The Muse

Have you got the feeling that you have gone through this before?

photo by Jake Charles at Unsplash


The Muse


How many days already? The Muse is still missing! I woke up and the pencil is on the floor, and the sheets of paper lurking in the waste basket. Shall I go and file a missing persons report? But the cops will probably ask some awkward questions like where did you lose it, what time was it, and worst of all, describe the lost item.

You don't understand Sir, it is a person. Sort of.
A person, eh, and what does he do?
She helps me write poetry, sir.
She, eh? and they give me a knowing wink. Ah, the literary type, and I can imagine them picturing her, in thick glasses and toting a couple of thick books.
Have you checked the library, probably she's there, and what's her name please?
I think it's Clio, or Erato, or Polyhymnia, she's very vague about that too, and I can see them eyebrows rising just a bit.

And then i think I dropped the bomb by saying that she is not a real person. Not in a physical sense, but very real to me. First they roll their eyes, one poke a finger at me and threaten to lock me up if I don't exit the station by xx seconds.

So what choice do I have but to do my own legwork, poke in at the pub I brought her there a couple of times, that cafe by the beach. Or I can just sit tight and break some pencils and crush some papers. During the World Cup, she thought England was her beloved Greece. Poor thing! She was there at the coffee shop, watching the games on TV, cheering the wrong team. And me like a fool followed her and made some wrong choices at the betting shop.

She will come back to me, I am sure. One fine day when I am threatening the keyboard, she will be back, without a greeting. Sulking, sultry, laughing, murmuring. Always like that. As I am running out of poems, I will welcome her back. No hard feelings.


From an old journal,undated.
Revised somewhat, Sept 2020.
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Stereopony - Stand By Me

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020

Day 20 Lockdown

Day 20 of 'circuit breaker' shutdown, Singapore.

no social distancing again!
photo by dsnake1



Day 20


This afternoon, around 2 p.m., I had to go out to pack some lunch. I know, today is a Sunday, but do everyone have to go out in the streets? There were so many private cars on the roads, a petrol station was parked full of vehicles. The bus I took for that short distance was quite packed. There were crowds at the supermarket at the mall. There were strollers talking on cell phones on the pavements.

Yesterday, I watched a video of a lockdown in Ireland on a literary website. How very contrasting the scenes over there and here. Not a single person in the empty streets, only a single running car in the entire video. And the words of the narrator :
"you see the empty football fields.., even the empty children's play parks, don't say to yourself, it looks like the end of the world, what you have seen is global action, what you have seen of those empty spaces is how much we do care for each other, how we care for the ground parks, for our brothers and sisters,....we care for people we never meet."

Yes, by staying home we do care for each other. So people, go out only when absolutely necessary. If by any indication, this lockdown here will be extended again. And I think all of us do not want that.


26/04/2020
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This is not a poem. Just a rant.
I am doing a day by day account of what I am doing (or not doing) during the lockdown. Dunno how long I will lose the interest. If you want to read from Day 1, please click HERE


© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ), 2020

stitches

It takes time, but the stitches will hold...

photo by Bru-nO at pixabay



stitches



On the wall of our kitchen hangs a framed cross-stitch artwork. It simply reads "OUR KITCHEN", and beneath the words are child-like pictures of fruits and vegetables. But the stitchings are fine and neat and one cannot count the hours she spent on the aida fabric. She is very perseverant, my missus.

She is also a good seamstress. She fixes up the missing buttons on my shirts, alters my new jeans. She sews dresses and skirts for herself and friends. Her pencil skirts are stunning. She modifies old jeans to make shorts, long before distressed jeans hit the stores. All this on a sewing machine at home.

"Aren't these shorts a bit too short?", I ask one alarmed day. She smiles and says it was not, and she will look good in it, which I cannot argue with that.

Tonight, after work, I pack a dinner home from the coffee shop and rummage in the fridge for a beer. The house is eerily quiet. I light up three joss sticks and place them in the urn on the altar, in front of her memorial tablet. Sometimes I would tell her that living without her is difficult, but I will try.

You see, sometimes in life, you pick the short end of the straw. Like her. Out of the blue a disease, a sickness, which she fought very bravely. The doctors tried to stitch her up as best as they can, but the rogue cells were rampant, and it has been many years since she lost that war.

I stand at the kitchen window, looking down at the parking lots below, at the stragglers going home to their families. I feel a tinge of envy in me, but I smile. A cool wind rushes in from the warm night, caressing my face, holding back the tears that are welling in my eyes…



03/08/2019
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313 words. Exactly. Semi-autobiographical.

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Andy Lau - Thank You For Your Love

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

homecoming

There is no spare...

photo by darksouls1 at pixabay



homecoming



We sit by the side of the lake, taking in the cool breeze, the chirps of the birds, and the sight of the single sun high up in the blue sky. It is a fresh change to hold the meeting outdoors.

The Chairman holds up his hand to start the discussion. The issue here today, he says, is to look for another site, to stay here and make here our home ourselves, or to stay and propagate with the natives. The natives are another issue again. They talk in a language we cannot understand yet, but our translators can decode later. They cannot write, which until now, we are sure of. They have clubs as weapons, which our guns can handle easily. But they are fairly intelligent, they have tools and utensils and dwellings. And clothing.

The issues are to be put to a vote, and the Chairman wants a firm consensus. There is no going back to where we came from. Even with plasma ion propulsion, our spaceship will take some time to reach our home planet, dying from the excesses we have made on her. Thus the expeditions in the first place, to preserve our species, to look for a new home planet. And this blue planet is a lot like home.

The Chairman raises a finger. "Any hands to look for another site?"


07/07/2019
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226 words. Can't believe I wrote this in one afternoon.

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“It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.”

- Rainer Maria Rilke

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

Sense

This is just fiction. Thank goodness.

photo by Hebi B at pixabay



Sense


They were sitting on a bench in the park, under the shade of old trees, from the mid-afternoon sun, watching a glassy pond. Just two hours ago, they were total strangers in a cafe in another part of the city. He was a writer, trying to find some inspiration, minding his own business. She was there having a coffee, alone. He had noticed her earlier, because she seemed agitated. Then she started to undress. First her blouse, then her brassiere. Before more could be removed, he acted, wrapping his jacket over her.

“I really don’t know what happened back there”, she said, “I felt so hopeless”

“Yours is not the only bizarre happening this week. A man jumped off a bridge, shouting the end is near. A disabled guy held up a store. A surge of crazy stuff in the news”, he said.

“What are you afraid of?” she suddenly asked.

“The loss of my faculties”, he replied.

“I am afraid of fire. Dying by fire. I am really scared”, she volunteered. “I have told my boss I am staying with my sister down at Reno for a few days.”

“Ah, I am planning a road trip up north, away from this sin city for a while. Recharge, maybe.”
Then they hugged, promised to keep in touch, and left their separate ways.


It was almost night when the squat truck pulled into a carpark in the middle of town. The driver was instructed to park the truck at a particular spot, press a button on a little box and leave the town. Easiest big money in years, he thought. In the back of the truck was a big vending machine, securely fastened. In the vending machine was a crude but working nuclear bomb.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, he took out the metal box and put a greasy finger to the button.



01/05/2019
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313 words. Exactly. I would like to develop on the characters and the earlier events but that would mean exceeding the word limit. Maybe I will work on the expansion later. :)

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Pink Floyd - Two Suns in the Sunset

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

Wolf May Cry

I took a fairy tale (and some) and turned it on its head. 😁

Image by ArtsyBee at pixabay



Wolf May Cry


It was a very glorious morning, but Little Blue Riding Hood was not too sure about visiting her grandmother, whose house was in the deep woods.There were warnings of wolves in the forest, but the berries that she picked yesterday were too red and plump not to give to grandma.

"Just be careful, if you must go", her mother had said. "I wish I could go with you but there is work to be done here".

The journey through the woods was quite uneventful until she was near her grandmother's cottage. Then she saw it. A wolf on the trail, a huge one, yawning and picking its teeth with a wood splinter.

"Ah, good morning!" said the wolf

"Are you going to eat me up?", asked Little Blue, marveling at her new found courage.

The wolf blinked. A slight pause of silence, then Little Blue said, "the villagers, the town folks say wolves love to eat..."

"All fake news! They made us look like serial killers!" said the wolf, a little hint of agitation in his voice.

"But why?"

"Simple! It's all economics. It provide jobs. The huntsmen, the trap-makers, the blacksmiths. Say, you do not seem to be afraid of me."

"I wonder too. They also said you made too much noise at night, the howls."

"It wasn't us. The coyotes. Our miserable cousins. They are always quarreling. There you go, misinformation again!"

"I am here to see my grandmother, but I fear you have already eaten her."

"Oh, nonsense! I just talked with her, I think it's your grandma, a short while ago. Such a nice lady!"

"It's a strange conversation I am having. I am going to meet my grandma, if you are not going to eat me.

"No, Alice. Please be on your way. And don't forget your nice basket", said the wolf, standing aside.

"Alice? You're confusing me with another girl. The one who dropped into a rabbit hole?"

"Oh, silly me! Anyway, young lady, I need to run along. There's a little boy who keeps calling my name over that yonder village. Need to see what he wants." And with that, he sprinted off like a huntsman was after him.

Little Blue continued her journey and before long, was at her grandma's place. She found her grandmother clearing up some debris at her vegetable beds.

"Grandma, what happened?", asked a concerned Little Blue.

"Oh sweetheart, it is all right! It's those pesky three pigs. They came and tried to blow down the house, and all they managed to do was destroy part of the fence and this bed of carrots", said grandma.

"But isn't it the bad wolf who..." her voice trailing off.

"Yes, dear, the wolf. It was a good thing he was passing by. He chased those nasties away. He told them he will turn them into pork chops if they ever dare to show up here again.Then he helped me put up those fences. I invited him inside for some tea and muffins and then he left."

Little Blue grinned. It had been a very strange day. "And I think your muffins are a bit hard", she said.

"Dear, how do you know that?", asked a puzzled grandmother.

"Never mind", said Little Blue,"but I still want some of those muffins".


05/04/2019
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not a poem! 😁

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“Curiouser and curiouser!”

― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland


Shared on Poetry Pantry #478 at Poets United. This was supposed to be for an edition of Prose Pantry, but it would not pass muster as it weighed in at 500 over words.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

autobiography of a reluctant scarecrow

A picture that shouts "prompt!".

photo by Jim Semonik at pixabay



autobiography of a reluctant scarecrow


Say, do you know a place for a good bath? No acid, no sulphur, no coca cola. Some WD40 welcomed. Nothing fancy. I have been standing in for those damn scarecrows for the past ten years maybe. They went to town for a drink, chase some barmaids, eat some steak, promise to be back by ten, and never came back. The sun mocks me, sending its best cavalry of sharpened lances, the moon just laughs, sometimes so hard it chokes stars. Last heard, the sheriff found turfs of straw that reeked of alcohol on the interstate. I think it is time to move on. Say, do you know a place for a good bath?


26/03/2019
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“Would it save you a lot of time if I just gave up and went mad now?”

― Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

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
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Shared on Poetry Pantry at Poets United.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013