who moved my fries?

From my SingPoWriMo archives. Yes, no eyeballs at my other blog.

When you are trying to write poetry but got terribly distracted...

illustration by cd20 at pixabay


who moved my fries?


and here i am sitting in a cafe
goofing-off
with the other unhappy, loathsome
loafers
perhaps all in need of some help
with their time
watching the ice in that cup of coke
dying off
and trying to nurse that packet of fries
oh shit
so i feel like a stalker watching those
happy kids with their happy meals
those boys and girls from the nearby school
dating
on the pretext of studying biology
oh you can't fool me on that
and why the heck was i here?
oh yes, trying to write a poem like this
because this is the month of april
maybe if i am lucky i can wring some verses
from this joint
but mainly it is because of the
free wi-fi

but damn, the fries are moving fast
it will not last till evening.



written          : 01/04/2016
lightly edited : 11/11/2018
**********************

Took out all the f words. Maybe I shouldn't. Getting soft.

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And, to get back to the world after this, listen to the poetry of Graham Nash - I Used To Be A King

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

the dust

This is about one of the camps I was based in when I was in the military. When it is hot, a dust cloud hangs in the air, and we tie bandannas over our noses, and when it rains the mud sticks to our boots like glue. A godforsaken place, no doubt.

image by dsnake1 generated on PS3





the dust


the dust,
it's always the dust,
red and sticky,
a sickly shade
of coagulated
blood
colouring our hair,
our fatigues,
whenever a convoy
of supply trucks
or armoured carriers
rolls into camp
and we
smoking in the mess halls
watch the new recruits
dismount
eyes wide, bewildered,
clutching their duffel bags
wondering
if they had landed
on Mars.



08/07/2013
**********


another poem dusted out from the innards of my computer.

---

"A place, like a person, has character too."

-- dsnake1, About Places.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2015

Rained Out

What a poem to end the year. It has been a very wet month, the rain coming down almost every day. I wrote this while waiting for the rain to stop so that I can take my bike out for a ride.

Fat chance.


image by dsnake1


it has been two days and the rain is still falling.


It has been two days and the rain is still falling.
the weathermen said this is the 3rd wettest december ever.

I am holed up in my room feeling totally restless,
listening to the rain, which sounds like a chainsaw buzzing.

My washed laundry are hanging in the house like wet advertisements
flapping ever so dismally as fingers of cold wind brush past.

My crows, they are not at the rooftop of the block across my flat
they must be holed up somewhere too, sullen under some eaves or watertank.

Moths and beetles steal into my house to escape the rain,
planting themselves on bathroom tiles and fluorescent lights.

I don't have the heart to chase them out, not in this weather
but the house gecko is working overtime on a feeding binge.

And again the red night sky tells me that this will go on,
tomorrow will be another wet day, little chance of going out to play.



19.12.06

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I wrote this about 2 weeks back when the weather was the worst. These past 2 days there are lots of sunshine,I hope it remains this way.