37℃

In a recent prompt at poetry writing group Poets and Storytellers United, admin Rosemary Nissen-Wade wants us to "rewrite one of your not-quite-working pieces by transcribing it backwards, and then following wherever that leads you."

photo by Pitsch from pixabay



37℃


by my feet
           the asphalt,
           sunbaked,
dead leaves crispy,
yellow painted lines
          cracked,
          flaking,
          the sighs
of vehicle tyres rushing by,
turning, churning,
          a chain gang
          herding
dust, paper, plastics
          to the kerbs,
the mynahs hide in the shades
not bothering about food,
the tired leaves
of July,
      keeps falling
          and then
          hesitant
      again,
the air
      unmoving,
           hot,
still silence.



26/02/2025
**********


And this is the original poem, posted on this blog 15 years ago, that was used to "write it backwards". It is reproduced below.


Spring


still silence
the air
hesitant
to move

the leaves of spring
are not green
not yet
like sighs
sun crisped
they drop
from boughs
to the asphalt
by my feet.



written 14/02/2010
Chinese New Year
revised 07/03/2010
******************

---

So dear reader, which poem do you prefer? After writing the new one, I still think the original is better, sharp and to the point. What I like about the new one is it goes like a single breath.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2025

black sheep

Numb with disbelief, sometimes.

image from morguefile.com



black sheep




i am a sheep
i whine
i fear when
         the next meal
             will not come
i really dread
         the sky falling
             clouds and all
i could not
         use it like
             a blanket
             anymore
i may not
         pick myself up
             from a fall
i see my
         tired feet
             slouching on
             dry asphalt
and i am
mumbling what costs have skyrocketed
but who listens?
who understands?
and when we had the chance at the poll booths

we threw it all away.


29/07/2016
**********

---

“Nothing strengthens authority so much as silence.”

― Leonardo da Vinci


Chao Chuan [ 趙傳 ] - I'm a Small, Little Bird [我是一隻小小鳥]

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020

I

You are a fish. You live in a pond. You know only water. One day you jump out of the water. You see a different world. You see trees. Humans. Dogs. You do not know what they are. Then you drop back into the water. You want to see more. But you cannot live in that world. It will kill you.

pencil sketch by dsnake1



I


I
a man
homo sapiens
now sits and belches
does not believe that I have
as my ancestors a fish! A fish, Ha!
homo pisces i scream, I on the apex of
the pyramid of living things could not have
begun my reign as a fish, or an amoeba for that
matter, until then till wars raze the world and armies
and trebuchets and arrows fly and black choppers
scatter metal rain, war drones unleash hellfire
and black sticky rain fall thickly every day
and then the words of life are rewritten
from chance and carbon and flames
salt & water homo sapiens will
remain a fish, and on a dark
desolate scarred hillock
in a second coming
in the rubble
will stand
another
man.
I



undated, quite old

revised : 08/11/2021
*****************

---

A Perfect Circle - So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

poetry lesson #13

Life is about choices, and sometimes we slip into a hole...

photo by BSD at Unsplash


poetry lesson #13


you begin by thinking that nothing
can kill you.
you forgot that you can be brittle
like a glass bottle
that you sometimes pick up in fights.

you look like someone's good brother
kind and polite.
but one day the cops come, SWAT and all
in your bag they find
an axe and loot from the goldsmith's heist.

you end up in an cold, empty apartment
on the run.
edgy, one sweaty hand on the kukri,
an outside cough
makes you run behind the locked door.

does it sounds like someone you know?
write a poem on that.


27/04/2022
**********

---

“Until a man is twenty-five, he still thinks, every so often, that under the right circumstances he could be the baddest motherfucker in the world. If I moved to a martial-arts monastery in China and studied real hard for ten years. If my family was wiped out by Colombian drug dealers and I swore myself to revenge. If I got a fatal disease, had one year to live, and devoted it to wiping out street crime. If I just dropped out and devoted my life to being bad.”

― Neal Stephenson

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

path

This poem is about choice. A fork in the road. Strangers coming together. How someone can changed your life, and things could have turned out very diferently

photo by dsnake1



path


were it
not
for
you
coming
to me
on one
sweet summer's night
(
my path would have been lined with knives
(
no soothsayer would
i need
to tell
me
how
my
world
would collide.



30/04/2011
**********

Rosemary at Poets And Storytellers United invites us to write about "a choice you made (large or small) and tell us what followed – or to imagine how things might have been if you'd chosen differently".

---

“People pay for what they do, and still more for what they have allowed themselves to become. And they pay for it very simply; by the lives they lead.”

― James Baldwin

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

O

perhaps i have watched
one too many
japanese horror movies

- dsnake1, ^

digital sketch by dsnake1 with Sketchpad 5.1



O


in a darkened room
look into a mirror
at midnight,
              be afraid
              what is inside
              the glass
in the
reflection
              there is
              besides..

and the scream,
which is
not your own...


05/11/2013
**********


This is a repost, but why not get frightened again?

---

Poets of the Fall - Carnival of Rust

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

dark side of the moon #8

the night wind stirs
the fluttering ashes
that are your regrets

dsnake1 - 7th Month

photo by Devanath at pixabay



dark side of the moon #8



the glad headlights of the bus!

fear can travel much faster than
light despite what the books say

behind me an angry dark void
collapsing, ice pricks on skin
the weeds are grabbing my feet

but the bus is not what it seems
it is a thing of bamboo and paper
and the light i saw is it burning

it stops, rocking, ashes flying
despite the heat i am freezing

fear, fear are grabbing my feet



written 23/07/2019
revised 22/05/2021
****************



Shared on Writers' Pantry #86 at Poets and Storytellers United.

---

"Stare at the dark too long and you will eventually see what isn't there"

-- Unknown

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

R.O.D.

That was a really long time ago, but it seems like it was only yesterday...

photo by yapo-zhou at Unsplash



R.O.D.


just a tired wave to the guard at the gate,
no words, not one needed
those days of running in the sun, humping hills,
cold rain in dark jungles
half forgotten, gruff sergeants, muddy tracks,
sweat, curses and comrades'
faces and names i thought i really remembered,
goodbye godforsaken camp!

their bitching still clear, in hokkien, mangled
english, honest, unapologetic,
fuck the army, as the sergeant screamed of big
elephants in rifle barrels,
and now on this bus ride home to a change of clothes
from fatigues to polyester
the sounds and smells of the streets vaguely familiar
like home to an old place.


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


The title refers to the last day of conscription service, when you return to civilian life. On that day, some laugh, some cry, some spit, some are indifferent. I am not sure what's the acronym these days.

Posting this on the eve of our National Day.

---

Roger Waters - The Gunner's Dream

Shared at Writers' Pantry #82 at Poets and Storytellers United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

dark side of the moon, part #3

what an early morning walk through the neighbourhood can do to you...

photo by dsnake1



dark side of the moon, part #3


adjust your eyes to the night awhile. the long line of street lights, they are zombies coming out to play.

do not touch that empty plastic bag rolling, flailing across the zebra crossing. do you feel any wind?

no flowering trees around, but a scent of frangipani? and that lady just ahead, is she waiting for a taxi?



2018, or thereabouts
*****************

---

"ashes
swirling
swirling
at your
bare feet"

-dsnake1, glimpse

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020

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.

---

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.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020

dark side of the moon

The killing of a teenage girl more than a decade back made the news headlines then. The mother of the girl was arrested for the crime. The line between love and hate can be very fine...




photo by paulabflat
image from morguefile.com




dark side of the moon



if the moon could turn its face
so that she might live
that fateful moment
again
she would have counted to ten,
even two would do, waited for that
fog of red mist to die off
like an echo

but now

with blood-stained hands
and chained
and dragged
to hell
knelt before King Yama
and what can she tell
the Infernal Judge

that she loved
the daughter
she killed?


20/03/2009
**********


This is an unpublished work that has been sitting in the PC for a long time. Wonder why.

---

“Mad Hatter: “Why is a raven like a writing-desk?”
“Have you guessed the riddle yet?” the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.
“No, I give it up,” Alice replied: “What’s the answer?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said the Hatter”

― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ), 2020

action movie

I had to admit, the following "poem" was heavily edited from the original (like done with the said melon knives in the ...)

One truly bored day, I stumbled onto a site, Language is a Virus, and its generator threw up some crazy lines that I had no choice but to, er, chop it up (but i tried to retain as much of the trash as possible).

Yeah, if you really need some inspiration...

image by James Jester at pixabay



action movie


really i have never investigate the crazy stunts
the gorillas, and your dark ravens nod their heads, conspiring
i am at the end of my teeth oh shit! these things which creep me,
and which i cannot put a finger to it, because it's sliced nicely

so you send your dinosaurs, bandoliers full, to outgun me
but arquebuses are slow, the stench of betrayal hangs heavy
my vultures will pick them off, heavy by heavy metal
sharp in their black suits, at home in them grungy cliffs

or if your rats were to ask me, i would say
go eat cake and they wisely nod their heads
and roll over dead when the gorillas from chicago
come in from the door with their streetsweepers, oh god!

go ask the hapless foxes their feet in cement blocks
the silencer or the cold blades: your choice, the rottweilers
their eyes popping as the grenade roll across the dirty linoleum
ripping apart weeds and shells and blood with each shrugging

don't stare, hide your baseball bats, look constipated
as the tigers from hong kong unwrap their melon knives
not fine steel really and plastic handles but it gets the job done
better than the claymores of your ravens dripping dark blood.




2017 (or sometime in 2016. look, let them hangovers run off first, okay?)
****

Oh, this piece was written in 4-line stanzas. If it appears odd on your monitor, blame it on the blog's layout. 😁

---

"I used to think if I died in an evil place, then my soul wouldn't be able to make it to heaven. But now, fuck. I don't care where it goes as long it ain't here."
-- Chef Hicks, Apocalypse Now

And a video for the day : The Doors - The End

---

© 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
**********

---

UFO - Belladonna

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

a page

In the grand scheme of things, are we each just a page?

image from pixabay




a page


when all is done and said
and laid to rest

the leaves of the albums
thumbed
smudged and closed
and the tears had run dry

and there are no more
comforting words
and extended hands

then

the universe moist its fingers
and silently turns
a page


30/08/2008
**********

---

“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.”

― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

apocalypse

inflated egos and nuclear codes...

photo by MabelAmber at pixabay




apocalypse


in the time when the stars fell on us
and two suns shone in the morning
and after that perpectual dusk followed
and black rain fell, sticky, smelling of metal

in the time that locusts ruled the skies
in clouds larger than bomber squadrons
and the rats and snakes fled in fear
from their burrows
and the crows flapped tired wings
resigned to surrender

in the time that boils and sores
and skin peeled off like wet parchment
and scorched lungs hungered for air
and hair dropped off like dried weeds

i look for you
in the fallen ruins
screaming your name
crawling over rubble
on bleeding limbs
as smoke & flames rise

like burning offerings to the dead


29/01/2007
**********

---

Do we still remember this song then? - Pink Floyd, Two Suns in the Sunset

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

Little Boy

"The world is a very different one now. For man holds in his mortal hands the power to abolish all forms of human poverty, and all forms of human life." 

-- John F. Kennedy

ink/pencil sketch by dsnake1

Little Boy

the day
it dropped off
the enola gay over a city
with a white flash instantly
frying 80,000 poor humans
the day
will be
etched in
coagulated
blood. we
have the
means to
extinct our species.
we live in fear of the
black mushroom cloud delivering
evil evil evil evil evil evil evil

---

"A bright light filled the plane.We turned back to look at Hiroshima. The city was hidden by that awful cloud ... boiling up, mushrooming."
-- LTC Paul Tibbets

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

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.  🙂

---

Stereopony - Stand By Me

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

peace

Recently, I came across a video of a youth orchestra and choir. And in those young earnest faces, I wish to see the hopes of the coming year. Not a kid cradling a kalashnikov in some ruined town, or one begging for food in some urban slum. 2017's path has been lined with bramble and bracken. We fight beasts with puny weapons. Lies are taken as truths. This has been the terror of uncertain days. One more mistake. Just one more! The Pinball Machine tilts! And it is game over, no reset buttons, no credit slots.

Have a safe and peaceful 2018, friends!

digital drawing by dsnake1, with pencilmadness




peace




the dawn light lands on my face and slides across the worn linoleum floor.

peace.


29/12/2017
**********

here's another preamble that's longer than the poem. :)

---

"Help me, Goddess, to be the always hopeful..."

-- dsnake1, prayer

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2017

if we can come this far

It was not to be, but what if? And Time is a tough herder...

photo by dsnake1




if we can come this far


if we can
come this far

will time
forgive us

grasp tightly
what's left

what tender moments
can we salvage

like a scratchy reel
of film

a scent
a word

hold in our hearts
no dementia

no demons
can pry free





written 10.01.2009
revised 13.08.2012
****************


Today is my birthday, & i am glad i can write about it.

---

“The marks humans leave are too often scars.”

― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars


Shared on Poetry Pantry #330 at Poets United.

---

Song of the moment : Lady of Dreams by Kitaro and Jon Anderson.

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

There must be wars being fought out there

This is a poem that was accepted and published in an online poetry magazine, The Sidewalk's End, a decade back. It was one of the first few poems I submitted for ezines. I am quite fond of this poem, maybe it speaks to me in a certain way.

photo by mzacha at morguefile.com



There must be wars being fought out there


After dinner, we sat on the verandah outside our bunks
smoking, soaking the breeze
watching the day going down over our camp.

The perimeter was just metres away
and through the chain-link fence, the rusted concertina
sometimes we see iguanas, monitors and wild dogs.

Today we saw the snipers on night exercise again
getting down from their unimogs
cradling their night gear & sniping rifles.

We waved at them, they sulked at us,
poor bastards, they are going to feed mosquitoes
and then they were gone, into the jungle, like ghosts.

My buddy leaned off the weathered planks
stretched his limbs like a yoga master
shouted fuck it! & lit another cigarette.

I wasn't sure what pissed him off
maybe the snipers, maybe the insects buzzing around us
or he was just thinking about his run-out date.

As if to offer moral support i said yeah fuck it
leaned back and took another cigarette from him
thinking it will be another humid night again.

The frogs and crickets are up and singing their songs
as the darkness descended over us
like a mailed fist.

I looked past the faint slice of moon
past the constellations, through the light years and
thought surely there must be wars being fought out there.


22.03.2006
**********

---

"What he meant, of course, was that there would always be wars, that they were as easy to stop as glaciers. I believe that, too.
And even if wars didn't keep coming like glaciers, there would still be plain old death.”

― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five


Shared on Poetry Pantry #328 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016