urban poems

37℃

In a recent prompt at poetry writing group Poets and Storytellers United, admin Rosemary Nissen-Wade wants us to "rewrite one of your not-quite-working pieces by transcribing it backwards, and then following wherever that leads you."

photo by Pitsch from pixabay

37℃

by my feet
           the asphalt,
           sunbaked,
dead leaves crispy,
yellow painted lines
          cracked,
          flaking,
          the sighs
of vehicle tyres rushing by,
turning, churning,
          a chain gang
          herding
dust, paper, plastics
          to the kerbs,
the mynahs hide in the shades
not bothering about food,
the tired leaves
of July,
      keeps falling
          and then
          hesitant
      again,
the air
      unmoving,
           hot,
still silence.

26/02/2025
**********

And this is the original poem, posted on this blog 15 years ago, that was used to "write it backwards". It is reproduced below.

Spring

still silence
the air
hesitant
to move

the leaves of spring
are not green
not yet
like sighs
sun crisped
they drop
from boughs
to the asphalt
by my feet.

written 14/02/2010
Chinese New Year
revised 07/03/2010
******************

So dear reader, which poem do you prefer? After writing the new one, I still think the original is better, sharp and to the point. What I like about the new one is it goes like a single breath.

Labels: mindscape, mood, one sentence, Poetry, Poetry exercise

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...

SiM - The Sound of Breath

Labels: 70's, crime, military, mood, urban

wonderland

“because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

photo of a sculpture at Gardens By The Bay by dsnake1

wonderland

how long was he there, sleeping, head on the stone table in the void deck, blackbirds pecking at his forgotten boxed lunch?

if your words hurt then touch me, charm me so that the hole i am dropping in won't feel so deep, the rocks no more sharp.

out in the streets, in the weak moonlight, i am trying to find my shadow, the big trucks passing, just two steps away from hell.

and how deep can we sink before we drown, before the lungs fold slowly like accordions and we finally forget how to cry?

if we grow wings we would spread them, jump and fly together, never mind the distances, the abysses and the load
/
/
we carry.

23/11/2020
**********

Drop's -「月光」(moonlight)

Labels: 10's, anger, depression, frustration, mood, relationship, urban

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

Labels: change, heartlands, mood, Poetic forms, Poetry, poetry competition, Singapore, urban

tangled

The heart can bleed at strange times...

photo by AnnaER at pixabay

tangled

i am reminded of electrical cords at home
tangled coat hangers, lost lines of code
so sometimes we disagree, we quarrel
our fingers will always meet again
our tangled hearts cannot tell
if it is really love, or pity.

28/12/2018
**********

UFO - Belladonna

Labels: fatigue, frustration, love, lovesongs, mindscape, mood, relationship, urban

a few days to the new year

It was the train pulling out of the station, and no one was waving...

photo by geralt at pixabay

a few days to the new year

resolutions are meaningless
if it's all talk
the rustle of plastic
as we tear away
a packaging
the popping of bubble wrap
on idle days

why cynicism then
biting like acid
on flesh?

this bile bitter
as the beast
in the desert?

then a step
a step a day
the sun rises
the sun will set

will the year then be
the green leaf on the bough
catching the sunlight
or the brown dying one
dropping to the asphalt
to be swept and buried
in a dark drain?

26/12/2011
**********

an old, unpublished, angry poem brooding in my journals. Ditch the anger, have a safe and happy 2019, friends!

Facing West - Auld Lang Syne

Labels: december, ennui, heartlands, hope, mood, New Year, Poetry, urban

owl

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

photo by TBIT at pixabay

owl

like clockwork
the gastric pains
wake me up
again
and i don't even
look at the time
anymore
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.

27/04/2009
**********

Jethro Tull - Weathercock

Labels: 90's, mood, night, solitude, urban

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

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

― Leonard Cohen, Selected Poems, 1956-1968

Labels: 80's, hope, mood, NaPoWriMo, Singapore, urban

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
**********

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. 🙂

Stereopony - Stand By Me

Labels: change, employment, ennui, fatigue, hope, life, mindscape, mood, old age, Singapore, urban

on waiting to be enlisted

It was a time of brick walls and bloodshot eyes...

photo by dsnake1

on waiting to be enlisted
early freaking 70's

so this is it
this is the mousetrap
sprung
i have been listening
to Uriah Heep's 'The Park'
speaking of loss
and needless wars
looping looping
till the track is
scratched thin on the vinyl.

outside just a floor below
the noon traffic lumbers by
horns angry, tyres screeching,
men swearing in dialects
strange that i did not
noticed it before
those noises
or the stand-fan
in the corner of the room
blades turning
stirring stale air
dust motes settling
on the linoleum
again

i am slouched on the
battered sofa
my mother yells at me
to move my ass
nothing interest me now
maybe just the music
or the static
in the head
i am not even
angry anymore
and that's dangerous.

in a couple of days
the army will come for me.

30/04/2016
**********

guys, i wrote this for SingPoWriMo 2016.

"..the sun rose each morning to stare into my face with the blank but touching gaze of a lovely retarded child.”

― James Crumley, The Last Good Kiss

Shared on Poetry Pantry #300 at Poets United.

The Park by Uriah Heep.

Labels: 70's, ennui, military, mindscape, mood, Poetry, Singapore, SingPoWriMo, urban

peace

Teenage angst. Anger. Searching for identity. All the while leaning dangerously to the left. :)

digital image by dsnake1, done with pencilmadness

peace

i got my ☮ pendant
at the Thieves' Market.
you can get almost anything
there, if you just asked,
porn, nunchakus, weed
anydamnfuckthing.
the weasel who sold it
swore it was gunmetal but
i probably knew better.
anyway i wore
that piece of steel
like an amulet
the whole summer,
my rebellion,
my revolution.
i kept my hair long
my temper short,
vitriol rolled off my tongue
like well-oiled bullets,
i was the poet that
wanted to change the world
but i could not.
Che was a god
who had been killed
in Bolivia,
but gods don't die
and i was confused,
i did not understand
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,
the air hung thick
with bitter ash
and i wore that
peace symbol
the whole damn summer
waiting for the army
to come for me.

written : various dates from 70's to present.
revised : 21/03/2015 (UNESCO World Poetry Day)

"Things really ain't that tough
As long as I'm still able, to turn the t.v. off"

-- Daryl Hall & John Oates, 70's Scenario

Shared on Poetry Pantry #247 at Poets United. Finally, a completed work from little scraps of writings over the years. :)

Labels: 70's, frustration, military, mindscape, mood, Poetry, Singapore

ash

I know I shouldn't be posting this, the first post of the year...

photo by Yuriy
image from publicdomainpictures

ash

walking across an empty car park, my heart has taken on the darkness of this night. i am thinking about a lot of things, the twelve hour shift i have just clocked, the hunger in my belly, the way this country is going, this rain that is still falling. the two NYC cops. Christmas doesn't feel like Christmas anymore. you want to run tears like the cold rain that had fallen on your face.

i punch a coke
from the vending machine.
wish it was a beer.

24/12/2014
**********

"and i shelter in the dark
like bats seeking moonlight"

-- dsnake1, after a rain

Shared on Poetry Pantry #235 at Poets United.

Labels: christmas, dark, haibun, mood, Poetry, rain, Singapore, urban

november rains

Took out an old draft, did some tidying up, and here it is. November is usually a very rainy month here.

image by dsnake1, done with pencilmadness

november rains

today
it is raining in the city
an incessant tirade
the rain coming
down in
flights of
needles
ricocheting
off the metal
roofs of the vans
like gunfire as i sit
in the hoist bay
waiting

waiting
among the cold carcasses
of computers and cables
and wooden crates,
chain-smoking
watching
the flicked
cigarette butts
arc into the rain to die
even as the magpies
flapped in
from the storm
hop around my feet
unafraid

written : 11/11/2010
revised : 30/11/2013

"and i
shelter
in the dark
like bats
seeking
moonlight

waiting"

-- dsnake1, after a rain.

Shared on Poetry Pantry #179 at Poets United.

Labels: landscape, mindscape, mood, Poetry, rain, solitude, urban

NightSky*Stars

This is one of the older poems I wrote a long time ago. It is also one of my favourites.

image from WikiPaintings

NightSky*Stars

What myriad secrets you hold up there
we can only boldly guess.
Your mysteries, time locked
& unwilling yet to share.

What light i saw
could have been born a billion years before

You are ancient legends, retold over glowing fires,
domains of the gods, we are told.
In time, as we grew wiser,
we dared, we probed your dark canvas.

Your depth, i could not fathom
the immense distance you span.
If i could live a million reincarnations,
i guess i could not traverse you from end to end.

Tonight, on such a cold night,
in a miniscule niche on a blue planet,
as i lift my eyes to the vastness above,
the stars, they speak to me in lights of life.

from worlds so distant
from voices so ancient

ashes to earth to life to earth to ashes
trilobites in shale, archaeopteryx in stone
Beatles on wax, memories in silicon brains
man chasing gold chasing dreams chasing fame

now what light i saw
could have been me a billion years before.

*** written DEC 1987 ***
* slightly revised 12/10/2013 *

“When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.”

― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Shared on Poetry Pantry #172 at Poets United.

Labels: landscape, mood, Night, Poetry, sky

ritual

It has been a horrible week at work, and the muse also decides to go AWOL. So it's another repost. It reflects my mood this week. Foul.

You wake up feeling it's a totally lousy morning, your head throbs like a jackhammer, your breath smells like the city dump and you know Murphy's Law gonna walk hand in hand with you...

Actually I sort of loved this poem. One of the earliest I experimented with line breaks. Ah, line breaks, I like them...

drawing by dsnake1

ritual

the mind
grudgingly
coaxed
laden joints
to the loo
i
cleared
a phlegm choked
throat
while
a hangover
HEAVY
as yesteryears
g o o s e m a r c h e d
across the brain

too much liquor&cigarettes

i leaned on basin
absently brushing
and as frayed bristles
grated
on tartar coated teeth
& bleeding gums
the radio DJ cheerily sang
Good morning singapore.

jan 1991
********

"Reality continues to ruin my life.”

― Bill Watterson, The Complete Calvin and Hobbes

Shared on Poetry Pantry #168 at Poets United.

Labels: heartlands, mindscape, mood, Poetry, Work

days

Mothers are strong people. Most of them are. My mother never failed to smile when we, her children, visited her. Despite the stroke that fell her. She didn't walk again, she had passed on, many years ago, but she never gave up.

image by dsnake1
done with Sketchpad

days

the doctors say
visit more often
not many days.

my mother
asleep
holding a half-eaten biscuit.
the day is dying
and so is she.

20/07/2013
**********

“Perhaps it takes courage to raise children..”

― John Steinbeck, East of Eden

Shared on Poetry Pantry #159 at Poets United.

Labels: lovesongs, mood, mother, Poetry, Singapore

what i wanted to write

Lately, the muse went awol. Or she quit. Anyway, whenever I want to write something, a fence appears. The paper remains blank, and after a while I go back to the video games.

This is something I wrote a few years back, and has been sitting in my hard drive since. Forgot what made me mad the day I wrote that...

photo by ppdigital
image from morguefile.com

what i wanted to write

i wanted to write
of lush sunsets
flowers in the wind
lovers whispering
sweet promises

but

i have nothing to offer
except
bleak grey walls
rain
in the evenings

a plastic bag
flailing in the wind
ash dangling at
the tip of a cigarette

who wants to read
of
sunbaked pavements
rusty bumpers
short tempers
the man rummaging for
aluminiun cans
from trash bins
which he will resell
for a bowl of porridge

i wanted to write
of lush sunsets
flowers in the wind
lovers whispering
sweet nothings

but

that will be
another time.

25/04/08
********

"Writing is something you do alone. Its a profession for introverts who want to tell you a story but don't want to make eye contact while doing it.”

-- John Green.

Shared on Poetry Pantry #158 at Poets United.

Labels: dark, heartlands, landscape, mood, Poetry, Singapore, writing

tired

Ah, another frantic week again.

I wrote this for the recently concluded NaPoWriMo at my other blog. After an awful day, of course.

image from imageafter.com

tired

the leaves of spring fall
because they are too sad
they are too tired to cling on
anymore
for darkness has fallen
even in the mid-day
even the crows
keep their distance
in the bare branches
and shadows hide
in the skins of walls
frozen stiff.

27/04/2013
**********

"Let me walk a while alone
Among the sacred rocks and stones
Let me look in vain belief
Upon the beauty of each leaf."

-- Uriah Heep, "The Park"

Shared on Poetry Pantry #150 at Poets United.

Labels: dark, landscape, mindscape, mood, NaPoWriMo, Poetry

spring

Seems like the year is not too good, yet.

photo by impure_with_memory
image from morguefile.com

spring

still silence
the air
hesitant
to move

the leaves of spring
are not green
not yet
like sighs
sun crisped
they drop
from boughs
to the asphalt
by my feet.

14/02/10
CNY
revised 07/03/2010
******************

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ), 2010

Labels: mindscape, mood, Poetry

urban poems

Saturday, March 29, 2025

37℃

Sunday, June 02, 2024

gangster movie

Sunday, January 24, 2021

wonderland

Sunday, June 09, 2019

because time

Sunday, May 19, 2019

tangled

Monday, December 31, 2018

a few days to the new year

Sunday, October 07, 2018

owl

Sunday, September 02, 2018

sparrow

Sunday, August 12, 2018

walking away

Sunday, May 01, 2016

on waiting to be enlisted

Sunday, April 12, 2015

peace

Sunday, January 18, 2015

ash

Sunday, December 08, 2013

november rains

Monday, October 21, 2013

NightSky*Stars

Monday, September 23, 2013

ritual

Monday, July 22, 2013

days

Sunday, July 14, 2013

what i wanted to write

Monday, May 20, 2013

tired

Sunday, March 07, 2010

spring

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