Sunday, November 11, 2018

who moved my fries?

From my SingPoWriMo archives. Yes, no eyeballs at my other blog.

When you are trying to write poetry but got terribly distracted...

illustration by cd20 at pixabay

who moved my fries?

and here i am sitting in a cafe
with the other unhappy, loathsome
perhaps all in need of some help
with their time
watching the ice in that cup of coke
dying off
and trying to nurse that packet of fries
oh shit
so i feel like a stalker watching those
happy kids with their happy meals
those boys and girls from the nearby school
on the pretext of studying biology
oh you can't fool me on that
and why the heck was i here?
oh yes, trying to write a poem like this
because this is the month of april
maybe if i am lucky i can wring some verses
from this joint
but mainly it is because of the
free wi-fi

but damn, the fries are moving fast
it will not last till evening.

written          : 01/04/2016
lightly edited : 11/11/2018

Took out all the f words. Maybe I shouldn't. Getting soft.

And, to get back to the world after this, listen to the poetry of Graham Nash - I Used To Be A King

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

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Sunday, November 04, 2018

do i really care

Apathy. Maybe that was the plan.

photo by dsnake1

do i really care

do i really care
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
a show
of military strength
but there's an ache in the chest
that i cannot put a pulse to


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

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

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

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Sunday, October 28, 2018

echoes in the night

I wrote this for NaPoWriMo 2014. Urggh! Not many eyeballs there, so a re-post. The piece was inspired by a scary urban legend. Thought of reworking it. Decided not.

photo by Alvimann @

echoes in the night

the distant thud of thunder
that might have been
the last beat of your heart

in the blackness of the room

only the ticking of the clock
the slow twitch of its luminous hands
grasping the hour of the night

a shade of ghastly green

and then quite clearly from the ceiling
the sound of marbles dropping

but above that is only the rooftop...


is Halloween around the corner?

"is that a strand of hair brushing your face?"

-- dsnake1, -O-

To keep you company for the night : Uriah Heep - Echoes in the Dark

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

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Sunday, October 21, 2018


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


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
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
the other day
at the coffeeshop
when the cleaner
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
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.

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

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Sunday, October 14, 2018

a page

In the grand scheme of things, are we each just a page?

image from pixabay

a page

when all is done and said
and laid to rest

the leaves of the albums
smudged and closed
and the tears had run dry

and there are no more
comforting words
and extended hands


the universe moist its fingers
and silently turns
a page


“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.”

Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

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Sunday, October 07, 2018


Something from my NaPoWriMo archives. Yes, yes, no eyeballs.

photo by TBIT at pixabay


like clockwork
the gastric pains
wake me up
and i don't even
look at the time
but i guess 2:59 a.m.
is quite close.

i look
for that little packet
of white pills,
make my way to
the kitchen
for some self medication.
then i stand at the window
talking to the night
convinced that
in my past life
i was an owl
or a shark.


Jethro Tull - Weathercock

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

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Sunday, September 30, 2018

freeze frame

Some moments they tag along with you in your memories, and sometimes tug gently at your heart...

photo by Anemone123 at pixabay

freeze frame

when is a second an eternity?
and the pain a freeze frame?
the heart bleeds
                   razor blades
the lights of the city
hides their faces and fades
see this frame
over and over again
so many years
she sits here on the floor
the cold ceramic tiles
shadows cross every room
she has been brave
she is brave
but now her tears
big as pearls
rolling down
her quivering cheeks
of the thousands of people
at the hospital that day
she asks

and then
there are no more shadows in the rooms
as the darkness
creeps in
devours us.


The Strawbs - The Flower and the Young Man

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

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