Sunday, February 05, 2017

beyond reason

“I'm afraid I can't explain myself, sir. Because I am not myself, you see?”

Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland





digital montage by dsnake1




beyond reason



damnit we did chop down a tree to get at its fruits

the other day i swing a sledgehammer to crush a fly
do you have to drop that bomb on hiroshima?
do you need a blowtorch to melt that snowflake?

the succubus dances and flirts in the neon night
meth peddlers holler your name in dim alleys
we are snakes, coiled and uncoiled, wary

but we were younger then, we live on air alone
the night is our lover and wears a cheap perfume
who are afraid of snakes in the weeds?

the pen looks at me, gives a finger and goes back to sleep
it does not want to speak of battles and love
we just like to do things this way, lots of drama

until

in the dark room 3 a.m. i wish for the rain to come
but instead it is a police cruiser, silent, no sirens
the blue red of its strobes flutter on the panes

damnit, do you need to call the cops because you can't sleep?





written    : 15/07/2014
extended : 19/12/2016
*******************



Yes, I am really not myself. You see, my desktop PC decided to quit on Chinese New Year's eve, and with it went a chunk of my poems and scans and photos. Arrg! what an idiot not to backup all the stuff. And man, it is the Lunar New Year, and that means a couple of weeks of spring cleaning, heavy spending , inadequate sleep and binge drinking.
Normally, I will write something nice for the new year. But, well. I am posting from a borrowed MacBook, so yeah, please bear with me. ☢








You will wonder did I make all that fire just to kill a snake?

*

from “Bombyonder” by Reb Livingston


This poem was inspired by the above lines from the Bibliomancy Oracle and the current crazy state of wold affairs. It can work in mind-altering ways.






© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2017

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Sunday, January 08, 2017

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
****************


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.







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

(this makes it the 8th day?)






© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2017

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Saturday, December 31, 2016

2016

It has been quite a bleary year, but still kind.





image by dsnake1, done with Sketchpad 4.0




2016



as footprints in the sand
that will be erased by the tides
so do the past years go

and do we appreciate we lived
a little longer
by a leap second?

we do make very strange decisions as a collective
so the guns are no more silent as last year's
the princess of the galaxy is gone
we do fear the ceiling falling
the want ads are ambiguous
there is no more beer
in the fridge

but let us not be anchored down
by fear and apathy
fear of the other
fear of the unknown
we will live
for the tomorrow
for the sunlight
for the ones we cared.
deep roots do not fear frost


31/12/2016
**********






Happy New Year, dear readers! May the new year be healthy and kind and cheerful. 😁





© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

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Sunday, November 27, 2016

if we can come this far

It was not to be, but what if? And Time is a tough herder...




photo by dsnake1




if we can come this far


if we can
come this far

will time
forgive us

grasp tightly
what's left

what tender moments
can we salvage

like a scratchy reel
of film

a scent
a word

hold in our hearts
no dementia

no demons
can pry free





written 10.01.2009
revised 13.08.2012
****************



Today is my birthday, & i am glad i can write about it.





“The marks humans leave are too often scars.”

― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars



Shared on Poetry Pantry #330 at Poets United.






Song of the moment : Lady of Dreams by Kitaro and Jon Anderson.

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

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Sunday, November 13, 2016

There must be wars being fought out there

This is a poem that was accepted and published in an online poetry magazine, The Sidewalk's End, a decade back. It was one of the first few poems I submitted for ezines. I am quite fond of this poem, maybe it speaks to me in a certain way.



photo by mzacha at morguefile.com



There must be wars being fought out there


After dinner, we sat on the verandah outside our bunks
smoking, soaking the breeze
watching the day going down over our camp.

The perimeter was just metres away
and through the chain-link fence, the rusted concertina
sometimes we see iguanas, monitors and wild dogs.

Today we saw the snipers on night exercise again
getting down from their unimogs
cradling their night gear & sniping rifles.

We waved at them, they sulked at us,
poor bastards, they are going to feed mosquitoes
and then they were gone, into the jungle, like ghosts.

My buddy leaned off the weathered planks
stretched his limbs like a yoga master
shouted fuck it! & lit another cigarette.

I wasn't sure what pissed him off
maybe the snipers, maybe the insects buzzing around us
or he was just thinking about his run-out date.

As if to offer moral support i said yeah fuck it
leaned back and took another cigarette from him
thinking it will be another humid night again.

The frogs and crickets are up and singing their songs
as the darkness descended over us
like a mailed fist.

I looked past the faint slice of moon
past the constellations, through the light years and
thought surely there must be wars being fought out there.


22.03.2006
**********







"What he meant, of course, was that there would always be wars, that they were as easy to stop as glaciers. I believe that, too.
And even if wars didn't keep coming like glaciers, there would still be plain old death.”

― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five


Shared on Poetry Pantry #328 at Poets United.





© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

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Sunday, November 06, 2016

flare

Some days are worse than Mondays. Especially if you think the world is out to get you...




photo by pedrojperez at morguefile.com




flare



some days the sun is a magnesium flare
the people in the streets wipe sweat
off their noses, seeking shadows
to hide in, this town, and you
expect the walls and roads
to crumble and collapse.
you duck into a cafe
hoping there's cash
left in the pockets
for a set lunch.
you are surprised
the air-con is cold
the tiles clean, spotless
the clientele polite, making
just small noises, forks poking
at plates, you take the day's papers
the headlines, the black ink staring back

Paris Peace Talks Stalled
North Vietnamese negotiators walk out.


who cares about U.S. air raids when you just
want to look for the jobs vacant pages?
and then the girl brings you your food
she is plump, her hair tied in a bun
her thighs in a short short skirt
ravishingly creamy, fiery sexy
and you really thought of
making hot love to her
and outside the sun
just screams and
shines blindly
belligerently
an exploding

ball of
hegemony.


02/09/2016
**********







"and all i could do was
sweat out the summer,
dripping with rage
while the days ran hot
and the rain trees bled
dead brown leaves,"

-- dsnake1, peace



Shared on Poetry Pantry #327 at Poets United.







© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

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Sunday, October 23, 2016

Sunday is not a good day to write poetry

Poetry Pantry, you can clobber me if you like.




image by dsnake1, done with Sketchpad




Sunday is not a good day to write poetry


Sunday is not a good day to write poetry,
because if you need to work (like i do),
the day is white-washed, you reach home frayed,
you think of food, and bed, and not poetry
(unless the muse sympathizes with you).

And if you need not work, you want to play,
suddenly the day flaps by very quickly,
(remember, there's always not enough time for fun)
unless the muse tags along, which is unlikely,
you may have a couple of lines, or stanzas
about your great BBQ party, or that hike in the hills,

otherwise

Sunday is not a good day to write poetry.


15/04/2012
**********



Ah, some gibberish from my NapoWriMo archives. This coming Thursday, I will be on a course, some tech stuff (imagine me trying to stay awake), so Thursday is not a good day to write poetry too.





“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.”

G.K. Chesterton, Alarms and Discursions



Shared on Poetry Pantry #325 at Poets United.





© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2016

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