apocalypse

inflated egos and nuclear codes...

photo by MabelAmber at pixabay




apocalypse


in the time when the stars fell on us
and two suns shone in the morning
and after that perpectual dusk followed
and black rain fell, sticky, smelling of metal

in the time that locusts ruled the skies
in clouds larger than bomber squadrons
and the rats and snakes fled in fear
from their burrows
and the crows flapped tired wings
resigned to surrender

in the time that boils and sores
and skin peeled off like wet parchment
and scorched lungs hungered for air
and hair dropped off like dried weeds

i look for you
in the fallen ruins
screaming your name
crawling over rubble
on bleeding limbs
as smoke & flames rise

like burning offerings to the dead


29/01/2007
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Do we still remember this song then? - Pink Floyd, Two Suns in the Sunset

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

dragon

Imagine one dark night in a medieval English village, a strange, unidentified object hovers in the sky...

photo by kellepics at pixabay


dragon



                   We draw our longbows waiting
                 for the beast to come. But the
               dragon just hangs there in the
             air, above the poplars, exhaling
           fire. Its scales of metal glisten in the last of
         dusk's light, its two fiery eyes
       glowing red with anger and alarm.
     Our horses are nervous, stamping
   their hoofs, the village hounds
   run around in circles, barking.
     The braver of the villagers stand
       watching the rings of smoke and dust
         through the trees, some with swords
           and staffs. The beast seems to be wounded, swaying
             in the air, but soon it steadies
               itself, flies around the village in
                 a wide circle, and climbs back into
                   the clouds. Fear grip our hearts.






We could have caught a dragon today.



written : 02/07/2014
revised : 05/09/2018
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Uriah Heep - Tales

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

sparrow

Another one from the NaPoWriMo archives. I think this one is worth sharing again.

photo by bluekdesign at morguefile.com



sparrow


the schoolgirl
hopped onto the bus
like a sparrow,
chirpy, full of energy
her ponytail swinging.
she was maybe
all of six years old
she took the seat
in front of me
smiling
looking at the
blue morning sky
and then she said

it's a beautiful morning

and me
cynical, angry
two days worth of stubble
needed a six year old kid
to make me see
the sunlight.



written : 26/04/2009
revised : 26/03/2016

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"There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.”

― Leonard Cohen, Selected Poems, 1956-1968

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

the trenches, somewhere in the future

Science fiction is one genre of literature that I like, and read widely. So it is only natural that I do a science fiction poem. This was written originally for a prompt at dVerse, a poetry community, the theme being "Where in the World?" and it asked the reader to "write a poem that creates or evokes another world". Then it squatted in my hard drive, like an Alien egg waiting to hatch. I wonder how many more "sci-fi poems" are still lurking there. :)




photo by chelle

image from morguefile.com

the trenches, somewhere in the future


we watch
the deadly arcs
of the ICBMs
curving over
the clouds
like a scimitar
on their way
to pulverise
a city

then get back
to the grisly task
at hand
tossing
the enemy wounded
into the ditches

no crosses
for the fallen
we sweep
a flamethrower
over them
for good measure

the black oily clouds
from their plastic
and metals
cling to the trenches
like a dark shroud.

and then

we sit in our
assault vehicles
check our weapons
send out
the spy drones
and wait
patiently
for the next wave
of enemy androids.

war was never the same again
since the humans sent us out

robots

     against

robots.




written 25/08/08
revised 09/06/12
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“I think the development of full artificial intelligence could spell the end of the human race. Once humans develop artificial intelligence, it will take off on its own and redesign itself at an ever-increasing rate. Humans, who are limited by slow biological evolution, couldn’t compete and would be superseded.”

-- Stephen Hawking, in an interview with the BBC


Shared on Poetry Pantry #417 at Poets United.

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©cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

Little Boy

"The world is a very different one now. For man holds in his mortal hands the power to abolish all forms of human poverty, and all forms of human life." 

-- John F. Kennedy

ink/pencil sketch by dsnake1

Little Boy

the day
it dropped off
the enola gay over a city
with a white flash instantly
frying 80,000 poor humans
the day
will be
etched in
coagulated
blood. we
have the
means to
extinct our species.
we live in fear of the
black mushroom cloud delivering
evil evil evil evil evil evil evil

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"A bright light filled the plane.We turned back to look at Hiroshima. The city was hidden by that awful cloud ... boiling up, mushrooming."
-- LTC Paul Tibbets

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

walking away

Your last day at work, does it feel like you are walking out of a sentence?

photo by StockSnap at pixabay




walking away



leaves
leaves all behind
no one looks up
not even a goodbye
what is there to remember?
a song's notes
that fade off in half flight
       a wind in November
       a walk to the gate
       a wave to the guards
to the chainlink fence
and the air seems so cold
even though
the rain trees
swelter in the noon heat
their leaves
leaves
falling
falling
as the wind whispers
it is a good day.


27/06/2018
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It is a strange feeling, walking out on my last day of work, out of a place that is almost like a second home. I feel neither sad nor happy, just looking forward to my birthday a day later.  🙂

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Stereopony - Stand By Me

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018

Fighting Kites

Kids living in a time when there were no game consoles and smartphones...

artwork by ractapopulous at pixabay



Fighting Kites
early 60's, South Quay


The spines we make from the stalks of attap leaves.
That's easy, we just pulled some
From the roofs of neighbours' houses.

The body we fashion from paper used for baking.
It is tough and light and free,
Yes we snuck from aunty's kitchen too.

Sometimes if in the mood we paint a fearsome
Pair of demon's eyes on the kite,
Big and wild, black pupils and thick brows.

And the string, it is an art. We pound broken glass
Until they are tiny shards of terror,
Mix it with a paste of starch and rice.

And coat this on a roll of twine that is strung
Between two stakes on the ground.
When it is dried we have our No.1 fighting string.

Then we wait impatiently for the wind.

We let it up, a little paper devil, a dragon
Riding the air, rising to the clouds
Roaming free, looking for prey, for some blood.

We, my cousins and i, seldom lose, our deadly strings
Killing the competition like knives.
Such is our reputation most pull down their kites.

Then this bunch of boys heads home when dark.

Faces dirty, shirts stained (sometimes shirtless)
Fingers and palms bloodied and scarred
And our mothers yelling to us for dinner.



written 10/05/2006
revised 01/08/2018
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As we huddle for the next evil scheme : Playing For Change - Stand By Me

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2018