NightSky and Stars

Here's something I wrote some time ago, and posted here before. It's one of my personal favourites.

I know, another re-post.



photo by Daniele Musella
image from morguefile.com




NightSky and Stars



      What myriad secrets you hold up there
      we can only boldly guess
      Your mysteries, time locked
      & unwilling yet to share.

What light i saw
could have been born a billion years before

you are ancient legends, retold over glowing fires
domains of the gods, we are told.
In time, as we grew wiser,
we dared, we probed your dark canvas.

Your depth, i could not fathom
the immense distance you span.
If i could live a million reincarnations,
i guess i could not traverse you from end to end.

Tonight, on such a cold night,
in a miniscule niche on a blue planet,
as i lift my eyes to the vastness above,
the stars, they spoke to me in lights of life.

On this planet, spinning, are we.
Solar Planetary System, #3

      ashes to earth to life to earth to ashes
      trilobites in shale, archaeopteryx in amber
      Beatles on wax, memories in silicon brains
      man chasing gold chasing dreams chasing fame

now what light i saw
could have been me a billion years before.

*** DEC 1987 ***


© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

Rust

The theme or phrase in Haikuworld's April 2008 kukai in the Free Format Section was "Rust". Again, I thought it was easy stuff...

Well, 4 points for the effort, and also a comment from a reader : "I really liked the combination of looking back _and_ moving on." Thank you for the comment. :)

Personally, I quite like the haiku too.



image from imageafter.com


Rust


missing dad.
sandpapering rust
off his old tool box.




and here is one that was not submitted :


rusted hulk of bike
abandoned at side of road.
journey's end.



© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

Re-post : i sat on the bunk bed and...

Ran out of ideas, ran out of steam. I am feeling drained, so I will just post another re-post. Something I went through some time back, in the late 70s'.

I quite like this piece, though.




photo by Mark Miller
image from morguefile.com



i sat on the bunk bed and started thinking about home



After dinner I sat on the bunk bed and started thinking about home.
Not yet a week in a foreign land
and I missed my mother's soups,
the sooty air of our street,
the angry vehicles outside our flat fighting for space,
and the sparrows building nests on the eaves of our house.

This was a sorry excuse of an army camp,
wretched wooden huts
laid out in neat rows like gravestones
ringed by concertina, as pretty as Auschwitz,
Perhaps they had used these to store rice or horses.
We had mattresses so thin
they offered no comfort to aching bodies,
blankets so filthy I wondered at times
these were used to wrap corpses with.

The air in the bunk hung thick with indifference,
laced with stale cigarette smoke, sweaty fatigues,
cheap cologne, antiseptic soap.
The boys were treating this place like a motel,
just passing through, five weeks,
they had no time for niceties,
clean floors, flowers on tables,
just a place to sleep, drink, chat and gamble.

The boys were at it again, a hot game of blackjack,
maybe a dozen of them.
They were throwing money around like so much wastepaper;
greenbacks, Sing dollars, NT notes,
that mound of dreams multiplying, subtracting
at every turn of a card,
you think they were haggling over the price of fish
or meat or whores,
the conversation heavy with money and expletives.

I was thinking of my girl friend back home, her smile,
her curvy body, long legs, short skirts
when my buddy came over from the game and bummed me a cigarette.
His luck was going downhill
and like a good soldier he knows when to retreat.
Looking out of the window at the empty Taiwanese sky, he asked if
I was thinking of home, and I wondered how the hell he knew.


20. Nov 2005
*************

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )


One of the few times I use capitals in a poem. :)

The Stairs

This is one of the poems that I wrote for the Golden Point Award competition, but which I did not select for submission. One of the "rejects". :)




photo by Basela, enhanced by dsnake1
image from morguefile.com


The Stairs


just maybe 40 steps
of stained concrete
and a rusted rib
of a handrail
to reach my flat
on the 3rd floor,

but have to keep
those eyes wide open
not just for
the silly love poems
or death threats
on the walls,

but that pool
of rancid vomit
from some heroin junkie,
or the shards of
smashed bottles
from a gang fight.

sometimes slumped
in a corner
of two greasy walls, a kid
not more than twelve,
who thinks nirvana
is a can of glue,

eyes hollow, the brain
all slushed
by the fumes
the air, sour and putrid
from the turpentine
hangs like a heavy cloak.

you think this is a war zone?
these people with the wary eyes
the thin mean lips
taut muscles
ready to spring
as i go past these
this city in pain
telling myself
i am just passing through
i am just passing through


13.07.07
********

This piece is a little bleak, don't you think? And I am not too sure the last strophe fits with the rest of the poem.

February kukai : Night Life

The theme or phrase in Haikuworld's February 2008 kukai in the Free Format Section was "Night Life". I sent in an entry and I managed a total of... 1 point.

I thought writing about night life was a piece of cake... :)





image by dsnake1


Night Life

neon lit pavement
click of stiletto heels
on hard concrete



And here's another three that I wrote but didn't submit.


i.

early morning rain.
traffic lights flickered
at empty road junction.


ii.

moon veiled by clouds
bats fluttered down from viaducts
looking for fruits.


iii.

last night bus
pulls out of terminus.
i try to catch some sleep.


© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

Award

This blog has been awarded an "E for Excellent" badge from Snake's Poetry.



Thank you, Deborah Vatcher, for this honour.

---

mood of the day

a mercenary's tale

It has been another busy week, and I have to dig up some old stuff again. I have posted this piece before, very early on in this blog. I must have read too many fantasy stories when I wrote this.

I wrote this poem about a soldier telling his love about his adventures. It is an imaginary tale but it could have happened in any civilization, any war.

I will try to get back to my normal rants soon. :)





you sat by the steppe's fire
absently stirring the flaming embers
as sparks crackled
in the cold wintry night
you sat listening , intently
to my tales of slaughter
i and my horse-sword
how i rode with the devil's forces
i knew you did not blame me
why i sold my sword for money

the Central Plains i rode
are bleak and barren
vultures & wild hounds picked on
diseased bones
a hundred years of war
the reasons long murky
as the ashes that swirled
between the fiefdoms
kings and dukes and serfs
fell like scythed hay
ragged troops plundered
flaming arrows torched
ravaged villages
the dead left as they fell
amid ruined harvests..

you sat listening intently
the light of the fire bouncing off
your liquid eyes
the glow on your face
more beautiful than dawn's light.

June 1991
revised 08.03.2008
*********





images and poem © cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

that you left me

Sometimes, in moments of quiet solitude,the past catches up with you and holds your hand...



painting by Albrecht Duerer (1471 - 1528)
image from visipix.com


that you left me




i was afraid
time will erase
your memories

your smiles

and i am
getting old


so today
i will just
write

some words

i cannot
send you
a card
like before

or take your
hands in mine

and point to
the stars
in the sky

take this as
a poem

for you

and if you
have read it
you will smile

and would
have cried.



28.01.08
********

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1)