quarrel

now I just want to hear her voice...

ink and water colour sketch by dsnake1



quarrel


like a rush
of arctic wind
that scutters over
a winter pond
dusting hoarfrost on reeds,
we sat, stiff, cold
as strangers

no words, no words pass between us today.
no words, no words she said.


revised 07/12/2008
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Shared at Friday Writings #9.

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BAND-MAID - start over

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

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
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Drop's -「月光」(moonlight)

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

slag

it is not just about the haze that rolls in from indonesia. perhaps it is more than that...

photo by dsnake1
of an art installation at a museum



slag



it does not look like red slag
from a furnace
red like a bruise on a face
after a fist fight
it has been like that
since september
a dragon's breath
it blows teeth
sharp as razors
the sweat rolling
down scalps
to sizzle
on dry asphalt
the words hot
           hot
scalding

the sky
a frenzy of grey hammerheads

           circling



30/10/2015
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this is one of the poems that i wanted to submit for a poetry competition. i think it is not too bad. and yes, what good timing, the haze has just rolled in from indonesia...

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The sky is not falling
but it is growing teeth

*

from “All the Sweat Inside My Handshake” by David Greenspan


This is a prompt from the Bibliomancy Oracle. It can work in hysterical ways.

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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

perhaps it is not just the miles travelled

perhaps it is not just the miles travelled

photo by dsnake1



perhaps it is not just the miles travelled


Have we travelled so far already? I do not count the miles because I love you. But sometimes I cannot fathom your heart, it is a deep well with water as dark as black glass. An unfinished poem. Or it is just like the streets we walked. Cold, alien and heartbroken. Streets awashed with dangers on a warm night, the light of the moon useless.

Some days my heart just crumbles and turns to ashes. Perhaps it is not just the miles travelled, but how.



01/01/2019
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Skylar Grey - Stand By Me

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

moss

The prompt at Poets United on Wednesday was to write an eight line poem, in the style of William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow"

With my penchant for procrastination, I am only able to post my effort now. This poem is not what it seems. :)




photo by dhester
image from morguefile.com




moss




a drop into
shadows

green moss clings
to walls

obstinate
silent

has been this way
for years


01/08/2013
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"I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was shadow in bureau drawers and closets and suitcases, and shadow under houses and trees and stones, and shadow at the back of people's eyes and smiles, and shadow, miles and miles and miles of it, on the night side of the earth.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar



Shared on Poetry Pantry #161 at Poets United.

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2013