Goodbye Shinjuku

Rosemary at Poets & Storytellers United would like us to write about "a city (or cities) you dream of — in whatever way." I drag a poem sitting quietly in my hard disc and dust it off...

photo of Shinjuku by dsnake1



Goodbye Shinjuku


goodbye Shinjuku
you have been a good host

though the cold rain
is another matter

and the times i have gotten lost
at your immense station.
there's a freaking town
under there i swear.

i drag my old samsonite shell
over uneven pavements
to catch a bus to Narita
and the flight home

Godzilla's head rears up
from the Toho Building
eyes glowing, nose smoking

and as the bus turns a corner
to exit for the highway
a tingle of regret

like leaving a lover
telling her a lie
after complimenting her

i am going to miss
your wet streets
your kawaii girls giving out fliers
the loud signboards
the neon on puddles
onigiri for breakfast
the hotel staff that surprises me
speaking perfect English
the cold winds
in the mornings
the 7-Elevens, Lawsons
at every street corner
the greetings
as you passed
through the norens
at the izakaya bars,
ramen shops

Goodbye Shinjuku, sayonara
you have been a great host
till we meet again.



written : Dec 2019
revised : 17/06/2023
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“All cities are mad: but the madness is gallant. All cities are beautiful, but the beauty is grim.”

― Christopher Morley

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2023

Arashiyama Bamboo Forest

Almost suddenly, past a railway track, it is like entering another world. People talk in revered tones, no one shouts. There is no litter on the paths, only fallen leaves, no wrappers, no drink cans, no butts. The small stone shrines are coated with moss. You expect a fox spirit to step forward and greet you...

Arashiyama  Bamboo Forest, Kyoto, Japan
Photo by dsnake1


Arashiyama Bamboo Forest


coming out of the noise of the train station
and across an old railway track

the bamboo forest

because the bamboos are so tall, so straight
their leaves like spear tips

the early daylight

just creeps quietly through the slats of wood,
whatever tiny spaces of freedom

to fall silently

on the paths we are walking, to monuments
of immortal haiku poets

in buried fire

the bamboo leaves bow in the slight wind
to centuries of poetry

and did down these paths

samurai warriors, katanas drawn and rifles loaded
went to die at Toba-Fushimi?

their dreams silent
as the frozen moon?

but now in this new century

i see this smiling girl with a hijab
photographing a pokemon toy

this is pikachu meeting kitsune

further ahead famous shrines await
under a foggy autumn sky

Adashino Nenbutsuji
and the red maples



written 28/06/2020
revised 26/03/2021
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Virtual Japan - Arashiyama Bamboo Forest

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

a tourist strolling through the Gion district at night

Around this time last year, I was preparing to visit Japan...

photo of a Kyoto bar by YunPing


a tourist strolling through the Gion district at night


A cold autumn wind unexpectedly greets us
blowing from behind as we exit Sanjo Station.

Coming from the river, the chill shakes billboards,
descends on the crowd going to Pontocho Alley.

Even at this hour, 9 p.m., in this slight rain,
from the stations, the main roads, the hotels,
groups of people talking, laughing, taking selfies,
head towards this narrow, wet and dim alley.

Indistinct chatter in many languages, guffaws,
Japanese polite phrases, hang in the air.

Keeping a close eye on any puddles, or any geishas,
lit lanterns on almost every door or eaves,
my friend helpfully points out the lights to me.

Not the ones with names, clan crests, but
only the ones with a red symbol of a bird.

Pausing at one, he says that this is a geisha teahouse,
quaint, but expensive, if you want the experience.

Resuming our walk, the crowd is still not thinning,
slanted light pours out of a bar as a door opens.

The banter of gruff men floats over, phlegm laced.
Under this dark, rainy sky they could be yakuza,
vying for one last fling of greatness.

We are exiting the alley to a busy road, the
x on our maps showing the next train station.

Yearning for the warm beds of our hotel, we
zero in on a takoyaki stall to end the night.


12/10/2020
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This is an Abecedarian poem. It is a poem that uses all the 26 letters in the alphabet chronologically, each letter starting a new line.

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Theme song from anime movie Castle in the Sky - Carrying You

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020

and all i see are wet petals on asphalt

"And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
         Not shaking the grass"

-- Ezra Pound

Osaka, Japan, at night
photo by dsnake1



and all i see are wet petals on asphalt


the train doors close
like a breath exhaling

and i slip out of the station
to an empty street

a cold wind blowing
and a long way from home



01/01/2020
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* “Where are the people?” resumed the little prince at last. “It’s a little lonely in the desert…”
"It is lonely when you’re among people, too,” said the snake. *

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince


Shared on Writers' Pantry #1 at Poets and Storytellers United.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020

Sengaku-ji

"The reputation of a thousand years may be determined by the conduct of one hour." - Japanese proverb.

photo by dsnake1



Sengaku-ji



Who would like to visit a graveyard when on a holiday tour? Not many, I guess.

But here I am, in one of the largest cities of the world, somewhere in Tokyo, on a cold balmy morning. Around me, are weathered gravestones with wooden votive plaques. Incense smoke rises from some holders. But this is not any graveyard. This is the resting place of the 47 ronin. I will not go into their legend. There are books and plays and movies. Yes, Hollywood has shot a movie about them with Keanu Reeves and though embellished with fictitious additions, it still try to stay true to the original incident. To the Japanese, the story of these ronin stands for duty, honour, courage and loyalty, the things that drive their psyche and soul.

I stand before these weathered stones, like the thousands and millions before me, bowing to them, trying to understand their courage and fears and sacrifices.

Perhaps we will never truly understand. Just like I do not understand how I navigated the chaos that is Shinjuku Station, the largest and busiest train station in the world, where I earlier had taken the train from.

An old lady comes, clutching a handful of incense. She walks with slow but determined steps up the stone stairs, to the graves. There are a couple of businessmen type there, in sharp black suits, and holding briefcases. They are sombre, silent, heads bowed before the graves. Perhaps they are seeking guidance on some difficult decisions?

The sky is threatening to rain. I walk down the stairs, out of the graveyard, and back to the main temple compound. Workers are trimming the ancient pine trees there. A teacher is bringing a group of young school-children, speaking in rapid Japanese. I do not understand his language to his charges. I just need to understand why I was here.


overcast skies -
a red maple leaf
falls from a branch.



written 21-11-2019
revised 07-12-2019
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photo by dsnake1

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It is 8°C in Kyoto when I leave for Tokyo. It is warm in the shinkansen train. I watched the countryside of Japan flashing by as I eat my bento meal. Power pylons, houses with satellite dishes, squares of tilled land, rivers, mountains with autumn hues of red, orange, yellow and green. I do not want to sleep, like most of the other passengers, and miss all these. Soon, after slightly more than two hours, the train rolls into Tokyo Station. Back into the cold, and the rush hour of Japan.

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photo by dsnake1



© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019