valkyrie

Boredom needs a distraction.

pencil sketch by dsnake1



valkyrie
lim chu kang, mid '70's



they said she could floor you with a punch
if you make her just this mad.
so we were expecting her to leap
and somersault over the tables
like some wuxia swordswoman
or slash her way across the coffee shop
an unstoppable medieval amazon.
but she just sits quietly at the counter
looking at us like a wary hawk

we wave for another beer
she saunters over
bottle of cold beer in one hand
bottle opener in another.
she counts out the cash
pops the bottle expertly
we watch her walking back to that counter
her hips too wide for that pair of shorts
have to watch out for her dad though
he is the local triad enforcer

so we just look quietly at this valkyrie
she in her long black hair and tiny t-shirt
measuring her, trying small talk with her
drink our beer eat our carrot cakes
and prawn noodles smoke our cigarettes
sometimes sweating out the night
thick with rumours and gnats
waiting for our night transport
to take us back to the shithole
a couple of clicks away
that is our camp.



03/06/2016
**********

To the tough lady (sorry, i missed your name) who manned the counter at that coffee shop near our base at lim chu kang, thanks for the beer and coffee and conversations, wherever you may be.

---

"I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!”

--John Keats, La Belle Dame Sans Merci.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

jenny

This was written for NaPoWriMo 2009, the prompt was to write about "an old flame". Ah, once I was young and reckless, as most beach-going school students were...

pencil sketch by dsnake1
coloured digitally with PicsArt



jenny



water nymph
       she is
     taut body
in tight swimsuit
     nubile curves
jet black hair
wet
dripping diamonds
out of
     the waves
like Botticcelli's Venus
her laughter
is the Sirens'song
her hands
outstretched
     to me

and me
mesmerised
plunge to her
like a doomed
       sailor
         to rocks



11/04/2009
**********


to jenny, wherever you may be

---

"Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each."

-- T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

the pub singer

In a pub of a foreign country while on R&R, we came across a lady singer who I thought her voice was heavenly. (or maybe we were just too happy to see any lady).

Anyway, years later, that event inspired this poem.

pencil sketch by dsnake1



the pub singer
unnamed pub, taipei



in the noisy pub
the babble dropped
to a whisper
as the first strains
of the
plucked strings
drifted through
the fog
and neon
of the hall

and then that
crystal voice
like a plea
out of a void
a shooting star
on a dark sky

the pub singer,
she was there,
in the centre
of the stage,
lit up like a store display
under pools of pink
and orange lights

she sat on a high stool
plucking away on a guitar,
plucking our heartstrings
as she sang of love
and wanderings
and olive trees at home,
her oval face and
bob cut hair haloed in neon,
rounded hips tight in denim jeans

i asked a waitress
what was the singer's name
she said these girls are like
blooms from trees
and i thought
in my country
she would be a star.



written 06/03/2006
revised 23/01/2010
******************

---

"I have wandered so far, so far
for the olive tree of my dreams"

-- The Olive Tree, sung by Chyi Yu

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

bernadette

Some time in the not-too-distant past, there was this little skill and past-time called letter writing. Words were not a string of zeroes and ones, but were ink on paper, and arrived in envelopes with postmarks. Sometimes, it takes weeks to reach you, which is unthinkable of now. But the joy of it, when you see the letter in the mailbox (a real physical box of metal nailed to a wall)

I had a pen-pal from a neighbouring country. We exchanged letters and first day covers regularly. And then, like all good things, it came to an end. The letters became less and less, a trickle, and finally ceased. I guessed we each had our own needs and priorities to attend to. But it was a great experience while it lasted.

pencil sketch by dsnake1





bernadette




but it was not to be

i could have taken
a train
to meet you.
we could even have
met halfway
at Kluang
have a coffee
shake hands

but we just write
our letters

and then
other things
          came
and took over our
time

and the letters
became less

and
less

and then

it was not to be.




nov 2011
********


to bernadette, wherever you may be.

---

"Thus having spoke she turned away and though I found no words to say
I stood and watched until I saw her black cloak disappear."

-- Uriah Heep, Lady in Black


Shared on Poetry Pantry #313 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

janice

Do you still remember the first dance you had? I still do, though it happened eons ago. Probably because it's the first time, the partner is pretty, and the music in the right groove. Yes, it was vinyl records then...

pencil sketch by dsnake1




janice



always
that dance
       it plays
       all over
like a jammed vinyl
       when i hear
       that song
in a store
the train the radio
though it has been
almost
       a lifetime
since
we left
and still
like a bridge
across time
       i see
just the two
of us
though there are others
on the dance floor
       my hand
on your slim waist
your warm body
close to mine
a hint
of heady
perfume

and me
trying very hard
not to step
       on your shoes.



written 14/04/09
revised 23/06/09
****************


To Janice, wherever you may be.

---

Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way.

-- Paul Simon, Bridge Over Troubled Water.


Shared on Poetry Pantry #310 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

bell bottoms & hotpants

“It takes a very long time to become young.”

― Pablo Picasso

colour pencil drawing by dsnake1





bell bottoms & hotpants



the fading polaroids
peel back the years
smile back at me
big hair
big girls

and i hear the mermaids making promises again

they think they are Fawcett clones
sashaying down the street
their bags swinging
their short skirts
threatening to ride higher
their laughter
are the songs that lure
the seafarers to the rocks.

meet you at barbarella's
they would say
that would blow me a chunk
of my pay
but i would be there
in my best polyester
trying to do the hustle
and never good with it

but they are gorgeous
my vivacious mermaids
skipping, bobbing on the dance floor
in their platform shoes
under the disco ball
i cannot forget the way
they twirl the ice cubes in their lemon tea
their tongues licking the plastic stirrers
their lithe bodies wet
sticking to tube tops
their glossy legs in hotpants
crossed on faux leather sofas
as they bum and smoke my cigarettes
on bee-stung lips


"shut up, tell me how do i look
why that sad face, think about my, you know...
i like you but you have been taken.
you don't know what's true hurt is, i do"


and then we all moved on
time and rank pulled us all

on

we grow old
we grow apart
we fall in love
we trip and fall
we die a little bit
and i hear the songs fade away
and the dreams they fall apart too
and a rain rolls over
a shifting wasteland
and the mermaids no longer sing

until one aching night

\\
\ \\ \\
    \\

outside the windows a sudden rain.
a rattling of window panes.

they may be calling me already.




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


when we were younger, we thought we could live forever...

---

the mermaids making promises again

*

from “Notes on Melancholia” by M.A. Vizsolyi


This poem was inspired by the lines from the above poem (and some mind wanderings on a cold night). This is a prompt from the Bibliomancy Oracle. It can work in seductive ways.


Shared on Poetry Pantry #308 at Poets United.

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016