or else

I am trying my best, but there are missteps...

photo by Pezibear at pixabay



or else


mother used to say

be good, don't tell lies
else the Thunder God
will strike you with his hammer
and lightning rods.

& we cower under sheets
when a thunderstorm arrives.

also, do not talk to strangers
they will abduct you
cut off your heads
and use it to support bridges.

& we would view strangers
with a suspicious eye.

remember, do not do evil
else you will be banished
to the 18th Hell
where you suffer forever.

& we try to be good boys
finish off every grain of rice.

then in time we learned

lightning is electricity
Jap occupiers hang heads on bridges
and as for Hell
we have been through many.

& how can we laugh at her ignorance?
for what she give us was love?

so the next time we see lightning
arcing across the sky
it is not the Thunder God's anger
it is mother's beautiful smile.


27.12.2005
**********

To my mother, who lives in a better place.

---

蘇芮 Su Rui - 親愛的小孩 (Dear Little Child)

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

The Hands of My Father

This is another poem written, but not submitted, for the 2015 Golden Point Award competition. It was inspired by my father, a carpenter and construction worker .

photo by StockSnap at pixabay




The Hands of My Father



And I see my father
When he brings his hands
Down
From lighting a cigarette
I see his calloused hands
That had hammered nails
And sawn wood in the noon sun
His eyes
Like the eyes of a beast
Staring deeply into the dark.
Today, under the light
Of a pressure lamp
He reads the day’s news
The paper all greasy and crumpled
From passing through many hands

And his hands
Like the hands of his ancestors
Who only knew the rough feel of wood
How the grain runs and cracks
How to fashion them to beams, struts,
Pillars, tables and stools
The companionship of measures and
Saws, hammers, planes and chalk lines
Took that cigarette to his lips
Holding it between index and middle
Fingers
And in that brief moment
In that brief glow of light
I see what love and pride is


And even today after so many years
That he had left us
To join his ancestors,
When someone lights
A cigarette,
Cupping the flame in the palms
I see those leathery hands again.



Written 09/05/2015
Revised 19/11/2016

---

"as did my forebears before me
in America in Hong Kong
building railroads, harbours
hunched over camp fires,
drinking tea from grimy cups
swopping stories about home
in Canton half a life away."

-- dsnake1, Toolshed

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

River Hongbao 2018

Last evening, my family and I were at the River Hongbao 2018 at the Marina Bay area, Singapore. The event was billed as a "eleven-day extravaganza of lights, sights, and sounds to usher in the Year of the Dog." There were performances and fireworks, but we were mainly there for the thematic lanterns.

Though this is a Chinese festival event, we were heartened to see people of many races attending. There were Malays, Indians, Bangladeshis, Caucasians, in addition to the mainly Chinese crowd.

We took some photos of the event with our smartphones. The quality may not be there, and we have reduced the sizes for faster loading. Hope you can still enjoy it. 

A section of the crowd.

Year of the Dog!

Snake!

This is a pretty elaborate lantern, as tall as an actual shophouse.

The Wishing Fountain.  People were throwing coins trying to hit the bells attached to the fountain.


All photos by dsnake1 and YunPing





year of the dog

crowds on the Helix Bridge -

on the bay,
lantern lights
city lights.

---

"you feel you are not alone.
It breathes, it moves with a pulse of our own "

-- dsnake1, The River

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

only the dead have seen the end of war

I wrote this during the Chinese 7th month, otherwise also known as the Ghost Month in the Chinese calendar. My mind can act in funny ways, it wanders. Like those spirits.

Or maybe I have watched too many wuxia or Sengoku period movies.

image from imageafter.com



only the dead have seen the end of war



when i returned in the dead of night
to our little house
you were sleeping, holding our child
your eyelids trembled, just slightly
that cold draft of air
that ruffled your hair
is the howl from my throat
as an arrow pierces my breast.

you rose in the smoke-filled dawn
when the sun had not yet risen
over the rice fields,
the tiled roofs of the town.
you went to the Wall with our child
scanned the stone towers
with your eyes still red with pain.
you read every weary face
every returning warrior
and with each passing day
the smoke rose higher from the rains.

only the dead have seen the end of war.
only the dead see what your tears are for.



written : 26/08/2010
revised : 16/04/2014
******************

---

The title is a quote often attributed to Plato, but possibly written by George Santayana.

Shared on Poetry Pantry #319 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

journey to the west

Mixing science fiction and Chinese classical novels can result in strange ramblings...

photo by dsnake1




journey to the west


maybe they misread a few parsecs
and the craft landed at roswell
and the natives
were really not too friendly

maybe they have been here
too many times already.
may have taken things too lightly
accidents do happen

think of tunguska

maybe
he was wearing a gas mask
and held a gatling gun
and we in our
medieval
ignorance
and fright
he was
the pig headed general
from
the stars
to the west
oh yes
he had a beer belly too.

maybe.


24/07/2014
**********


The four great classical novels of Chinese literature : Water Margin, Romance of the Three kingdoms, Journey to the West, Dream of the Red Chamber.

---

Don’t forget that a king may well have the head of a pig.

*

from “Mythology, A Rough Guide” by Mike Ladd


I was inspired by the lines from the above poem (and a rather slow day). This is a prompt from the Bibliomancy Oracle. It can work in mythical ways.



Shared on Poetry Pantry #298 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

when she was reduced to ashes

I was at the grave of my late wife during the period of Qing Ming, to clean her grave and give offerings. I touched her portrait on the marble. She is lovely. She is.

I wrote this for SingPoWriMo 2016 (they have a facebook page to post for submissions, but I did not post it there as I did not join the event officially. I think I will not be able to write a poem a day, thanks to my horrible workload). SingPoWriMo is like a local version of NaPoWriMo.

photo by wintersixfour
image from morguefile.com




when she was reduced to ashes




to see her reduced to ashes
in a furnace
i am powerless
and nothing i can do
but to give a
                  lonely
weak wave
and every fervent talk of
life and death
is meaningless
for the night before
she was just a slab
of meat
in a casket
and to think
we used to talk
and laugh
about our small universe
and to
caress and care
every night
before we sleep.



03/04/2016
**********

---

"How I wish, how I wish you were here..."

-- Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here.


Shared on Poetry Pantry #296 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

in the year of the goat

The Lunar New Year is already four days old, and I am really enjoying myself these few days, doing all the things I liked, like goofing off, eating and drinking, and abusing the video game machine. And writing a blog post again.

Let's hope it will be a good year too. Tomorrow, it will be back to the daily grind.

photo by dsnake1



in the year of the goat


let us then
be like the lotus
blooming out of mud
resilient & hopeful
or the sparrows that play
under the shadow of the bodhisattva
knowing that they will be protected
or the first light beams of the dawn
true and sharp and fearless
let us sing tunes
even without words
let us be then
all of these.



19/02/2015
**********

---

岁岁平安

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2015

my mother and the moon

Tomorrow will be the Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival. It used to be a big day in the past, but not anymore now, I guess. So, here's something to celebrate the occasion. Anyway, I have eaten some of the moon cakes. :)

image by dsnake1




my mother and the moon


Mother, whenever I see a full moon, I would be reminded of you. You see, you were like the light on a dark night that guided me. You were the Weaver and dad, the Cowherd, as you so lovingly told us, your children, those folk tales, about the moon and humans and gods and deities. But what I remembered most was, you prayed to the moon. Yes, mother, you prayed to the moon! On every Mid-Autumn's night, you filled a tray with fruits, water caltrops, three cups of tea, bowls of jelly, moon cakes, areca nuts and betel leaves, a box of rouge and a bottle of florida water. These you offered to the Moon Goddess, after you have lighted the candles and joss sticks, to pray for health and safety for the family.

"But mother, the Americans have landed on the moon!", I would say, and you would silence me and beg forgiveness from the goddess for this ignorant son. It has been years since I last eaten those jellies, mother, how I wish I could eat those jellies that you made on Mid-Autumn's day again. They were delicious and sweet. But now, you are up there with the moon too, among the stars, and as I gaze up at the night skies, I miss you, your wisdom, though you know little of letters, your compassion, your faith in us, and I am thankful, knowing you will guide us on in the darkest nights.



full moon
and other lanterns -

mid-autumn's night.



written 12/05/2013
revised 07/09/2014
******************

---

This is my attempt to translate the Chinese Tang dynasty poet Li Bai's "A Quiet Night Thought".


in front of my bed a patch of moonlight
it seems there is frost on the ground
i lift my head and gaze at the full moon
when i lower it i think of my hometown


**

The haiku at the end of my poem, I lifted from a previous post in my other blog. :)

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2014

glimpse

Today is the final night of the Chinese 7th Month, otherwise known as the Ghost Month. How very appropriate to post this. :)

image by dsnake1, done with Sketchpad




glimpse



will the
dark grey skies
part
turn to a shade
of blood
a shifting wind
bearing anguish
regrets
sins
so cold
so freezing
even though
a
smoking carpet
of burning offerings
glowing embers
ashes
swirling
swirling
at your
bare feet


23/08/2014
**********

---

When hell is not a myth, the fear is real

*

from “A Glimpse” by Samara Spence


I was inspired by the lines from the above poem (and also an awful dream I once had). This is a prompt from the Bibliomancy Oracle. It can work in bizarre ways.


Shared on Poetry Pantry #125 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2014

7th Month

This is the tail end of the Chinese 7th Month. The 7th Month is also known as the Ghost Month in the Chinese calendar when ghosts and spirits are supposed to be released from the lower realm and allowed to roam this mortal world. Activities during the month would include ritually offering food, and burning of paper offerings like "hell money" to appease these spirits. In the past, Chinese operas or puppet shows are organised to entertain these spirits, but nowadays getai, literally "song stage" has taken over. At these getais, artistes sing, dance, or tell bawdy jokes, usually in gaudy, colourful costumes. These shows can attract large crowds.

I have posted this poem before, but I thought it would be interesting to retell this little bit of our culture.





image by dsnake1
generated with Reptile



7th Month


i.

    are there ghosts
    that scramble
    for paper gold
    eat their fill
    of fruits & meat
    that line the
    pathways the drains
    the aprons of concrete?

ii.

    it is not so much
    we feared them

iii.

    do we not share the
    same corridors
    the roads,
    the playgrounds?
    it is that we pray
    please do no harm to us.

iv.

    and so take
    the gold and money
    and fruits and meat

v.

    and gather round
    smouldering joss sticks
    the fires of wax candles
    and burning offerings
    the flames flickering
    on bare ground
    in cauldrons

vi.

    as
    the night wind stirs
    the fluttering ashes
    that are your regrets &
    unfulfilled dreams

vii.

    and your tedium
    of wandering

    the centuries




19.08.2007
**********

---

Shared on Poetry Pantry #165 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

my mother and the moon

Over at The Poetry Pantry, the call was to write a work about mothers. I wanted to post this on Mother's Day, but I was totally zonked out after a day's work. (yes, I do work on Sundays).

Initially, I wrote something gritty and grim. Perhaps it was not too appropriate for the occasion. Then I wrote this. But I am really not too satisfied with it, it's kind of long and naggy. Maybe I will do some editing to it one day. :)




photo by semiross
image from morguefile



my mother and the moon


Mother, whenever I see a full moon, I would be reminded of you. You see, you were like the light on a dark night that guided me. You were the Weaver and Dad, the Cowherd, as you so lovingly told us, your children, those folk tales, about the moon and humans and gods and deities. But what I remembered most was, you prayed to the moon. Yes, mother, you prayed to the moon! On every Mid-Autumn's night, you filled a tray with fruits, three cups of tea, bowls of jelly, moon cakes, areca nuts and betel leaves, a box of rouge and a bottle of florida water. These you offered to the Moon Goddess, after you have lighted the candles and joss sticks, to pray for health and safety for the family.

"But mother, the Americans have landed on the moon!", I would say, and she would silence me and beg forgiveness from the goddess for this ignorant son. It has been years since I last eaten those jellies, mother, how I wish I could eat those jellies that you made on Mid-Autumn's day again. They were delicious and sweet. But now, you are up there with the moon too, among the stars, and as I gaze up at the night skies, I missed you, your wisdom, though you did not attend school, your compassion, your faith in us, and I thank you, knowing you will guide us on in the darkest nights.


12/05/2013
**********

---

Shared on Poetry Pantry at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

red

The Lunar New Year is just around the corner and there's still loads of spring cleaning and shopping to do. I have been very busy at work lately, so I will just post a past effort for this Poets Rally (Week 60)

To the Chinese, red is an auspicious colour. In the New Year, red will be everywhere, in every household, in the clothes we wear, the food, the decorations, flowers, and greeting cards.

To all my readers celebrating the occasion, have a Happy and Prosperous Lunar New Year!





scan by dsnake1




red


Red is the colour of the blood in my veins
is the colour of kinship
is the colour of life.

Red is the colour of the petals of peony
is the colour of luscious lips
is the colour of beauty

Red is the colour of the face of Guan Yu
is the colour of autumn trees
is the colour of loyalty

Red is the colour of memorial tablets on altars
is the colour of candles
is the colour of faith

and red is the colour of my beating heart
is the colour of your blush
when we first held hands
is the colour of our love.



14.02.07
********









© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2012

Taking a break..

image by dsnake1
scanned from a greeting card



I am taking a break (seems i have a habit of taking breaks recently) for the Chinese New Year.

It's just around the corner, on February 7th, and I have loads of things to do. There's the little matter of cleaning the house. Throwing away some junk. There are new clothes to get ( a must!). Food. Sweets. Candies. Oranges. Oh yes, beer. Lots of trips to the malls.

Without the last minute, there won't be any work done. I thrive on that. So I will be missing for a while, but knowing the junkie in me, I will sneak onto the Net when there is an opportunity.

Gong Xi Fa Cai to all my friends and readers!

Red

The Lunar New Year is just around the corner and there's still so much spring cleaning and shopping to do.

To the Chinese, red is an auspicious colour. In the New Year, red will be everywhere around the house, in the clothes we wear, the food, the decorations, flowers, greeting cards. There will be no exception in this household.

I have been writing dark and bleak stuff lately. Let me write something nicer and happier for the new year.



image by dsnake1

Red


Red is the colour of the blood in my veins
is the colour of kinship
is the colour of life.

Red is the colour of the petals of peony
is the colour of luscious lips
is the colour of beauty

Red is the colour of the face of Guan Yu
is the colour of autumn trees
is the colour of loyalty

Red is the colour of memorial tablets on altars
is the colour of candles
is the colour of faith

and red is the colour of my beating heart
is the colour of your blush
when we first held hands
is the colour of our love.

14.02.07
********

the image is a scan of a greeting card