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
**********

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“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]

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020

no one thinks of politics when he is hungry

somehow, there is order in chaos...

photo by darksouls1 at pixabay



no one thinks of politics when he is hungry



i feel like
i am the crab in the glass tank at the zi char stall
staring at the raffia strings tied around the pincers
and trying to escape.

the waitress comes holding the menu askew and recommends the song fish head in black bean paste. the same fish that caused the poisoning cases some time back, no thank you i don't want to be another statistic. i order a plate of hor fun, you don't expect me to finish that damn fish head alone anyway? she saunters off, shouts something towards the kitchen and hides in the smoking zone to steal a puff.

The beer lady is next, walks over, smiles and asks how many bottles of Heineken I want. I blink. In my not too distant past, i can drink like a hippo, but no more. i tell her i just want a teh, she says something like uncle join that queue at the counter for your teh and walks off, swinging her bottle opener.

i feel like
i am the crab in the glass tank at the zi char stall
scratching at the thick glass walls before the chef
comes with the cleaver.




revised : 07/04/2019
*****************


actually, this is about politics. sorry, my foreign readers, lots of local terms.
This is also an intended entry for the 2019 Golden Point Awards poetry competition.

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some foreign notes :

zi char - a hokkien term in Singapore (literally cook and fry) describing a Chinese food stall which provides a wide selection of common and affordable dishes, found in most kopitiams and hawker centres.

hor fun - Cantonese rice noodle strips stir-fry over high heat and served with seafood or meat.

teh - tea, from the Malay language, which was in turn taken from the Hokkien dialect.

song fish - Asian Bighead Carp, a freshwater fish.

uncle - no, not about relatives. any middle age or elderly man

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

nine eleven

i am sorry if it opens old wounds.

photo by lauramusikanski
image from morguefile.com



nine eleven


i
up above
in a canvas
of sun-laced clouds
a jetliner trailing thunder

ii
my neighbour
sounded almost apologetic
the towers had fallen he said
collapsed
to a heap of dust

iii
maybe he wanted
to tell me that
it was not him
or his religion
that pulled
the trigger

iv
we waited for the lift
smoked our cigarettes
wondering if a tragedy
half a world away
will change our lives

v
up above
a black dome of sky
the strobe lights of a jetliner
chasing the stars

vi
jetliners will never look the same again.



various dates, sept 2008
a wee editing, sept 2019
********************

---

[] []

      us
__________

     them


-- dsnake1, The Height of Haiku Challenge - Day 11, i write too.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

do i really care

Apathy. Maybe that was the plan.

photo by dsnake1



do i really care


do i really care
today
as i pack a lunch
from the coffee shop
in a styrofoam box some rice
and meat dripping with grease,
the stall helper bored,
working 12 hour shifts.
maybe i will watch the parade
on tv later
raise a can of beer
to the guys standing in the sun
anyway it's all the same these years,
some songs
politicians waving
smiling
a show
of military strength
but there's an ache in the chest
that i cannot put a pulse to

because

you go out in the streets
in the sun and rain you see
the elderly collect used cardboard
& empty cans for a meal.

would they care for the flypast, the fighter jets?
the choppers, the tanks, the feu de joie?
they laugh and curse and wait for another day

and only when the national anthem comes up
do i try to hold back the tears.



written 09/08/2016
revised 06/10/2018
****************

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Julia Westlin - The Sound of Silence (acapella) [ original song by Simon & Garfunkel ]

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

territory

Do we like to see this world more tolerant, more compassionate? But bigotry, xenophobia, chauvinism, and a host of other -ism masking as self-righteousness are building walls and barriers. And governments are leaning on protectionism and citizen control.

And all this mentality filters down to the man in the street. Only when you run with the wolves will you understand.

photo by ArielleJay at morguefile.com




territory


small talk at beer tables can escalate into big arguments.
the fact that alcohol is involved does not help matters.
just like modern governments, the escalation bit, i mean.
it's not over beer, usually some small islands everyone wants.

they don't shout and wave a smashed beer bottle at people, like us.
they send in a couple of patrol boats or warships, waving guns.

it's a wonder we had lasted so long.
but let's go back to the peasants like us
talking to the fluorescent lights and moon...

a broken beer bottle
intimidates
because
you are not sure
what harm it can do
how the jagged edges
will cut
if a shard will break
and buries in
your guts.
a bearing scrapper
a cleaver
we know what
the steel can do
so
the other day
at the coffeeshop
when the cleaner
accidentally
drops a mug
the sound
of shattering glass
like a gong
in a small room.

we jump
chairs clatter
glance close
glance quick
who the fuck did that?
the poor aunty, cursing
and looking for a broom
and we settle down again
muttering
throw out the ice cubes
pour another glass
call out to the beer lady,
for a couple more bottles
as the drama forgotten
(like those border stand-offs)
and we resume
our drinking
to see who
will be the first one
to drop over
the edge.


written 27/09/2015
revised 21/10/2018
****************


a strange piece of work. i am afraid to call it a poem.

---

Glance close, glance quick, but don’t stare.

*

from “Sovereign Nation” by Jeff Alessandrelli.

This poem was inspired by the lines from the above poem & some bottles of beer. This is a prompt from the Bibliomancy Oracle. It can work in aggressive ways.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

birds

sometimes we wish we can fly...

photo by Alvimann at morguefile.com


birds


once it was
archaeopteryx
because i was
younger then
and i was intrigued
by it's deathly shadow
frozen in limestone
but now it is
the free seagull
of the waves
and blue skies
because you
sang of them.


11/05/2016
**********


a one sentence poem?

---

Pink Floyd, A Great Day for Freedom

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

when the air flames

I was a eleven year old kid when I witnessed my first racial riot. Or rather the aftermath of it. My mother braved all that violence to fetch me from school, travelling a considerable distance by bus and foot.

This was also written for the Golden Point Awards 2015 competition.

ink/pencil sketch by dsnake1



when the air flames over the colour of skin


From my window I watched the flames from the torches lighting up the night air and the Chinese gangsters waving their parangs and staffs, shouting to march to Kampong Glam and the Gasworks, and in that moment, the thrusting, waving blades held more terror than all the spirits of the netherworld.

They would gather and talk later the next day, in the shop houses, the temples, over coffee and cigarettes, of last night’s battles, comparing scars, deep as the schisms of the colour of skin. How many Malays did you slashed last night, or were you chopped at instead? Did you run when the police raised their guns?

Of course I do not understand all these then, the burning cars in the streets, the acrid smoke drifting into our homes, and the eyes of the neighbours, all seething with anger and loathing. Neither my parents could tell me, didn’t great aunt treat her Malay driver like family, do we not miss their kueh when we moved to the city?

The nights have been dark
And our heroes are dead.


10/05/2015
**********

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"Do not give them a reason!"
-- A Baltimore man, during the 2015 riots, standing between a line of police and angry protesters, trying to quell the aggression.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

moths

I wrote this, intending to submit it (and a few others) for the Golden Point Awards 2015, a national writing competition. So I thought I would polish it up a bit, office work took its toll and the deadline breezed by (can you imagine it was three years already?). So yeah, forget it, I will just post it here (and the rest of the lot, if ..) Wonder how it will perform in the competition though. :)

drawing by dsnake1 done with Sketchpad 4.0




moths


i

When I was a small boy, my father would talk to me in hallowed tones about Dien Bien Phu, showed me from some Chinese magazines, the monochrome prints of tired soldiers, a landscape so scarred by shells it could well be the moon and parachutes in the air like thin black mushrooms. I do not understand why a battlefield in Vietnam could excite him so.


ii

My father had come to South East Asia, looking for their Ellis Islands, their torches bringing them to a new land, as insects attracted to light, growing roots, hear the fledgling politicians pounding their socialist rhetoric, taking sides, staking a claim on an opportunity, building a home from scratch.


iii

In time, i served this new land, i bit a cigarette too, dug foxholes in hills, filled sand-bags just like some French troopers, biting on their Gauloises, in some hell hole in South East Asia. Only difference was, i need not fire a shot in anger, our Anne-Maries, Beatrices and Isabelles were not trampled upon, and died.


iv.

Later I retraced my father's words, understood why Dien Bien Phu made him proud of his skin, why we may forgive, but never forget, even among our own creed. And why my parents made sure that their children do have an opportunity that they were denied. In time I understood all these, there was so much learning even in a house without electricity and running water...


v.

bright pressure lamp
moths come in from the night
to die


written 08/04/2007
revised 13/06/2007
revised 25/01/2013
******************

---

“Not knowing when the dawn will come
I open every door.”

― Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems


And a song if you are thinking of home : CSNY - Our House

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

7 days (what i saw in the neighbourhood)

How to start a New Year post? Oh, about a week of shenanigans in the neighbourhood, and some colloquialism thrown in. 😎

What! New Year was last week?

digital collage by dsnake1





7 days (what i saw in the neighbourhood)


1)

Friday Nov 27

only this empty greasy table
noodles i must have today
bak chor mee will do nicely
no cake, never mind.
mother said so


2)

Monday Nov 30

girl in the bus frowns
thought i was staring at her.
great legs though.


3)

Saturday Dec 5

glossy brochure, 2 storey house in JB 1180 sq feet
my malaysian friend pointed out, very cheap
RM330K only

where the fuck do i get RM330K?
how much you paid for your singapore pigeonhole then?
hahahas


4)

Sunday Dec 13

hey auntie, your dog shits anyhow anywhere
ought to clean after, i wanted to tell her
but her face like her pug's.


5)

Wednesday Dec 16

does anyone still dial 1711, friend asks
check time lah
crossing carpark, saw car with plate 1711
a sign! a hint!
buy the number on 4D, same day, zilch.



6)

thursday Dec 24

a pair of sloopy looking papier mache reindeer
at mall entrance.
small kid looks at it and walks away.

only a drenched plastic santa
in the rain.
diners chatting at coffee shop


7)

Tuesday Dec 29

on way to lunch same JB friend observes, before elections your gahmen give you one chicken drumstick to shiok shiok. after elections, they take back whole chicken. hahaha!
dammit, he may have a point.
shall we have chicken rice, Ken?




various days, 2016
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For you folks out there who are lost with some of the language :

bak chor mee - minced pork noodles, a staple in Singapore's hawker centres.
JB - Johor Bahru, the Malaysian city nearest to Singapore
RM - Malaysian Ringgit, the currency of Malaysia
4D - Our local numbers lottery, of 4 digits
lah - a slang word, an interjection commonly used in here and Malaysia to complement almost any sentence in a social conversation.
gahmen - Our Singlish way of saying "government", usually as a cynical or sarcastic usage. popular in internet chat.
shiok - Usually used as an expression to convey pleasure or excitement.

still not sure, just google them lah.

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boy : Dino!
cat : meow!!
nice to know that the community cat has a name.

(this makes it the 8th day?)

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2017