the pigeon minding its business

There is an informal understanding that we will ignore each other...

photo by dsnake1



the pigeon minding its business


the pigeon quietly waddles away
when I step on the sidewalk.
it is just minding its own business.
it does not want to look at me.
it is wary,
that i may wring its neck
or wrap a cable tie around its leg.

i will not do that of course.
i am too minding my own business.
i am just thinking of
what numbers to buy
for tonight's $10 million TOTO draw.
it will think of food, not numbers.
i will think of numbers, and food.

i reach for a betting slip, and hope.
it pecks at a grain of rice in the grass.



12/06/2024
**********


TOTO is a lot like Lotto. You know, the lottery. :)

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"Do you ever ask your goldfish for their views on goldfish poetry or politics. Does a termite thinks that a woman's place is in the house? Do beavers prefer blondes or brunettes?"

-- Robert Heinlein, Goldfish Bowl

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2024

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

gangster movie

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

- Mary Oliver

photo by Sammy-Williams at pixabay



gangster movie


The pool hall is dark except for
the lights at the beige tables.
Two very bulky military police
guys push open the doors
and saunter into the hall
their eyes sharpened
for army deserters
their polished helmets
gleaming in the dim lights
their .45s automatics
in their holsters.

Boys, keep drinking your beers
don't get us into trouble.
The chatter dropped to a whisper
the clatter of ivory balls stopped
as they walked across the hall
steely eyes fixing on every face
every twitch of taut muscle
every curl of cigarette smoke
and there and then
i felt like a useless extra
in a gangster movie.



written 29/04/2009
revised 30/11/2012
revised 06/07/2021
***************


Note the revisions. A very longish poem came to this...

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SiM - The Sound of Breath

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

what are you doing tonight?

The night seems long, and there is no place to go.

photo of a Kyoto street by dsnake1



what are you doing tonight?


the half eaten dinner
is still in the styrofoam box
on the table

perhaps the rice is too sticky
maybe the cook had a bad day
like me

stub out the nth cigarette
sitting in the darkness listening
for a heartbeat

the blue curaco in a tall glass
with borzoi vodka and ice cubes
cools nerves

i light incense to her at the altar
call out her name, see the smoke
like farewells

i clean the dust and oil off
the gas hobs, as she had done
so many years

until the cold steel shines
and my sobs tremble and echo in
the silence

sitting in the quiet dark again
trying to figure out how the years
were wasted.

you will figure out surely
what you are doing tonight
the night answers

then i fire up the power amp
slip a disc into the player
sit back

and wait for Mark Knopfler
and his guitar to take us
to nirvana.


written lovingly 15/09/2007
revised slightly 23/08/2021
********************

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Dire Straits - On Every Street

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2024

September

She used to wear an anchor pendant on her necklace. Perhaps this is the one thing that is weighing me down.

There was once a prompt at Poets and Storytellers United to write about October. Sorry, my poem is about September.

photo by dsnake1



September


September seems like a meteor dropping from the sky,
once bright, then gone.

Like you too.

Remember we stand at the parapets of our block,
smoking cigarettes, bitching
about money and our jobs,
you a seamstress, me an odd-job labourer?

Life gets better.

But then you are gone, those memories hang
like van Goghs on my dusty wall.
Starry nights, irises, sunflowers,
cafes, tears and labour.
But I am too afraid
to follow you and so I linger
and I sit in dark corners
and wait for

September.



written 26/09/2023
revised 28/09/2023
****************

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"what matters is that I still have
after all that has preceded
poems left
me left
and these walls that I have always
loved
in all the cities and in all the
places I have lived, these walls are still here and
my radio plays,..."

Charles Bukowski, luck from a kitchen

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2024

daze

If there is a word to describe my 2023, it is "daze". Most of the months moved by like a haze, dysfunctional after boring months. Troubled by a rogue thyroid, lost weight, lost direction, time consumed by social media, most days is a snafu.

Then a stay of a month and a half in Amsterdam and the Netherlands somehow brought back some order. Ah, Amsterdam, the city of canals and bridges, bicycles and cyclists, cannabis and museums. The city woke me up to the beauty, and ugliness of this world.

From there, I followed the routes that Vincent van Gogh took in the village of Nuenen, where he stayed for some months at his mother's house, where he painted the watermills, windmills and people. Later I will visit the new, sleek museum in Amsterdam where most of his paintings are.

I made trips to the battlegrounds of World War 2, to Arnhem, to Groesbeek and Nijmegen, to look at mangled pieces of metal, to Anne Frank's house in Amsterdam, where a teenage girl just wanted to live a normal life, to try to understand the inhumanity of man to man.

I underestimated the cold in Amsterdam during November/December, coming from the tropics, and had to get extra warm clothing. I saw the homeless sleeping on the sidewalks, underpasses, and understand how cold they must have felt.

On the day I was leaving for home, at the airport, I saw heavily armed police and military personnel around. Discreet, yet visible, they are there because of a terrorist threat. There is more or less the same presence when I landed. The world has changed, and has not changed much.



01/01/2024
**********

from a wall mural in Amsterdam, Netherlands
photo by dsnake1



daze


"I will do it today."
"Tomorrow, it will be done."

And so, another year passes...


01/01/2024
**********

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We do not cherish the hours until we worry about the nanoseconds. - dsnake1

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2024

our old home

The prompt at Poets and Storytellers United asks us what conjures up "Home". There are perhaps many images that do that, and I would like to share this old poem (written and published here about a decade ago) about an old place I grew up in.

pencil sketch by dsnake1



our old home


looking out of the taxi from the viaducts
of the expressway

i saw the lights in the huge yards bathing the port
like day

the containers stacked as neatly as colourful
lego bricks

the cranes over them like metal brachiosauruses
breathing steam


once upon a time my cousin and i
catch catfishes

where the giant ships at the wharves
now berthed

not caring about the stings
or drowning


today as the last evening lights
scattered off

offices and warehouses ringed by a
chain-link fence

casting shadows and memories on a
concrete strip

there used to stand a house where I
called home.



15/11/2013
**********

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"Tomorrow, we will be flying over the South China Sea
& home"

dsnake1 - lonely when away from home

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2023