our universe

This was an entry for an international haibun contest in 2018. No, this haibun didn't win anything. I thought it was pretty well written and would like to share it again here. On hindsight, I think there was no seasonal word in the haiku part of the poem.

photo by Paulina Milde Jachowska at Unsplash


our universe


After we have packed our hammers and saws and nails in the toolshed, and our daily wages have been tallied and registered by our foreman, we gather outside the doorway for a final smoke. Someone lights some incense to the earth god, giving thanks for another safe day. Another feeds the black guard dog, stroking its beastly head as it eats hungrily from a dirty dish.

It is mostly like this, the end of another day, the smell of sawn wood still clinging to us like a scab. Sometimes we drink some tea, over a stove fire, like our forefathers did, building railroads and harbours in America and Hong Kong, half a lifetime away from home. The red glows of our cigarette tips flare, taunting the stars that are coming out in the gathering darkness, over the bulky silhouettes of the unfinished buildings behind us.

We stub out our cigarettes, grunt some goodbyes and jibes, and start our trucks and motor bikes, for the journey home, the tires churning out a cloud of dust on the unpaved roads. Tomorrow we will be here again, the dog's barks, loud in the early light blues of our universe.

dusk descends
the cirrus clouds sing
of a flat earth



13/01/2018
**********

---

Huang Jia Mei (黄家美) -- 爱拼才会赢

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2025

and so the day is actually good

This was written for a poetry competition, about 'catharsis', or what makes you feel good. I thought this is not a poem to win a competition, and thus did not submit it.

photo by dsnake1



and so the day is actually good


I cannot escape the day's fatigue
nor the harsh words that were said.

So as I step out of the guarded compound
the night air kicks in like a sigh.

Spotlights bath the nearby church's steeple
guiding its poor children going home.

The street lights' poor reach
hides the waving weeds by my feet.

The legs heavy gait now jaunty
the vines grabbing them loosened their grip.

Now the welcome headlights of the bus
and a warm meal waiting at home, at last.



31/08/2019
**********


And so, this is probably my last post for the year, a little 'happy' poem. Happy Holidays to all my readers! 😃🎄⛄

---

Lucie,Too - Lucky

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

poetry lesson #9

"THE ONLY WAR THAT MATTERS IS THE WAR AGAINST THE IMAGINATION"
Diane di Prima - "Rant" (Revolutionary Letters, 1971)

pencil sketch by dsnake1



poetry lesson #9
() on matters of poetry



two colleagues had a fist fight the other day.
and then amicably went out for coffee together.

there is a word for that, mixed martial arts.

i thought i saw you in a bus the other day.
that girl must be spooked, the way i looked.

there are no ghosts in the day, i am told.

i see a darting dragonfly in the rushes today.
it is a helicopter in vietnam in a past life.

how can you explain the way it skims the waters?

there are dirty dishes in the sink to wash.
and after that i will really think of poetry.

the baby cries, is she thinking of poetry too?

there is no reason why you cannot write.
why you couldn't at least freaking try.

afraid people laugh at your poetry? read mine!



22/03/2021
**********

---

SiM -- The Sound of Breath

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

there is life yet

" that it rained in June
that our cigarette tips
still burn red and hot

in the cold rain,
smoke trailing like lost dreams
as the world winded down,"

- dsnake1, before the next day

image by Cdd20 at pixabay



there is life yet


to come back home
like coming back from a war
all fights lost
sitting on
the cold ceramic floor
wondering where
the day has died
pulls out a cigarette
pulls out the tab
of a beer can
sitting quietly
sitting in the
gathering darkness
listening
listening
to the sound
of the old refrigerator
fighting back
looking
looking at
the TV staring back
a cold cyclops eye
glaring
and listen
listen!
the distant wail
of the neighbour's baby
crying
crying for milk perhaps
it is comforting to know
some things remain the same
now the father
and the mother bickering
yes, yes, there is life yet.



17/04/2021
**********

---

BAND-MAID - the non-fiction days

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

nights on a thin mattress, redux

when you don't have much and need to live...

photo by Sarah_Loetscher at pixabay



nights on a thin mattress, redux


do not tempt fate with us, our tempers are thin
when 8, 9 people are crammed into a tiny flat.
sometimes the cops call, it is the neighbours.
they do not like our ugly faces, or something.
then they see some guys lounging, smoking
a little stand fan turning, oily fumes in the air,
a stale smell of dried sweat, dirty clothes on walls.
oft times we turn on the old telly, max the volume
watch what's in the box, like everyone else
argue about why Saturday Night Fever is so big
or we will just roll out our thin mattresses
trying to grab some sleep, thinking of money
loads of it, and the hot girls we had missed.

sometimes maybe around 2 a.m., deep sleep
there are sounds of breaking glass, taunts
mentions of human anatomy, crude language
some fearless drunks down at the coffee shop
they are playing at muay thai and jeet kun do.
we come out to the corridor, to the parapet,
lean out, kaypoh, shirtless in the hot night
see if blood is spilt, money or pride is lost.
then a hothead from upstairs, sleep interrupted,
would lean over the parapet,no malice lost,
nabeh, who the fuck is making noise,
i am coming down with a fucking knife!
and the night is suddenly all quiet again,
until the day takes over, the sun rising
over the bleak factories, the muddy sites,
and compounds we will all be going to
after we have rolled up our thin mattresses,
the dust motes, clear in the morning light.


19/06/2019
**********


this is one of the poems that i wanted to submit for a poetry competition. This is actually a rework of an older poem. Kind of a bit gritty and ugly for a competition. Maybe not.

---

"You sigh too much," she said. "Sighing is a sign of defeat". We were sitting on a park bench, trying to decipher the stars in the dark blue night sky. I repeated her words again. I held her closer in the warm, sweaty night, hoping the world will not fail us both.

-- dsnake1

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

on his retirement

They told me to give a speech during my retirement party. I said, "you guys didn't read my e-mail meh?"

photo by hotblack at morguefile



on his retirement



"Speech! Speech!", we ask.
He is holding his mug like a trophy.
He nods his head. He is silent.
For all his forty years
In the office
He could not think of anything
About his work to say.

An awkward cough! Applause
Ripple to nothingness.
The office walls close in.
We quickly spread out
The curry puffs,
Fried chicken, kueh and drinks.
"Eat! Eat!" we say.



12/07/2019
**********

---

Emerson Lake and Palmer - Lucky Man

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

why the boss never ask why i was late

It's just how we look at things. And then we won't worry about small things like being late for work.

cartoon by dsnake1
click on the image for a larger size.



why the boss never ask why i was late



01. The bus was late.
02. The bus was late, as usual
03. The bus was later than usual.
04. The bus was not late, blame the gridlock
05. Two guys stared and then fought in the bus.
06. There was a suspicious package in the bus.
07. It was raining, the roads can get slippery.
08. Taxi fares have gone up again.
09. I can't afford taxi fares.
10. The boss was late.


written with a cola : 20/04/2013
revised with a beer : 07/06/2019

---

Not many eyeballs at the sister site. Inspired by McSweeney's

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

why i must slog on

This is something I posted way back when this blog was very new. A little gripe about why I must slog on. I am in much better shape now...

This piece is not very good in my opinion, hope to be back with a better one.

drawing by dsnake1





why i must slog on


i work
just to put something on the table
pay the bills
that are strewn on the sofa
like so many fallen leaves.

damn. $95.12 for utilities only?
how lucky.

my kid, in secondary three
thrusts her physics book at me.
flunked her test.
there's another one next week.

what, and you want a webcam?
how much? a hundred and what?
i don't see the....

We go through her books
as if i was back at school
though the day at the office was rotten
this chore i have to slog through

ah girl
can you explain
why $48.30 for SMS?

i work
just to put something on the table
ok it might come in styrofoam boxes
but it's edible.

daddy, not chicken rice again?
i want KFC.

chicken is chicken, dear. chicken rice only $2.50
and by the way, how was the physics test?

you won't want to know, dad.


01/11/2005
**********

---

“Reality continues to ruin my life.”

― Bill Watterson, The Complete Calvin and Hobbes

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

our universe

This was an entry for the Genjuan International Haibun Contest 2018, submitted in late January 2018. The results were out in early May. No, this haibun didn't win anything. :)

image from pixabay




our universe



After we have packed our hammers and saws and nails in the toolshed, and our daily wages have been tallied and registered by our foreman, we gather outside the doorway for a final smoke. Someone lights some incense to the earth god, giving thanks for another safe day. Another feeds the black guard dog, stroking its beastly head as it eats hungrily from a dirty dish.

It is mostly like this, the end of another day, the smell of sawn wood still clinging to us like a scab. Sometimes we drink some tea, over a stove fire, like our forefathers did, building railroads and harbours in America and Hong Kong, half a lifetime away from home. The red glows of our cigarette tips flare, taunting the stars that are coming out in the gathering darkness, over the bulky silhouettes of the unfinished buildings behind us.

We stub out our cigarettes, grunt some goodbyes and jibes, and start our trucks and motor bikes, for the journey home, the tires churning out a cloud of dust on the unpaved roads. Tomorrow we will be here again, the dog's barks, loud in the early light blues of our universe.

dusk descends
the cirrus clouds sing
of a flat earth



13/01/2018
**********

---

and if you are still in the office: Working Class Hero -- John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

7 days (what i saw in the neighbourhood)

How to start a New Year post? Oh, about a week of shenanigans in the neighbourhood, and some colloquialism thrown in. 😎

What! New Year was last week?

digital collage by dsnake1





7 days (what i saw in the neighbourhood)


1)

Friday Nov 27

only this empty greasy table
noodles i must have today
bak chor mee will do nicely
no cake, never mind.
mother said so


2)

Monday Nov 30

girl in the bus frowns
thought i was staring at her.
great legs though.


3)

Saturday Dec 5

glossy brochure, 2 storey house in JB 1180 sq feet
my malaysian friend pointed out, very cheap
RM330K only

where the fuck do i get RM330K?
how much you paid for your singapore pigeonhole then?
hahahas


4)

Sunday Dec 13

hey auntie, your dog shits anyhow anywhere
ought to clean after, i wanted to tell her
but her face like her pug's.


5)

Wednesday Dec 16

does anyone still dial 1711, friend asks
check time lah
crossing carpark, saw car with plate 1711
a sign! a hint!
buy the number on 4D, same day, zilch.



6)

thursday Dec 24

a pair of sloopy looking papier mache reindeer
at mall entrance.
small kid looks at it and walks away.

only a drenched plastic santa
in the rain.
diners chatting at coffee shop


7)

Tuesday Dec 29

on way to lunch same JB friend observes, before elections your gahmen give you one chicken drumstick to shiok shiok. after elections, they take back whole chicken. hahaha!
dammit, he may have a point.
shall we have chicken rice, Ken?




various days, 2016
****************


For you folks out there who are lost with some of the language :

bak chor mee - minced pork noodles, a staple in Singapore's hawker centres.
JB - Johor Bahru, the Malaysian city nearest to Singapore
RM - Malaysian Ringgit, the currency of Malaysia
4D - Our local numbers lottery, of 4 digits
lah - a slang word, an interjection commonly used in here and Malaysia to complement almost any sentence in a social conversation.
gahmen - Our Singlish way of saying "government", usually as a cynical or sarcastic usage. popular in internet chat.
shiok - Usually used as an expression to convey pleasure or excitement.

still not sure, just google them lah.

---

boy : Dino!
cat : meow!!
nice to know that the community cat has a name.

(this makes it the 8th day?)

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2017

going to work

I wrote and submitted this poem for a competition, "Moving Words", way back in 2011.

It was to present works by Singaporean poets in the media spaces in the trains (SMRT) and stations. Although my poems were not shortlisted, 3 of them were selected for publication in an anthology, "Moving Words 2011 : A Poetry Anthology".

photo/image by dsnake1




going to work


this city outside the moving bus
was a throbbing blur of walls
and trees and impatient traffic

they said sunrises and mornings
are beautiful but someone must be lying
it was just a razor that hurts the eyes

as i rubbed a two-day stubble on my chin
the lady in the opposite seat was nervous
pretending to read a book check her nails

i do admit i don't look friendly
but i am running late i miss my cigarettes
i still have to clock 8 hours in the office


july 2011
*********

If this piece sounds cynical it is because i have to work on a public holiday.

---

“You can't understand a city without using its public transportation system.”

― Erol Ozan


Shared on Poetry Pantry #309 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

the night sticks like wet petals

This is my first attempt on a "golden shovel" poem. I find it interesting, even challenging.

The poem I chose was In a Station of the Metro by Ezra Pound :

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

photo by dsnake1




the night sticks like wet petals


if you imagine us scurrying down to the
tunnels, each of us is an apparition
skins lined after a helpless day of
slaving in hills of data then these
shadows these lines on your faces
those sunken eyes reflected in
steel the glass panels of the

stations and the bloodshot eyes of the crowd;

the night sticks like wet petals
unwilling to fall, clinging on
the scent of fading cologne, on a
breath thick with reasons, slick and wet,
all waiting, the masses, huddled and black
as the train hurtling in, a thick dark bough.


19/05/2016
**********


heck, it even has a nice form. but am not too satisfied with this attempt..

---

"I'm sorry my dears but we only sat down
And laughed and laughed in sorrow"

-- Uriah Heep, Circus


Shared on Poetry Pantry #303 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

before the day is done

There was a time I worked with contract workers (hahaha, I am now a contract worker myself) on a wiring project. Most of them are lowly educated, picking up their skills on the job. It was menial work mainly but one thing I learned about them, they never let their hard life get them down. There's always a smile on their faces and a joke waiting to burst out. Perhaps it is easier to pass the day this way?

I have posted this poem before, but it was getting little eyeballs. So yes, I thought I would share it again. :)

photo by dsnake1






before the day is done





as the last rays
of the sun
strain through the rain trees
into the hoist bay
we sit at a makeshift table
in a pow wow
before the day
is done

rolling our cigarettes

it is not easy really
tobacco rolling is an art
the fingers greasy no doubt
it's either that
a big slab of leaves
smuggled in
from indonesia

or beedies

then the click
of lighters
the lazy flare
of a match
the cackle of laughter
crude jokes
crows caw

a puff of smoke
puffs of smoke

stub out ends
in
a dented coke can
choked with butts

or let it burn
to the fingers

dropping ashes
to the concrete
floor

ashes like squashed moths

more crows caw
truly rude jokes
caw caw caw
cough cough
then

they leave
we leave

leaving
unwashed mugs on the tabletop
waiting for moonlight to wash
over them

tonight



05/01/2010
**********

---

"come at the end of the shift
we'll go and get pissed"

-- Pink Floyd, Not Now John



Shared on Poetry Pantry #289 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

please slow down

This is a response to the Midweek Motif prompt at Poets United, and the theme was "Food". I know, this is the weekend. The world is getting too fast for me.

photo by dsnake1




please slow down


all i had this morning
was a hasty ham sandwich
and a milo washing down
my meds

oh how i dream of my
steaming chwee kueh topped
with sinful bits of
preserved radish.

but time is a tightfisted
master swinging his whip
and there is a bus
to catch.




written 16/12/2015
revised 13/01/2016
******************


Note : chwee kueh is a traditional Chinese breakfast food in Singapore and Malaysia. Literally meaning "water cake", it is a steamed rice cake with an oily (and cholesterol laden) topping of preserved radish.

---

"Ask not what you can do for your country. Ask what’s for lunch.”

― Orson Welles


Shared on Poetry Pantry #285 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

even surcharges are no incentives

I wrote this nonsense for NaPoWriMo 2013. I think no one read this piece of crap yet.

There was a time I was recalled back to work in the dead of night pretty frequently. Ah, the nightmares!

photo by dsnake1



even surcharges are no incentives



it's 5 a.m. +
a cold, lonely strip of road
and all i am thinking is home.
but the taxis won't stop.
the drivers see
a single male
with a bag
and just speed on.

perhaps it was the bag.

after the 4th
uncooperative cab or so,
the first bus of the day comes,
it's headlights flaring.
it stops
when flagged.
the driver
is sullen,
a couple of passengers
laid in the seats
like dead fishes.

but really it's okay.


13/04/2013
**********


The original title of this piece was "early morning transport" but I thought it was a lousy title.

---

"and when the driver cracked a joke
about the government
the three of us laughed again
in the middle of the night."

-- dsnake1, night takes.



Shared on Poetry Pantry #242 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2015

weed

Just what I felt like, one evening after work. Moody, moody.

This piece had been sitting in my hard disk for years and I was wondering why I was hesitant to post it. Maybe the language? But what the heck , here it is, with all its warts.





photo by chaka
image from morguefile.com



weed



oh, weed
how long have you
been standing by
this venomous roadside
with me
poking your head
out of the asphalt?
i know we are both
old and
undernourished
and unloved
but what the fuck
who cares
who cares
not the tired masses
heading home
the blackbirds
pecking crumbs
in the dirt
by your side
and so my friend
as we are
breathing the exhaust
fumes the carbon
the farts
of the city
this evening
this evening
is unkind again
the stars falling
while
waiting
for that bus
to take me

home


23/07/2009
**********

---

A weed is no more than a flower in disguise.
– James Lowell


A foreign journalist recently labelled us as a "miserable" people. I don't know where she gets this impression. Maybe we complain a lot, gripe like hell. The taxes for smokes and booze just went up. We pay a ransom to watch the coming World Cup games on TV. We are sardines on our public transport during peak hours. But we still give up our seats in the buses and trains, to the elderly, the pregnant. We still look after our needy. We volunteer. Some days ago, a lady (someone from my country, I must add) ran out of a shop to apply CPR to an elderly man, a total stranger, who collapsed on the pavement, apparently from a heart attack. She probably saved his life.

I guess we just look miserable.


Shared on Poetry Pantry #196 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ), 2014

night takes

In the course of my work, sometimes I am recalled back to the office to attend to some emergency or unreasonable request. Usually these calls come right smack in the middle of the night, and then your next day is totally ruined.

The second stanza of this poem is a complete rewrite from the original. If you want to read the original, it's here.

image from  imageafter.com




night takes


1.

When i boarded the taxi the driver
was happy that there is someone
at 2 a.m. to chat with,
and he laughed when i replied
that i was going to work.
On the dashboard was a figurine of
a roly-poly laughing buddha
and when the driver cracked a joke
about the government
the three of us laughed again
in the middle of the night.


2.

Maybe it was the fluorescent lights
the glare cold and efficient
but 3 a.m. is not a good time to work.
You thought a shadow moved
among the racks and cables
when you know you were all alone
so when the phone rang and a voice
at the other end called your name
you looked again at the shadows.


3.

Thank God for 7-Elevens
when you needed a nicotine fix
at 5 a.m. in the morning.
The store clerk looked up
with undisguised disdain
when i stepped in from the warm night,
unruly hair, bloodshot eyes, bad breath.
It was not exactly friendly or inspiring,
even the door chime sounded angry.




written 25/11/2006
revised 28/02/2014
******************

---

“How did it get so late so soon?”
-- Dr. Seuss



Shared on Poetry Pantry #191 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2014

pussyfoot

Something old. Memories and blog post and me. Sorry, no poem (maybe a haiku).

photo by imelenchon
image from morguefile.com



pussyfoot




Pussyfoot

The word just popped into my mind while I was having my tea at the coffeeshop today. Maybe it was the cat padding around under the tables. Maybe I have turned soft and nostalgic. Whatever the trigger, the word brought back a flood of memories.

I was young then, just out of the army and looking for a way to survive. I took on this job at a nightclub in Geylang, waiting on tables and serving drinks. It was a real sleazy place; triads, loan sharks, con-men. And a floor show that even the hardened mamasans blushed at. The management had advised, keep your eyes open, and your mouth shut and you should be fine. So the first day at work, someone ordered "pussyfoot", and I sort of went "huh?", what the heck was that?

I went to the counter, repeated the word as I remembered (which wasn't too difficult), and the bartender nonchalantly poured out something as if that was the most ordinary thing in the world. In my vocabulary at that time, drinks meant beer, brandy, whisky and rum, you know, the hard stuff.

Turned out a pussyfoot is a non-alcoholic concoction of a few fruit juices served chilled. I also found out that it was indeed the most ordinary thing in the club, a favourite with the ladies. Nice to sip with, and nowhere near potent enough to be knocked out, so the men couldn't take advantage of them. Of course the men wouldn't be seen dead with that drink, heavens! They want stuff that is a bit stiff.

The tips were good, those people there threw money around like water. I came to work with a few coins in my pockets, and went home with a fistful of notes. The management had warned, do not pocket tips yourself, but I was young and brash then, and everybody else was doing it, to hell with the rules. It was good money. The tobacco smoke was another matter.

It's amazing, what a word, buried in the deep recesses of the memory, can somehow surfaced and brings back a train of images...



18/02/2006
**********




neon

neon
splashing on my face

with the rain


09/11/2013
**********

---

I promise to be back with a poem next time, not this, uh, stuff.



Shared on Poetry Pantry #175 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

ritual

It has been a horrible week at work, and the muse also decides to go AWOL. So it's another repost. It reflects my mood this week. Foul.

You wake up feeling it's a totally lousy morning, your head throbs like a jackhammer, your breath smells like the city dump and you know Murphy's Law gonna walk hand in hand with you...

Actually I sort of loved this poem. One of the earliest I experimented with line breaks. Ah, line breaks, I like them...

drawing by dsnake1



ritual



the mind
       grudgingly
       coaxed
       laden joints
          to the loo
       i
       cleared
       a phlegm choked
             throat
           while
       a hangover
          HEAVY
       as yesteryears
       g o o s e m a r c h e d
           across the brain

too much liquor&cigarettes

       i leaned on basin
       absently brushing
       and as frayed bristles
                     grated
       on tartar coated teeth
       & bleeding gums
the radio DJ cheerily sang
       Good morning singapore.



jan 1991
********

---

"Reality continues to ruin my life.”

― Bill Watterson, The Complete Calvin and Hobbes



Shared on Poetry Pantry #168  at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

before the day is done

There was a time I worked with contract workers on a wiring project. Most of them are lowly educated, picked up their skills on the job. A couple were ex-cons. But one thing I learned about them, they never let their hard life get them down. There's always a smile on their faces and a joke waiting to burst out. Perhaps it is easier to pass the day this way?



photo by dsnake1



before the day is done


as the last rays
of the sun
strain through the rain trees
into the hoist bay
we sit at a makeshift table
in a pow wow
before the day
is done

rolling our cigarettes

it is not easy really
tobacco rolling is an art
the fingers greasy no doubt
it's either that
a big slab of leaves
smuggled in
from indonesia

or beedies

then the click
of lighters
the lazy flare
of a match
the cackle of laughter
crude jokes
crows caw

a puff of smoke
puffs of smoke

stub out ends
in
a dented coke can
choked with butts

or let it burn
to the fingers

dropping ashes
to the concrete
floor

ashes like squashed moths

more crows caw
truly rude jokes
caw caw caw
cough cough
then

they leave
we leave

leaving
unwashed mugs on the tabletop
waiting for moonlight to wash
over them

tonight



05/01/10
********





I am posting this poem for Poetry Pantry -#106. (what, one week already?) It's been lurking in the hard drive for a couple of years, and I guessed it's time to drag it out. :)


Song for the day : Another Day in Paradise


© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2012