this is not the right time to think about dinner

Fear is not evil. It tells you what weakness is. And once you know your weakness, you can become stronger as well as kinder.”
– Gildarts Clive (Fairy Tail)

photo by Marjan Blan from Unsplash



  this is not the right time      to think about dinner


my boots sank into the mud     (space enough for one more )
  a carcass of a dog nearby     one more war number          
       half sunk in the mire     some fur or hair broke free
purplish belly, bloated     sloshing in the slush    
and the flies, the flies     more flies, squadrons  
buzzing buzzing     circling, looking  
like orbiting choppers     to drop their eggs      
       the rain still falling     little droplets glisten cold
on man, trees and grass     the weeds thick on boots
       this jungle trail     slick and treacherous
of crushed ferns and twigs     spears of dead bamboo      
this is an orchard with      jaws of razor teeth      
     no promises of life     silence & quick breaths
then the point man yelled     and was then silent          
         we froze     someone curses
   guns hugging bodies     we try to stay silent     
        raindrops dripping     fear dripping off helmets
    off the muzzles of rifles     clicks off safety catches     
       we lift our wet rifles     aim into the half darkness
   arms numbed with cold     and prepare to fire           


25/10/2021
**********


Are you enjoying your war movie?
I am afraid that the poem will not display well on smaller screens.

Twin cinema, which this poem is written in, is a poetic form written in two discrete columns. Each column can be read individually from top to bottom. It can present correlating or differing images. It can also be able to be read across the two columns. When doing so, each poem (Column 1, Column 2, and across the 2 columns) may tell a different story. The first twin cinema poem was created by Singaporean poet Yeow Kai Chai.

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The Smashing Pumpkins - Bullet With Butterfly Wings

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

a perfect day

"I lit another cigarette and wondered distantly how I would get through the day. It was a problem demanding some ingenuity.”
― Iris Murdoch, A Severed Head

photo by Karen Powers at Unsplash



a perfect day


i am looking
at the window grills
the clothes hangers
                 hanging there
on the dusty metal
like big question marks.
and outside,
the sanitation workers
are banging the trash bins
           and dumpsters
around the dump truck
they are shouting in a
           rapid-fire language
like directing fire in a war.
i do not understand
i feel a migraine coming
i could need a nap
i lay on the bed
looking at the ceiling
               the ceiling looks
               back at me
               and smirks.



22/02/2022
**********

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BAND-MAID - Real Existence

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

agnes

Sometimes the road is rocky, and you fall. You try to pick yourself up...

pencil sketch by dsnake1


agnes



you told me you feel
                  trapped
like a bird in a cage
but the door is open
yet you choose
not to fly out.
you are afraid
of the dark clouds
              forming
and the horizon is far
and your wings are tired.
even
the fires of hell
seem to hold less terror.
there was always the murmur
about going home
about flying free
and the bold steps
you try to take
always end at the edge.
at the edge.


18/08/2014
**********


To agnes, wherever you may be.

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There was always the murmur,you remember, about going home.

*

from "Extreme Wisteria" by Lucie Brock-Broido

I was inspired by the lines from the above poem. This is a prompt from the Bibliomancy Oracle. It can work in agonising ways.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020

home

This is from an old post but I think it is worth sharing again.

Life throws you to unexpected and strange places, but you will always come home.

photo by dsnake1



home



what can be seen then
when we have returned
our arms for the night
our backs against
the weathered boards
of our barracks
as we slowly savoured
every wisp of
cigarette smoke
(and some had more
than just tobacco)
our fatigues unbuttoned
boots unlaced,
removed
as we flicked butts
towards the perimeter fence
towards the concertina
razors
that are protecting us
keeping us in

what can be seen then
an evening sky
blushing red
the colour of
muzzle flashes
red tracers
clouds stretched thin
like oily gunsmoke
and a scimitar moon
unsheathing
and then
through the thousands
of kilometres

the faces of
girl friends
wives
& children
waiting
for their loves
to return

home.



23/09/2012
**********

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Tracy Chapman - Stand By Me

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

tangled

The heart can bleed at strange times...

photo by AnnaER at pixabay



tangled


i am reminded of electrical cords at home
tangled coat hangers, lost lines of code
so sometimes we disagree, we quarrel
our fingers will always meet again
our tangled hearts cannot tell
if it is really love, or pity.


28/12/2018
**********

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UFO - Belladonna

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

walking away

Your last day at work, does it feel like you are walking out of a sentence?

photo by StockSnap at pixabay




walking away



leaves
leaves all behind
no one looks up
not even a goodbye
what is there to remember?
a song's notes
that fade off in half flight
       a wind in November
       a walk to the gate
       a wave to the guards
to the chainlink fence
and the air seems so cold
even though
the rain trees
swelter in the noon heat
their leaves
leaves
falling
falling
as the wind whispers
it is a good day.


27/06/2018
**********

It is a strange feeling, walking out on my last day of work, out of a place that is almost like a second home. I feel neither sad nor happy, just looking forward to my birthday a day later.  🙂

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Stereopony - Stand By Me

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

for that bowl of rice

This is one of my favourite poems. I wrote it on one angry day, in one sitting, with almost no revisions. I still have that yellowed page in the journal I wrote in, the handwriting heavy and scrawly. I loved how the way it turned out, in choppy little lines, as if reflecting the mood I was in when I wrote it originally.

image from publicdomainpictures.com



for that bowl of rice


maybe
it was the sum
of all the little
tiring journeys
adding up
or the
proverbial straw


i do not really
mean to
raise my voice

i smile
but
who knows the lead in my heart
i trudge miles
for that bowl of rice
and
not for me alone.




written 13.09.92
revised 16.06.07
=================

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“These woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.” 

― Robert Frost, Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening



Shared on Poetry Pantry #195 at Poets United.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2014

another day

There comes a time when you have no good words for anything. Working through the weekends makes it worse. :)


photo by kevin rosseel
image from morguefile


another day



you silence the alarm clock,
looking at the still
dark dawn outside,
wondering
if you will make it
through another day
and why not, as you sit
by the edge of the bed
answering
your own questions,
how many years
have gone by like this?

you drag yourself stiffly
to the bathroom
the lights alien and harsh,
go through the rituals,
staring at the face in the mirror
mulling
how the lines have deepened,
comb what little hair
there is left
on the head, stringy & mad.

you shower, dress and pick
your combat gear
take a gulp of last night's coke,
open the door and
walk out to the colosseum,
fumbling
for a nicotine fix
to do battle with the lions
and beasts of the day,
hoping that it will be kind.


08/11/52
********

mood of the day

bad poem

The work in the office is draining the creative energies. Hardly have time to write anything, or go blog visiting. Please make do with this attempt I cobble together last night.


image enhanced by dsnake1
photo from freefoto.com


bad poem



actually,
i am trying
to write
a good poem
but ..
i have just
switched off
the games console
and the words
the words
just hang
at the edge
of the tongue.

it is now 12:46 a.m.
according to
my trusty cell phone.
the aircon is
droning away,
i have no choice,
i have closed
the windows,
otherwise
those damn
fruit flies
will come.

it is a
bad poem, no?
please, but two days
of churning reports
at work
is not healthy
for poetry.


15.09.07
********


mood of the day