crossroads

A little moment in time...

AI generated image by dsnake1 at Fotor



crosssroads


my hand on your soft little one,
i hope i am not griping too hard
but i must hold on.
we are at the corner of Coleman and Hill
waiting for the lights to turn green.
you, my dear daughter
standing quietly by my side,
the big trucks and cars
all impatiently rushing by.
a ragged doll on your other hand,
on your back, your little backpack
with crayons and a colouring book,
a water bottle, some small towels.
you said you would like to carry it yourself
like how dad had always carried
a lot of things.

You are the light of the lamps,
the light in everyone's eyes.
the light of the stars above,
and now it shines in your eyes
the green man of the traffic lights
as we cross the road
in sure measured steps
on the long journey home.



06/05/2025
**********

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"so my dad tags along for he is stocky
and muscular so no one would want
to mess with me or the tank,"


- dsnake1, Lavender Street, early 60's

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2025

child

Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young is one of my favourite bands. Their song "Teach Your Children", from the album Deja Vu, inspired this poem that I wrote. Although this song is seen as an anti-war song, i wrote the poem with my daughter in mind.

photo by Patrick Fore at Unsplash



child


children
rein them not
with a mailed fist
but mould them
with the gentle touches
of a potter's fingers
for they are like clay
absorb
all the love
we can give them

and more.


27.05.2007
**********



first published in i write too, June 2011

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White Lion - When The Children Cry

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

dark side of the moon #7

sometimes love can transcend other worlds...

photo by Alexas_Fotos at pixabay



dark side of the moon #7


Somewhere in Palestine, 2021

The children were playing Hungry Hungry Hippos when the soldiers stormed into the house. They stopped & watched the soldiers searching, knocking over things and do not understand what they were looking for. The elder boy tried to calm his sisters. Earlier, their father had gone out to the market to buy the hippo game, when the children said they wanted something to play. He had came back an hour later with the game, told the eldest son to look after the sisters, and had gone out again. And then, the soldiers came.

★ ★ ★

We are in body armour, helmets, loaded rifles. Spare magazines. Man, they are just three kids playing a Hungry Hippo game. What are we really searching for? There was really nothing much in the house. Except our boot marks. Wait, this new box for a children's game, where have we seen it before? Why yes, half an hour earlier. They had shot a man who had ignored an order to stop. He was carrying a same boxed game in a plastic bag.



03/06/2021
**********



This post was inspired by a video made by a Palestinian man. He made a video of how a simple magnetic fishing game, which he went out to buy earlier, could take his children's minds off all the shelling and the rockets outside. He was also seen comforting his daughter when a blast hit a building nearby. Tragically, the man was shot and killed a few days later while out in the streets...

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David Gilmour - In Any Tongue

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

The New World

There was no internet then and the bright lights beckon..

photo by 272447 at pixabay



The New World
1960's


The old Sikh gatekeeper looked at our tickets with suspicion, he knew we were always trying to sneak in, but after that he gave us a toothy smile and waved us on.

We were wondering why the lady at the shooting gallery did not cut her fingers on all that broken glass but the little yellow metal ducks were all in a really bad shape.

Mick smuggled a stick into the Haunted Train Ride and afterwards told us that ghosts could scream in pain and swear bad words after he whacked one with the said stick.

Shan wanted an ice-cream, the seller was waving his bell like a magic wand, but there was really not enough cash amongst us, and i passed her my half bottle of soda.

At the bumper car rides, we watched the older boys and girls flirting with each other, their hands all over the place except the steering wheels and i held Shan's hand tighter.

In the dance hall, the women in their tight kerbayas were bored, waiting for the men to press a ticket to their hands, all the while the band was playing joget and cha-cha.

A light rain was falling on us, the night hastily gathering its clouds, the people shuffling to the exits, and the carousels and teacup rides stood empty in the dimming lights.


07/06/2020
**********

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When I was a kid, my uncle brought me to this huge amusement park, full of lights and rides. "This is called the New World", he said, "Just what Columbus called when he discovered the Americas".

Of course Columbus didn't discover the Americas. But this New World near our home certainly had many interesting sights to explore. So me and my pals had spent many fun days and nights there.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020

or else

I am trying my best, but there are missteps...

photo by Pezibear at pixabay



or else


mother used to say

be good, don't tell lies
else the Thunder God
will strike you with his hammer
and lightning rods.

& we cower under sheets
when a thunderstorm arrives.

also, do not talk to strangers
they will abduct you
cut off your heads
and use it to support bridges.

& we would view strangers
with a suspicious eye.

remember, do not do evil
else you will be banished
to the 18th Hell
where you suffer forever.

& we try to be good boys
finish off every grain of rice.

then in time we learned

lightning is electricity
Jap occupiers hang heads on bridges
and as for Hell
we have been through many.

& how can we laugh at her ignorance?
for what she give us was love?

so the next time we see lightning
arcing across the sky
it is not the Thunder God's anger
it is mother's beautiful smile.


27.12.2005
**********

To my mother, who lives in a better place.

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蘇芮 Su Rui - 親愛的小孩 (Dear Little Child)

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

crime scene

Sometimes in the city, along the sides of roads, we come across burnt offerings of incense, and we usually give these sites a slight berth. This is because it is usually the place of an accident, often fatal, and superstitious or not, it is wise not to offend the spirits of the victims. It is usually a Chinese thing.

image by dsnake1 done with Sketchpad 5.1




crime scene


by the side of the road
a lime green pair
of tiny crocs

offerings

oranges
sweets
stumps of burnt candles
a blackened patch of grass

a floral scent of incense
still lingers
in the cold morning air

the rain that fell
last night
should have washed away
the last of the
blood stains
on the black white crossing...



20/11/2010
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midnight
\ \\\\ \\\
only the street lamps casting shadows


-- a haiku by dsnake1

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© 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
**********

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“Reality continues to ruin my life.”

― Bill Watterson, The Complete Calvin and Hobbes

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

Fighting Kites

Kids living in a time when there were no game consoles and smartphones...

artwork by ractapopulous at pixabay



Fighting Kites
early 60's, South Quay


The spines we make from the stalks of attap leaves.
That's easy, we just pulled some
From the roofs of neighbours' houses.

The body we fashion from paper used for baking.
It is tough and light and free,
Yes we snuck from aunty's kitchen too.

Sometimes if in the mood we paint a fearsome
Pair of demon's eyes on the kite,
Big and wild, black pupils and thick brows.

And the string, it is an art. We pound broken glass
Until they are tiny shards of terror,
Mix it with a paste of starch and rice.

And coat this on a roll of twine that is strung
Between two stakes on the ground.
When it is dried we have our No.1 fighting string.

Then we wait impatiently for the wind.

We let it up, a little paper devil, a dragon
Riding the air, rising to the clouds
Roaming free, looking for prey, for some blood.

We, my cousins and i, seldom lose, our deadly strings
Killing the competition like knives.
Such is our reputation most pull down their kites.

Then this bunch of boys heads home when dark.

Faces dirty, shirts stained (sometimes shirtless)
Fingers and palms bloodied and scarred
And our mothers yelling to us for dinner.



written 10/05/2006
revised 01/08/2018
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As we huddle for the next evil scheme : Playing For Change - Stand By Me

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

lessons

To all the teachers that had bear with me, stood by me, thank you!

photo by geralt at pixabay



lessons


When the form teacher announced that morning that one of our classmates had left us we were not sure of the message, what it really meant. You see, what do primary one kids know about accidents and death? He fell into a well at home last night and that's that. He was a quiet kid, well-mannered, and we may miss him.

Miss Wee went out of the classroom, in between English lessons, a few times, I think, to dry her tears. The mood was somewhat sombre, we were quite well behaved for the rest of the day, even the class bully did not try to lift the skirts of the girls.

Then came the end of school day, and as Miss Wee dismissed us, we came running out to the patch of forest near the school, took out our empty match boxes, threw down our bags and plunged into the tall grasses to catch fighting spiders.

school bell rings -
chalk dust
on the teacher's hair



written 05/10/2016
revised 22/03/2018
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"We break rules. We break their hearts. Yet we may not break their spirits." - dsnake1


And if you are thinking of them : Lulu - To Sir With Love

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

and all we cared about was the shopping

It has been a while since i visited the Orchard Road malls...

photo by dsnake1, taken around xmas 2015




and all we cared about was the shopping



A child was riding the train with his father. I was sitting opposite them and could not help listening to their conversation. "Daddy," asked the boy, "when the train reaches the last station, how does it turn around? It got to come back right?"
The dad was not too sure either, for he started to hem and haw.
"The train is sooo long, but it got to somehow turn around, right?", the kid persisted.
The father seemed to have an epiphany. "The driver walks back to the other end", he said.
"Huh?". The boy was not sure what his father was saying.
"There are two driver's cabins on the train, one at each end", the father explained.
"When the train ends at one station, the driver walks to the other end and starts the next journey from there."
The boy was quiet for a while, contemplating his father's answer. "I want to see the other cabin", the boy said.
Sighing, the father took his child's hand, got up from their seats and started to walk towards the rear of the train.
I smiled. Poor daddy, it would be quite a long walk...


in the train
only the children look out of the windows
at the world.


19/03/2016
**********

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“Nothing you do for children is ever wasted.”

― Garrison Keillor, Leaving Home



Shared on Poetry Pantry #294 at Poet's United.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

one tree

Today, on a bicycle ride along the coast, I came across a tree, probably a pong-pong tree (cerbera odollam), all by itself, along the beach. A strange sight, because most of the trees,if not all, were in little clusters around.

This brought back some memories because as a child, us village kids would like to play around trees and came to learn which fruits are edible and which are poisonous. No, the tree that I came across today was not the old tree of our youth. That tree, and others, were probably cut down to make way for a container port.

But it did inspire the following poem. :)

photo by dsnake1




one tree




one tree
where the sea salt ever sprays
we played under its leaves
as children
laughing, mocking, crying.
now we are returning home
as old men
carrying
guilt, loss, scars
and still
she greets us
the tree
where the sea salt still sprays
her leaves waving in the wind
embracing us
as children.
this tree.



30/11/2014
**********

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Shared on Poetry Pantry #229 at Poets United.
Hope to be back next week with a better poem. :)

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2014

at the end of every summer

When you are a kid, you do not worry about things like work and bosses and bills. How nice.

photo by dsnake1



at the end of every summer...


sometimes at night we hear the sound of metal
against metal and in the morning there will be
blood on the asphalt, the gravel. maybe a parang
on the railroad tracks. and when nights got sweaty
there's the thump of running feet through thin walls
and we know the plainclothes are on a raid. if we mind our
stuff, don't be curious, poke our noses out, we will be okay.

and in the day, we village kids gather together
to play at adults. we play 'police and thieves'
and we bring our own toy guns and bats and knives
so most of the time nobody wants to be the thieves
because if you are caught you wait ages in the sun
for comrades to tag and rescue you, if they come at all
and also the cops love to manhandle you when you're caught.

oh yes and that was police brutality before it became news.


08/07/2014
**********

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At the end of every summer you can't
remember the last time you wore pants.

*

from "Amy Check On My Square Inch of Land" by Farrah Field


The title is a line from the above poem. This is a prompt from the Bibliomancy Oracle. It can work in mysterious ways.


Shared on Poetry Pantry #210 at Poets United.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2014

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
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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.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013

Poem inspired by a song - Teach Your Children

Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. One of my all-time favourite groups. And each of them a talented songwriter/musician/singer in their own right. How many times their music has inspire and calm and propel me.

Yeah, I have gone sappy today. Last Sunday was my kid's birthday, and to have seen her grown into an independent, resolute young lady does warms my heart. Gosh, I am that old already...



image by dsniake1



child

children
rein them not
with a mailed fist
but mould them
with the gentle touches
of a potter's fingers
for they are like clay
absorb
all the love
we can give them

and more.


27.05.07
********

Children's Words

image by dsnake1

Very Young Writers


Sigh. The creative juices are dry. The Muse went into hiding again. Piece after piece of crushed paper tossed into the wastebasket.

Think I will show some other people's writings today.From twelve years olds.

My kid has this little book where she asked her school friends to pen some thoughts, poems or drawings when she was leaving her primary school. She was going to throw it away the other day but I picked it back and told her, hey, one day, when you are old and forgetful, you still can remember what friends you have.

There's nothing from me this week. So, here are some budding poets in action:

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Roses are red
Violets are blue
You are sweet
Maybe true.

Grace

Comment : hmm, maybe she's being honest.

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You no money
You no care
U go marry a millionaire
If he dies
You don't cry
You go marry
Another guy.

Wei Ting

Comment : what's this??
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Birds fly high
Hard to catch
Friends like U
hard to forget

Nurfarzanah

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Stupid fool, you go to school
On the way you saw a tool
You said to yourself "better be carefool"
because today is APRIL FOOL!

Yile

Comment : Watch that speling!
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