the pub singer

I tried to write something cheerful, the Lunar New Year is but a week away. But the work in the office is still crazy, plus there's still loads of spring-cleaning to do around the house. There's not much time left to write.

There's always the archives to fall back on though. This is a poem that I have posted in this blog a few years back. I did some editing to it, and here it is.

photo by taliesin
image from morguefile.com

the pub singer
unnamed pub, taipei


in the noisy pub
the babble dropped
to a whisper
as the first strains
of the
plucked strings
drifted through
the smoke
and neon
of the hall

and then that
crystal voice
like a plea
out of a void

the pub singer,
she was there,
in the centre
of the stage,
lit up like a store display
under pools of pink
and orange lights

she sat on a high stool
plucking away on a guitar,
plucking our heartstrings
as she sang of love
and wanderings
and olive trees at home,
her oval face and
bob cut hair haloed in neon,
rounded hips tight in denim jeans

i asked a waitress
what was the singer's name
she said these girls are like
blooms from trees
and i thought
in my country
she would be a star.

06/03/06
revised 23/01/2010
****************

To all my Chinese readers, a Happy and Prosperous Lunar New Year!

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

going home

I would like to begin the year with a post of hope and sunshine.

Personally, 2009 is a fairly good year, though the work at the office is getting crazier. But hey, in these tough times, it's better to have some work than none.

This is a piece from my 2009 NaPoWriMo archives. I have not done any revisions to it, though I think that it can be improved.



drawing by YunPing




going home


In the train going home, my daughter fell asleep in my lap. Minutes earlier, she was colouring pictures in a book, her face determined, intense. I did not know that Mickey Mouse had a red face, but that's how a six year old girl pictured it. The crayon was still in her hand, and I gently removed it, packed it back in the box of colours and kept it in her bag with the book and bottles. Even in the cool air, her face was warm, and I wiped perspiration off it. Holding her, I settled down in the seat for the journey home.

And that was when I saw the lady in the opposite seat smiled at us.


30/04/09
********



About the drawing. It is from the cover of a card, done in color markers, by my daughter when she was about six years of age. It is a bit yellowed now, but I am still keeping it. :)

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

coming back from the coffee shop

This is a post from my NaPoWriMo archives.

We eat out a lot. Maybe it's the busy lifestyle, or we are just plain lazy to cook. More likely, we think (or imagine) it's a big hassle to prepare meals at home after a day's work. So the eateries made a lot of dough from us...



drawing by dsnake1


coming back from the coffee shop


coming back from the coffee shop
i am all hot and sweaty
the shirt smells
like a wok
the hair
fried garlic.

in the elevator
my neighbour smiles at me.
her little black dress
impeccably pressed
a whiff
of chanel

12/04/09
********


© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

quarrel

This is a very old poem from my journals. I took it out and edited it a bit. It is one of my favourites, as it never fails to bring back the memories.



photo by jzlomek
image from morguefile.com




quarrel

like a rush
of arctic wind
that scuttles over
a winter pond
dusting hoarfrost on reeds,
we sat, stiff , cold
as strangers

no words, no words pass between us today.
no words, no words she said.



revised 07/12/08
****************


© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

the last man

Are you feeling chilly, do you jump at the slightest movement of shadows? Here's a story from my NS days during basic military training.

Though the Chinese 7th Month, also known as the "Ghost Month", is over, I think it's still okay to post this.

I will try to get back to some serious writing after this. The work in the office is really getting crazy. :)


photo by Miyabi
image from morguefile.com



the last man
stop looking back.


The night over Tekong was unforgiving. Starless, tar black, bloated clouds threatening rain. Our patrol was trying to make its back to camp. In that tube of darkness that was the jungle trail, we could not see our palms if we had held them in front of our faces. No torchlights, no cigarettes, no zippos, our drill sergeant had warned. We had to trust the point man and his topographic skills. Walking in a single file, holding on to the webbing of the man in front, we inched forward like a wounded caterpillar.

Somehow we made it back, and as we straggled into the lights of the camp, my buddy came up to me, his voice highly agitated, and demanded to know why back there on the trail, i kept pulling his SBO and calling his name. Bemused, I told him I was at the front of the file, and did not do those things he said. I also reminded him that he had volunteered to be the last man in the patrol. And then his face turned a ghostly shade of white..

moonless night
white moth flies in
and rests on his bed.


23.08.08
********


© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

evening bus home

This piece kicked off my NaPoWriMo month of madness.

It was already evening and I was telling myself, hey, there's less than 6 hours before the deadline and there's still no poem yet, and no idea what to write. I work best under pressure, or the muse took pity on me. In less than half an hour, I have this.:)

For this post, there are some slight revisions done to the original.


photo by kevin connors
image from morguefile.com



evening bus home


in the bus
we look like
soldiers back
from battle

fatigued
indifferent
some guy massaging
his head

a cough here
a cellphone rings
amidst the drone
of travel

a shuffle of feet
the beeps
of electronic cards
on readers

i try
not to be
distracted
by all these

as the sky
turns
a nasty shade
of grey

i have only
15 stops
or so
before home.


01/04/2009
revised 28/06/2009
**********

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ), 2009

janice

Alright, I am still up to the nose with work, and I have survived a week (or two) of the flu, so I have to dig another one from the NaPoWriMo archives. This one is from the 14th day. Some slight revision done. I even throw in a drawing I have done. :)

This is the first dance I ever had, that's why it sort of stays in the mind. :)



image by dsnake1



janice


always
that dance
      it plays
      all over
like a jammed vinyl
      when i hear
      that song
in a store
the train the radio
though it has been
almost
     a lifetime
since
we left
and still
like a bridge
across time
      i see
just the two
of us
though there are others
on the dance floor
      my hand
on your slim waist
your warm body
close to mine
a hint
of heady
perfume

and me
trying very hard
not to step
      on your shoes.

14/04/09
revised 23/06/09




If you want to compare the original poem, it's here

The picture is a scan of a pencil drawing on paper which was done a long time ago.

words and image © cheong lee san, 2009