urban snapshots in monochrome : shard

image by dsnake1

There are minefields in the city.
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urban snapshots in monochrome : shard


the edges glint coldly
in the morning light
it will cut the soles
         of little feet
like razors

shard of glass
lies in ambush on
children's playground

***********

the image is a pen & pencil drawing on art paper, scanned and resized.

urban snapshots in monochrome : smoke

image by dsnake1

I know i am not exactly good-looking......

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urban snapshots in monochrome : smoke


old lady at bus stop
glared hard at me
at first whiffs
          of tobacco smoke
he had flouted the law

but madam it was
the babe behind me
who was lighting up.

18.03.06
* * * * *


Notes : It is an offence to smoke tobacco at public bus stops in my country. Inhaling the exhaust fumes from passing vehicles is ok. The image is a pencil sketching on art paper, scanned and resized.

urban snapshots in monochrome : wing

image by dsnake1

I recently wrote a set of short poems under the title "Urban Snapshots in Monochrome". These are based on snippets of images i came across, mostly during my journeys to and from work.

Why monochrome? You can see why after you read it.

* * * * *

urban snapshots in monochrome : wing


a torn wing
snapped
like a black scythe
on wet asphalt
       in parking lot

somewhere a crow
will not fly
or is dead.


18.03.06
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the image is a pencil and ink drawing on art paper, then scanned and resized.

The Pub Singer

image by dsnake1

I once wrote a poem about my R&R activities after a military exercise overseas. It was a long rambling piece, was never really completed.

Recently, I dug it out from some old notebook and had a good look at it again. It was bad, I thought. So I took parts of it, and rewrote them as standalone poems.

The following poem is the result of such work. It is almost unrecognizable from the original. I hope it's worth the effort.

* * * * * * * * *

The Pub Singer
-------------------
unnamed pub, taipei, 1976

The pub was small, spartan,
the air heavy with cigarette smoke.
Everyone in the hall was just listening,
                 electrified
by that clear voice over the sound system.

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 her name
she said girls like her are like
blooms from trees
and i thought
in my country
she would be a star.

06/03/06
* * * * * * *

* # @ ^ !

Think I will post a cartoon that I have drawn to brighten up the weekend after a dreary week at work.

Okay, okay this is supposed to be a poetry blog, but I think my muse went MIA. Let me go down to the betting shop to look for her...



image by dsnake1