wait.


Gecko and other haiku

April 17, 2018

Poetry was a big part of my life when I was in school. I used to write poetry regularly, and read poems by Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Frost, and Emily Dickinson. I stopped writing poetry when I got out of school – caught up in brochures and newspapers instead of rhyme.

Haiku are both the simplest and one of the hardest forms of poetry. They are deceptively short; it takes a lot of work to pare down words to just 17 syllables. To celebrate International Haiku Poetry Day, the 17th day of April in a month-long celebration of poetry, I want to share some haiku with you.

Gecko chases fly
Burst of frantic energy
A fire in the sky


Stream flowing to night
Snow soothes after mountain storm
Moon appears in mist.


Summer without song
Regret blossoming in rain
Ghost of our desires.


Peace loves a cricket
Leave despair to the winter
Whisper fox a smile


I lie on fragrant
Blooms, looking at sparrows,
First fall and autumn.


And a haiku about summer that my son wrote when he was 7 years old:

The waves are surfing.
The grass feels soft and has weeds.
The clouds are blowing.


Do you have a favorite poet? How important is poetry in your life?


November 21, 2017


I am thankful for
The clean, fresh island air I breathe
The smooth movement of muscle
The eyes that open worlds to me
The wit to solve a puzzle
For ears that hear the song of birds
The words, sweet “I love you”
The arms that hold my loved ones tight –
Each moment spent with you.

I am thankful for
The mind to reason and research
The passion of debate
The friendly conversations
The stories we relate
The spark of creation
A boundless world view
And bold imagination –
Each moment spent with you.

I am thankful for
The morning smiles, goodnight hugs
The meals we spend together
The leisure days and cozy nights
The memories I treasure
The minutes, hours, days we share
The circle of our family
The dreams I have for tomorrow –
Each moment spent with you.


words and artwork by Rachelle Chang

Fiction: Memories of the Shore

September 6, 2016

Memories of the Shore

Memories of the Shore
By Rachelle Chang

Come sit with me a while beside the shore;
We’ll catch a thing or two before we’re done,
And meanwhile sit with the sun bright overhead.
I haven’t come for years, since I was young
And liked to sit beside the shore and fish.
My dad would take me on a rare weekend,
Carrying our bamboo fishing poles
Strung with chord, and at the end, a hook
To which we’d fasten bread crumbs or some crust…
I never cared if I caught anything,
But I loved to sit beside my dad and fish
In the shade, in the quiet, sitting side by side.
And afterwards we’d drive for lunch someplace,
And I could walk with my dad as if I belonged.
But the fishing was better, I had him to myself
By shore or stream for half a day or more.
I don’t go fishing now, but when I do
I like to sit and not catch anything.
Keep company with me a little while;
I don’t often get the chance to be with you.

Poetry: Mango Season

August 4, 2015

Fiction - Mango Season

Mango Season
By Rachelle Chang
Artwork by BWL (age 8)


When I was young I climbed the mango tree
That grew in our front yard. I played
Bare feet, scraped knees, wild hair, without a care.
I swung my legs. I dreamed. I prayed.
In summer months we used a bamboo pole
To reach high for the fruit. We strained
Arms raised, head back, eyes wide for flash of gold
Up high before the season waned.

When I had climbed beyond the leafy green
Into the sun-bright sky; I dared
Head up, back straight, arms wide, and looked below.
I lost my breath. I paused. I stared.
The mango tree, long rooted in the earth,
No longer stood. Once childhood’s shield
Leaves cut, roots starved, green song silenced
An empty place, a concrete field.