by the day's light

This poem was published a couple of years back on this blog, one of the few times I wrote a quatrain. The response back then was quite good.

It can be a story of unceasing love or it can be just a spooky tale. You decide. :)






photo by veggiegretz
image from morguefile.com




by the day's light




we watch from the breakwater the passing of the night
her hands, her cheeks, pale as alabaster, are deathly cold
soon, through those grey clouds, will pass dawn's crimson light
and like so many nights before, reluctantly, i have to let her go.



20/11/10
********

---

Notes : Partly inspired by the film, "A Chinese Ghost Story".

Shared on Poetry Pantry #146 at Poets United.

---

©cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

a point in your life

This was written for yesterday's NaPoWriMo, at my other blog, i write too.

I wrote this during a lunch break in the office, did some minor reworkings at home, in time for NaPoWriMo. And I wasn't sure why my mood was so dark that day.





photo by YunPing, ©



a point in your life



so you come to a point in your life,
you feel cold, you feel old, booze
no longer excites, instead it plays punk
with your sphincters, the doctor sees you
and no longer asks what is bugging you
but tells you to keep off the oily stuff.

you watch weeds grow and wonder who
or which is more unwanted, the streets
growl at you and fumes and dust gets into
your eyes and coffee, children look at you
in fright and not merely because of your stubble,
and you don't rage anymore.

and so the best exercise you had in days
is to turn your head to watch that woman
in the short shorts walks by in the sidewalk
her full hips moving with a beat that stops
your heart.

you watch the sun sets over the highrises
at the quay, someone mentions a drunk had
walked into the river and drowned a couple of days back,
just a few paces where you sat, the day gets more
unsettling as a crow caws and tugs at a roadkill and
you fear your number may be up.



06/04/2013
**********

---

I have always paid income tax. I object only when it reaches a stage when I am threatened with having nothing left for my old age - which is due to start next Tuesday or Wednesday.

-- Noel Coward


Shared on Poetry Pantry #145 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

in the night the weeds

This poem was written for NaPoWriMo 2011. Some recollections from my army days. It did not attract a single comment back then. Let's see if it can do better now. :)





photo by carygrant
image from morguefile.com




in the night the weeds



in the night the weeds, the ferns were
all black amorphous shadows that
rustled and creaked and we sat
among them listening to
the quarrels of
the frogs,
the toads,
as we broke regulations
lighting up a smoke, cupping
the cigarettes in our hands to hide
the glow of burning tips, waiting, rifles
cold on skin, for the next detail to relieve us.




11/04/2011
**********

---

Shared on Poetry Pantry #143 at Poets United.

---

©cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

when you rise in the morning,

This poem comes about from observing people. In the rush hour of lunchtime, when the thoughts are on food and finding an empty seat and table, there usually isn't much time for other things though.

An unpublished work, it has been sitting in my hard disk for some time. I think it is still relevant now, as it was then.



photo by yarekol
image from morguefile.com


when you rise in the morning, give thanks for the light
bedok interchange hawker centre, 2008



the man was moving from table to table
trying to sell packets of tissue
paper, 3 packs for a dollar.
He hobbled on one good
left foot, a crutch
under his other
armpit. He
wasn't
wearing
shoes, his bare
foot, toes black and
greasy from the dirt of
the food centre's floor. He
was waved away, largely ignored
by the world, which went on slurping
their noodles, counting their pennies and
whining about the sky high cost of living.

all the while the faded dragon
tattoo on his arm was getting angrier


15.6.08
*******

---

When you rise in the morning, give thanks for the light, for your life, for your strength. Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason to give thanks, the fault lies in yourself.

-- Tecumseh



Shared on Poetry Pantry #142 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

fruits

I wrote this poem in response to a prompt a couple of years back. The site owner gave some useful comments on how to improve it.

I did a wee bit of revision on this piece (it's a poem on growing up). It is looking at things from a different angle. :)





photo by mensatic
image from morguefile.com


fruits



once, we picked wild fruits off trees,
our adolescent hearts neither feared heights nor ants,
or poisons, spitting out pits like bullets,
watching clouds in the blue sky morphing from warriors to bunnies.

today at the supermarket i am undecided,
we have fruits from Malaysia and China and Chile and
but is it cheaper elsewhere, will it mess with my gastritis?
the checkout queue is long, the faces are long, i will come back later.



written 12/12/2010
revised 28/02/2013
****************

---

This poem has only 8 lines, 4 in each stanza, but the formatting seems to mess it up. I have tried using a 'narrower' font here, hopes it displays better. :)



"Change is good. You go first."
-- Dilbert





Shared on Poetry Pantry #140 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

stars

Wednesday's prompt at Poet's United was to write a fibonacci poem. I was pretty occupied at work, slogging through a week's worth of backlog after the holidays. Still, managed this effort. Something personal, a bit sad, but that's how the mind works sometimes...





photo by krosseel
image from morguefile.com




stars



you
said
our hearts
are as one
till the end of time
to the edge of the universe

but you left too soon for the stars
and all i can do
is to grasp
the dark
night
sky



23/02/2013
**********

---

"Yeah we all shine on, like the moon, and the stars, and the sun."

-- John Lennon



Shared on Poetry Pantry #139 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

what's left

This poem is one of my personal favourites. It also found its way into an online magazine.

I wrote this poem on a wet, chilly evening, after a bad day in the office. If the mood of this piece is a bit dark and bleak, it's understandable. :)






photo by alvimann
image from morguefile.com


what's left



what's left
of the sunlight
on this bleak
wet evening
dances on
the gleaming
skins of
puddles on
bare pavements

as shadows chase
the day
up the
stone piers
of train viaducts
and the
damp trunks
of rain trees.

what are the
chances of
the silvery slice
of cold moon
cutting through
grey nimbus
like a scimitar?

until then
the last rays
dip and play
and dart
over the city

over the trains
pulling into
the stations

and

the tired
hungry masses
trudging home.


06/12/2007
**********

---

"We still can find a way
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
Even cold November rain."

-- Guns N' Roses, November Rain



Shared on Poetry Pantry #138 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

words on a dusty pane

I am very busy with work this week, so I am posting a poem that I had published here a few years back.

I kind of like this poem. It's moody, reflecting my mood when I wrote it at that time. It's about a district where I used to live. It was not a pretty place to live in. First there was the nearby gasworks. You wondered when it might flatten the whole place one day. Then there were the sawmills, backyard factories and workshops. And the denizens are just as varied. Besides the shabbily dressed workers of the area are triad members and leftist activists. And us poor folks trying to survive.

sketch and image by dsnake1



words on a dusty pane
circa 1970s, Kallang



Outside, the city lurches by
in frames of moving headlights
and mottled skies.

tonight there are no screams
from the shadows of concrete,
no clash of metal blades, no sirens.

through the windows the night
snakes in choking with prejudice
and soot from dying sawmills

when hours earlier the rain
had pelted the decaying streets
like swarms of stinging wasps.

soon it will be dawn,
the first slivers of light
promising hope

painting peeling walls
and rusted steel
with bold strokes of liquid gold,

shinning through
angry words
on a dusty pane.


09.02.07
********

---

"Oh, I tell you baby this increases my paranoia
Yeah, like looking in my mirror and seeing a police car"

-- David Crosby, Almost Cut My Hair


Shared on Poetry Pantry #134 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

live rock at club woodstock

Yes, yes, another archaeological find from my NaPoWriMo archives.

Back in the bad 80's there was this club on the roof of Far East Plaza which played the hardest rock in town. I can't remember the resident band's name, but it was good, doing covers of Pink Floyd (Another Brick in The Wall was played to death), Scorpions. et al. Come to think of it, in our beer-drenched state, every song that exploded out of the speakers was good. :)







photo by FlyingPete
image from morguefile.com




live rock at club woodstock



i)
the band was gunning through
a pink floyd number
heart-stopping bass
rolling thunder
like a tribe
on the eve of battle
we punched our fists
into the smoky air
and as one uttered the call
another brick in the wall.

ii)
and the maori trooper rose up
from his rickety chair
like a dark hill shaken by a quake
said he gonna take a leak
(we suspected he was looking for trouble)
we parted like he was the plague
counting the seconds
before the first glass breaks.



written          : 22/04/2011
slightly revised : 12/01/2013
*********

---

"All in all you're just another brick in the wall".

-- Pink Floyd, Another Brick in the Wall - Part 2



Shared on Poetry Pantry #132  at Poets United.

Also shared on Poets Rally Week 77 at Hyde Park Poetry.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

stoic

I wrote this for "A River Of Stones" writing challenge two years back. The aim is to write a short verse every day in the month of January.

This poem was inspired by the rainy weather we were experiencing then. Plus, going back to work in the middle of the night on an emergency call wouldn't make for cheery writings. :)





photo by gracey
image from morguefile.com



stoic



how long have the pigeons
huddled on the wet ledge
from the incessant rain
that has been falling
since dawn?
and
i
in my warm room
still feel a chill when i see
them shake their feathers ever
so slightly when an angry rush of wind
howls across this rain-lashed apartment block.



30/01/2011
**********

---

"If you are going through hell, keep going."

-- Winston S. Churchill



This poem is for participation at Poetry Pantry -#131 at Poets United.

---

©cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

will the new year

Okay, the following poem is not exactly new, I wrote and published it on this blog a few years back as a New Year's wish. But I think it is still relevant today as it was then.

Here's wishing all my readers a very Happy New Year!




photo by AppleGoh
image by dsnake1




will the new year




will

the new day
be

like
    water
       from
the rainfall
       that
    runs
with the
dead leaves
into
the culverts,
to be
lost,
knowing
they
cannot fight
the
pull of
gravity,

or

like the
sunrays
of the
    new
       morning,
scattering
       off
    tree leaves,
the eaves
of buildings,
    angular
       and sharp,
    filling
every corner
every crevice,
    curious,
       piercing

and free

?


31/12/07
********

---

We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope. 

-- Martin Luther King, Jr.



This poem is for Poetry Pantry #130 at Poets United.

---

©cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2012

T Rex

This poem is about change, sort of. It was published a few years back on this blog, and I would like to share it again.

Part 1 of this poem was actually written a long time ago. I dusted it out from my old journals and added it to a more recent piece. Is it inspiration or what? :)




image from imageafter.com



T Rex



1.)

a pale sun
      straining
to cleave
a ghostly fog
      of chill and grit.

T Rex looks up
      and rears
its truck-like head

snarls
and out
of portcullis teeth

drips
blood and

leftover meat.




65,000,000.)

a tropic sun
      straining
to scatter
a dusty fog
      of pulverised rock

boom of crane swings
sure as battle axe

wrecking ball
      crushes
old shop houses

in two years
new shopping mall




3.09.1989 (part 1)
3.06.2008 (part 65 millionth)
**********

---

Things do not change; we change. 

-- Henry David Thoreau


This is for Poetry Pantry #128 over at Poets United.

---

©cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2012

and a time for love

This poem is part of a collection that I submitted to a nation-wide poetry competition a few years back.

It is actually part of a longer poem that I wrote. I chopped off some parts and this is the result. This poem is about some of the experiences I encountered while living in a rough neighbourhood during my younger days.

If you are wondering, no, I did not win any prizes in the competition. :)





image by dsnake1
drawn with Sketchpad from mugtug.com



and a time for love



the scimitar of a moon
hung delicately in a cobalt dome
of dancing stars

as the rain trees
spread their arms their leaves
rustled in a chorus of joy

her hands in mine
warm as morning's light, quiet
there was no need for words

through the chatter of
the crickets, the cicada bands
we tried to catch Sirius

in our hands



31/07/2007
revised 08/12/2012
**********

---

"Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye."

-- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.


This is for Poetry Pantry Week # 127.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2012

cenotaph

This poem was first published in this blog in October 2010 in response to a prompt. It is a poem about love, and also about loss.

It is also an exercise in writing a Tetractys poem.

photo by ericpruis

image from morguefile.com



cenotaph

once
it was
and still is
a monument
to the brave fallen of the two great wars.
we used to sit on its cold granite steps
just the night sky
the stars and
only
us.

and
heroes
die, she too.
left me alone
to talk to the dead of the two great wars.



01/Oct/10
********"

---

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

-- Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here



This is for Poetry Pantry Week #126.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ), 2012

bernadette

Long before the internet age, there was this little skill and past-time called letter writing. Words were not a string of zeroes and ones, but were ink on paper, and arrived in envelopes with postmarks. Sometimes, it takes weeks to reach you, which is unthinkable of now. But the joy of it, when you see the letter in the mailbox (a real physical box of metal nailed to a wall)

I had a pen-pal from a neighbouring country. We exchanged letters and first day covers regularly. And then, like all good things, it came to an end. The letters became less and less, a trickle, and finally ceased. I guessed we each had our own needs and priorities to attend to. But it was a great experience while it lasted.




drawing by dsnake1




bernadette



but it was not to be

i could have taken
a train
to meet you.
we could even have
met halfway
at Kluang
have a coffee
shake hands

but we just write
our letters

and then
other things
came
and took over our
time

and the letters
became less

and
less

and then

it was not to be.




nov 2011
********



to bernadette, wherever you may be.

---

"And then one day you find
Ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run
You missed the starting gun”

-- Pink Floyd, The Dark Side of the Moon



This is for Poetry Pantry Week #125. at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2012

how deep is

I wrote this poem for the recently concluded NaPoWriMo. It is a poem about loss and how the narrator is coping (or not coping) with it.

I am posting this for the Poetry Pantry -#105 at Poets United.




photo by ximenez
image from morguefile.com




how deep is



how deep is
your love?
down in the
subway tunnels
on late nights
some nights
aimless rides
the tunnel walls
just inches
from my face
flashing by
our lives
on a reel
of memory
sliding
till it all ends
on a bleak night
and i am
all alone
in the
rumbling wombs
of the trains
that song
playing again
on the tracks
how deep is
your love?
till i resurface
to the neon
drenched streets
to the city lights
starlight




21/04/2012
revised 10/07/2012
**********








© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2012