Sunday, July 14, 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

Labels: , , ,

Sunday, July 07, 2019

homecoming

There is no spare...



photo by darksouls1 at pixabay



homecoming



We sit by the side of the lake, taking in the cool breeze, the chirps of the birds, and the sight of the single sun high up in the blue sky. It is a fresh change to hold the meeting outdoors.

The Chairman holds up his hand to start the discussion. The issue here today, he says, is to look for another site, to stay here and make here our home ourselves, or to stay and propagate with the natives. The natives are another issue again. They talk in a language we cannot understand yet, but our translators can decode later. They cannot write, which until now, we are sure of. They have clubs as weapons, which our guns can handle easily. But they are fairly intelligent, they have tools and utensils and dwellings. And clothing.

The issues are to be put to a vote, and the Chairman wants a firm consensus. There is no going back to where we came from. Even with plasma ion propulsion, our spaceship will take some time to reach our home planet, dying from the excesses we have made on her. Thus the expeditions in the first place, to preserve our species, to look for a new home planet. And this blue planet is a lot like home.

The Chairman raises a finger. "Any hands to look for another site?"


07/07/2019
**********

226 words. Can't believe I wrote this in one afternoon.





“It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.”

- Rainer Maria Rilke





© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

Labels: , , ,

Sunday, June 30, 2019

your eyes

to look into your eyes and see eternity...



photo by BarbaraALane at pixabay



your eyes


the eyes
are the open windows
to the soul
and in the moments that i look
deep into them
though they are clouded
because of the pain
they still burn with a flame
of fight

your eyes
smile like the first day
i met you
though there is a flicker
of regret
knowing that our days
together
will be like sand out of
our fingers

my eyes
are the dikes breaking
please don't
let her see my weakness
my fears
but a single tear
warm and salty rolls down
my cheeks

and then a frail hand touches my face.




written 15/05/2008
revised 15/05/2019






Pink Floyd - Comfortably Numb





© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

Labels: , , , ,

Sunday, June 23, 2019

autobiography of a minor hood

Sometimes you look at a picture, and it screams "prompt!".



photo from morguefile.com



autobiography of a minor hood




well, you look like you were constipating.
you think i stole and ate your fried chicken wings?
today is a saturday, you hate calendars, remember?
we don't mess around with tequila on saturdays.
moreover the blackbirds have flown the pie.
yeah it looks bad on you, klutzy and all
but really you should saw off that shotgun
makes it easier to conceal you know.
however you still look like a mafioso with a bad eye.

now let's go get a drink.


07/05/2016
**********






"One thing is for sure though. Trouble is trouble, no matter where you are."

--Felix, Felix the Cat: The Movie






© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

Labels: , , ,

Sunday, June 16, 2019

why the boss never ask why i was late

It's just how we look at things. And then we won't worry about small things like being late for work.



cartoon by dsnake1
click on the image for a larger size.



why the boss never ask why i was late



01. The bus was late.
02. The bus was late, as usual
03. The bus was later than usual.
04. The bus was not late, blame the gridlock
05. Two guys stared and then fought in the bus.
06. There was a suspicious package in the bus.
07. It was raining, the roads can get slippery.
08. Taxi fares have gone up again.
09. I can't afford taxi fares.
10. The boss was late.


written with a cola : 20/04/2013
revised with a beer : 07/06/2019







Not many eyeballs at the sister site. Inspired by McSweeney's





© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

Labels: , , , ,

Sunday, June 09, 2019

because time

A question of identity then, a question of mortality now.



photo by dsnake1



because time



because
     the old block of flats is gone
     with its rusted railings, paint
     and love poems peeling from walls
     chipped concrete, vomit stains
     and flocks of contented pigeons
     in its place an intimidating
     30 something storeys tower
i lost my way

because
     these are the worn stone steps
     where we sat like buddhas
     talking our woes, and what ifs
     bummed a cigarette when poor
     at the only place we had then
     waiting for the long night
     to call off its foot soldiers
those stones are gone!

because
     It was here one of the boys
     brought along a parang one night
     "is it lovely?", (it was lovely)
     but careful with that, Ah Huat
     it is easy to end up in the CID
     if we could not explain that steel
     such were the streets we walked
those streets are gone!

and because
     i come back to look for you
     these streets now sterile
     with clean-cut girls and boys
     and people in coffee shops
     with lottery slips wishing
     of being instant millionaires
     and because time was not kind
i, an old man,

     stumble back into the noise
     and tunnels of the train station.




20/11/2018
**********

This was a poem submitted for a national competition. It was not among the finalists. No one wants to read about old men, I guess.






"I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

-- Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl's Love Song






© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2019

Labels: , , , , , , ,

Sunday, May 26, 2019

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

Labels: , , ,