wonderland

“because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

photo of a sculpture at Gardens By The Bay by dsnake1



wonderland


how long was he there, sleeping, head on the stone table in the void deck, blackbirds pecking at his forgotten boxed lunch?

if your words hurt then touch me, charm me so that the hole i am dropping in won't feel so deep, the rocks no more sharp.

out in the streets, in the weak moonlight, i am trying to find my shadow, the big trucks passing, just two steps away from hell.

and how deep can we sink before we drown, before the lungs fold slowly like accordions and we finally forget how to cry?

if we grow wings we would spread them, jump and fly together, never mind the distances, the abysses and the load
  /
/
we carry.



23/11/2020
**********

---

Drop's -「月光」(moonlight)

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

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
**********

---

UFO - Belladonna

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

get the cuffs off or throw away the key

Another one for the GPA2015. Depressing, I know, and a poor choice for a competition poem.

digital drawing by dsnake1 using Sketchpad



get the cuffs off or throw away the key


shadows
bend & creep

green moss clings
to walls
they
nutured by rains
phlegm & tears
they bend & creep

obstinate
silent

you do not even want to hear
what I wanted to say!

the walls
surrendering cracks
they bend & creep
you could hear their
sighs
if you try hard enough
the whitewash bleaching
leaching
sepia tongues
they bend & creep

grey dust crumble
on trembling fingers

the blackbirds gather in trees silent
even they did not want to quarrel

the air hangs dry
bleeding
crackling static

it

has been this way
for years

the taste on tongues still bitter
as
the
shadows
bend & creep


01/08/2013
**********

---

and I wonder if it takes being broken
open and emptied
to be filled with something new.

*

from “Thinking Like a Split Melon” by Jamaal May


This poem was inspired by the above lines from the Bibliomancy Oracle and an episode in a relationship. It can work in bitter ways.

And a song for the day : Daryl Hall & John Oates - Screaming Through December

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

a scream in the night

Urgh! Need to haul ass back to work. Just kidding!

photo by ElisaRiva at pixabay


a scream in the night



the cellphone is buzzing
and now lies on the bed
backlit face taunting

i jump at the ring
of phones, cell or otherwise
in the night

it is a habit

it is 2 a.m. it is the time
for ghosts
and howling dogs

it was a very drunk big-fingered
dork looking for
another night owl.

i should have unconditionally given
him some opinion
but i am glad

it wasn't a call to get back
to the office
to some dark street.



05/09/2013
**********

---

And if you can't sleep after that : Supertramp - Crime of the Century.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

peace

Teenage angst. Anger. Searching for identity. All the while leaning dangerously to the left. :)

digital image by dsnake1, done with pencilmadness






peace



i got my ☮ pendant
at the Thieves' Market.
you can get almost anything
there, if you just asked,
porn, nunchakus, weed
anydamnfuckthing.
the weasel who sold it
swore it was gunmetal but
i probably knew better.
anyway i wore
that piece of steel
like an amulet
the whole summer,
my rebellion,
my revolution.
i kept my hair long
my temper short,
vitriol rolled off my tongue
like well-oiled bullets,
i was the poet that
wanted to change the world
but i could not.
Che was a god
who had been killed
in Bolivia,
but gods don't die
and i was confused,
i did not understand
and all i could do was
sweat out the summer,
dripping with rage
while the days ran hot
and the rain trees bled
dead brown leaves,
the air hung thick
with bitter ash
and i wore that
peace symbol
the whole damn summer
waiting for the army
to come for me.



written : various dates from 70's to present.
revised : 21/03/2015 (UNESCO World Poetry Day)

---

"Things really ain't that tough
As long as I'm still able, to turn the t.v. off"

-- Daryl Hall & John Oates, 70's Scenario



Shared on Poetry Pantry #247 at Poets United. Finally, a completed work from little scraps of writings over the years. :)

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2015

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
=================

---

“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.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2014

for that bowl of rice

Frustration, boiling over. This is what this poem is about. It is an old poem, the page it was written on is yellowed now. But the hard pencil strokes, the angry scrawl, are still there. One of my favourites.

It has been a hectic two weeks in the office, absolutely crazy, and it seems like there is no let up in the coming days. I am posting this for Thursdays Poets Rally Week 47.

And, yeah, why I still need to work. :)




image from imageafter.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
=================





©cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2011

for that bowl of rice

Going through my old, yellowed journals, I found this little piece of writing. I was surprised, that even 15 years ago, I could occasionally come out with some forceful words. I think it was about some frustrations boiling over. I just did a bit of editing, and here it is.



image enhanced by dsnake1
from a photo from imageafter.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
=================

Running on empty

It's another bad week. But not as bad as when I started out looking for a job. The muse is still missing, so I will just write some nonsense about, well, looking for a job.

If you are ever looking for a job, don't (i repeat, don't) copy this. :)



me, restless and clueless
image by dsnake1



running on empty

circa early 70's

dear sir

i know these are turbulent times
but i badly need to get a job.
i have been sitting on my butt for months
have dutifully typed out the letters
on my olivetti till the ribbons
were shot to hell,
sent them out but like chaff in the wind
there are no replies.
i peep at the letter box downstairs,
there's just a spider inside.

i look through the papers,
just the usual bad news,
the war in Vietnam winding up,
oil embargo, stuff that sucks.
sure there are a few offers
like that one smug asshole said
they make magnetic memories
would i kindly explain how they work.
cutting edge technology man.
i'm just looking for a job,
not a rocket scientist.

some days i get so bored
i go to the tyre shop downstairs,
chatting with the workers
changing truck rubbers
and looking at the posters
of the Bridgestone girls
plastered on the walls.
at least they smiled.

esteemed sir, will you give me a chance?
i am running on empty.
i know i have a lousy cert
that's the problem.
neither here nor there,
but if i'm not given a break
how do you know i'm useless?

so, is there a deal?


yours sincerely

frus trat ted

20.04.07
********


no sir, my application letters were very formal. i'm just bored and tired, so I wrote this piece of nonsense. But in the beginning, it was very tough.

sorry for the poor quality of the photo, it was an old and grainy piece. photoshop can only helped so much.