names

For GloPoWriMo 2025.

No prompt needed. Just wrote this in the middle of the night.

AI generated image by dsnake1 at Fotor



names


what is the pub's name again?
the one in the east coast?
a live band of Filipinos
with a lovely lady singer.
remember, you always walk up
to that singer with a slip of paper,
your neat handwriting,
for a song request.
there are always wolf whistles
because your skirt is so short,
and your legs so long.
we drink our brandy,
the band plays your songs,
at times we sing along.
sometimes we leave early
to catch the last bus home,
other nights we don't,
we walk under the stars,
the street lights glaring jealously,
the old rain trees sigh,
but now
after a lifetime,
i cannot remember that pub's name
but i remember yours clearly,
because
it is carved
in gilded letters
on a marble slab.



04/04/2025
**********
qingming

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Fleetwood Mac - You Make Loving Fun

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2025

a point in your life

This was written for a NaPoWriMo day.It has been posted on this blog before.

No, it has gathered many comments before. I am reposting it because I think it is a good look at ageing.

photo by dsnake1



a point in your life


so you come to a point in your life,
you feel cold, you feel old, booze
no longer excites, instead it plays punk
with your sphincters, the doctor sees you
and no longer asks what is bugging you
but tells you to keep off the oily stuff.

you watch weeds grow and wonder who
or which is more unwanted, the streets
growl at you and fumes and dust gets into
your eyes and coffee, children look at you
in fright and not merely because of your stubble,
and you don't rage anymore.

and so the best exercise you had in days
is to turn your head to watch that woman
in the short shorts walks by in the sidewalk
her full hips moving with a beat that
nearly stops your heart.

you watch the sun sets over the highrises
at the quay, someone mentions a drunk had
drowned in the river a couple of days back,
just a few paces where you sat, the day gets more
unsettling as a crow caws and tugs at a roadkill and
you fear your number may be up.



Written 06/04/2013
Revised 27/09/2024
****************


Each stanza is a one sentence poem, and I am wondering if each stanza can exist as a stand-alone mini poem by itself. 😁

image by dsnake1
generated by a game console with Soul Calibur V

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With age comes some wisdom. And a lot more pills. - dsnake1

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ), 2025

the pigeon minding its business

There is an informal understanding that we will ignore each other...

photo by dsnake1



the pigeon minding its business


the pigeon quietly waddles away
when I step on the sidewalk.
it is just minding its own business.
it does not want to look at me.
it is wary,
that i may wring its neck
or wrap a cable tie around its leg.

i will not do that of course.
i am too minding my own business.
i am just thinking of
what numbers to buy
for tonight's $10 million TOTO draw.
it will think of food, not numbers.
i will think of numbers, and food.

i reach for a betting slip, and hope.
it pecks at a grain of rice in the grass.



12/06/2024
**********


TOTO is a lot like Lotto. You know, the lottery. :)

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"Do you ever ask your goldfish for their views on goldfish poetry or politics. Does a termite thinks that a woman's place is in the house? Do beavers prefer blondes or brunettes?"

-- Robert Heinlein, Goldfish Bowl

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2024

black sheep

Numb with disbelief, sometimes.

image from morguefile.com



black sheep




i am a sheep
i whine
i fear when
         the next meal
             will not come
i really dread
         the sky falling
             clouds and all
i could not
         use it like
             a blanket
             anymore
i may not
         pick myself up
             from a fall
i see my
         tired feet
             slouching on
             dry asphalt
and i am
mumbling what costs have skyrocketed
but who listens?
who understands?
and when we had the chance at the poll booths

we threw it all away.


29/07/2016
**********

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“Nothing strengthens authority so much as silence.”

― Leonardo da Vinci


Chao Chuan [ 趙傳 ] - I'm a Small, Little Bird [我是一隻小小鳥]

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2020

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...

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SiM - The Sound of Breath

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

September

She used to wear an anchor pendant on her necklace. Perhaps this is the one thing that is weighing me down.

There was once a prompt at Poets and Storytellers United to write about October. Sorry, my poem is about September.

photo by dsnake1



September


September seems like a meteor dropping from the sky,
once bright, then gone.

Like you too.

Remember we stand at the parapets of our block,
smoking cigarettes, bitching
about money and our jobs,
you a seamstress, me an odd-job labourer?

Life gets better.

But then you are gone, those memories hang
like van Goghs on my dusty wall.
Starry nights, irises, sunflowers,
cafes, tears and labour.
But I am too afraid
to follow you and so I linger
and I sit in dark corners
and wait for

September.



written 26/09/2023
revised 28/09/2023
****************

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"what matters is that I still have
after all that has preceded
poems left
me left
and these walls that I have always
loved
in all the cities and in all the
places I have lived, these walls are still here and
my radio plays,..."

Charles Bukowski, luck from a kitchen

---

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2024

our old home

The prompt at Poets and Storytellers United asks us what conjures up "Home". There are perhaps many images that do that, and I would like to share this old poem (written and published here about a decade ago) about an old place I grew up in.

pencil sketch by dsnake1



our old home


looking out of the taxi from the viaducts
of the expressway

i saw the lights in the huge yards bathing the port
like day

the containers stacked as neatly as colourful
lego bricks

the cranes over them like metal brachiosauruses
breathing steam


once upon a time my cousin and i
catch catfishes

where the giant ships at the wharves
now berthed

not caring about the stings
or drowning


today as the last evening lights
scattered off

offices and warehouses ringed by a
chain-link fence

casting shadows and memories on a
concrete strip

there used to stand a house where I
called home.



15/11/2013
**********

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"Tomorrow, we will be flying over the South China Sea
& home"

dsnake1 - lonely when away from home

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2023

happening at a riot near you

Rosemary at Poets & Storytellers United would like us to be inspired by the phrase, ‘broken glass crunching under the boot steps', and write a poem or story about it.

digital montage by dsnake1 with GIMP



happening at a riot near you


             Juan get back into the house!

but Juan watch the sergeant raise his baton
a row of riot guns raise like palisades
the arcs of the smoke actually graceful
the cartridges snaking, rolling
between cars
                sneakers
                 trash bins
       barricades
and
    run ning feet
and courage is not a word to say
when the air wants to tear out your eyes
your lungs.

the soldiers raise their shields and batons
their boots in step
                 in step
the phalanx rolls on
metal teeth of a meat grinder

swish cruch crunch bish craack

Juan wants to be a man
but Juan is still a boy

I am a boy! I AM A BOY!

even the blackbirds rise like shrapnel and flee

broken glass crunching under the boot steps
blood faithfully follows the cracks in the asphalt.



06/07/2023
**********

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Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young - Ohio

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2023

over the rooftops

I wrote this on a wet rainy day looking out from my kitchen window, and this piece was also partly inspired by a Henry David Thoreau poem. I know, this is not a very cheerful poem (as most of my poems are). It was even published here before, but few eyeballs (the cheerlessness?). So here it is again.

photo by Daniel van den Berg at Unsplash



over the rooftops


over the rooftops from which
the blackbirds have passed

the clouds hung like a wet veil
as the evening retreated

a flash of lightning lit up a second
white as a shroud

the wind moaned by, trapping dust
and leaves in its blast.



30/04/2012
**********

---

and this is the poem that inspired the above :

On Fields O'er Which the Reaper's Hand Has Pass'd


On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.

-- Henry David Thoreau

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2023

Goodbye Shinjuku

Rosemary at Poets & Storytellers United would like us to write about "a city (or cities) you dream of — in whatever way." I drag a poem sitting quietly in my hard disc and dust it off...

photo of Shinjuku by dsnake1



Goodbye Shinjuku


goodbye Shinjuku
you have been a good host

though the cold rain
is another matter

and the times i have gotten lost
at your immense station.
there's a freaking town
under there i swear.

i drag my old samsonite shell
over uneven pavements
to catch a bus to Narita
and the flight home

Godzilla's head rears up
from the Toho Building
eyes glowing, nose smoking

and as the bus turns a corner
to exit for the highway
a tingle of regret

like leaving a lover
telling her a lie
after complimenting her

i am going to miss
your wet streets
your kawaii girls giving out fliers
the loud signboards
the neon on puddles
onigiri for breakfast
the hotel staff that surprises me
speaking perfect English
the cold winds
in the mornings
the 7-Elevens, Lawsons
at every street corner
the greetings
as you passed
through the norens
at the izakaya bars,
ramen shops

Goodbye Shinjuku, sayonara
you have been a great host
till we meet again.



written : Dec 2019
revised : 17/06/2023
*****************

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“All cities are mad: but the madness is gallant. All cities are beautiful, but the beauty is grim.”

― Christopher Morley

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2023

sorta like a rope

Ennui. Dead end. Nothing to look forward to...

photo by dsnake1



sorta like a rope


today the sun comes out
but it's not burning
you try to ignore the sun
and the clock alarm too

you see this dead bird
rotting by the wayside trees
one good life gone, once skies,
now a home for maggots & flies.

you sit at the coffee shop
trying to sip your tea
the other old guys there
are scratching on betting slips

who knows, who knows your life
might change the next day
people begging you for handouts
or you just tear that slip away

you see this old geezer
trying to feed a stray cat
but the stray claws him
maybe it remembers something

the dark roads intersect at night
street lights shine no brighter
than the stars in the sky
somewhere in the distance drones

a siren



15/03/2023
**********


"sorta like a rope looking for a tree to finish the job." - ZQ
The title comes from a comment from ZQ, one of the readers of this blog.

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Madonna - Frozen

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2023

recipe for disaster, big city

Rosemary at Poets & Storytellers United would like us to write a recipe poem, last week. Yeah, a week late.

photo by darksouls1 at pixabay



recipe for disaster, big city


one very wrong turn
on one very wet night

one dark alley, dark and smelly
like overnight prawn paste

three big burly thugs shaking
one very frightened guy

oh poor you that bumped into the show
one hasty quiet retreat is

advised.



11/02/2023
**********


Inspired by Lawrence Ferlinghetti's "Recipe For Happiness Khaborovsk Or Anyplace"

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Chaos at the Do Lung Bridge, Apocalypse Now

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2023

and so the day is actually good

This was written for a poetry competition, about 'catharsis', or what makes you feel good. I thought this is not a poem to win a competition, and thus did not submit it.

photo by dsnake1



and so the day is actually good


I cannot escape the day's fatigue
nor the harsh words that were said.

So as I step out of the guarded compound
the night air kicks in like a sigh.

Spotlights bath the nearby church's steeple
guiding its poor children going home.

The street lights' poor reach
hides the waving weeds by my feet.

The legs heavy gait now jaunty
the vines grabbing them loosened their grip.

Now the welcome headlights of the bus
and a warm meal waiting at home, at last.



31/08/2019
**********


And so, this is probably my last post for the year, a little 'happy' poem. Happy Holidays to all my readers! 😃🎄⛄

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Lucie,Too - Lucky

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

before the rain

Something old from NaPo days. Short, like the shower that inspired it.

photo by Nick van den Berg at Unsplash


before the rain


The grey clouds rolled away
the afternoon sun
like a squad car shooing off
the crowd at a crime scene,

pulled DO-NOT-CROSS tapes
across the sky
with flares of lightning,
and the blackbirds,
perched at the edges
of the roofs
of apartment blocks,

hesitant
to fly.


05/04/2009
**********


Shared on Friday Writings #56: Cozy. This poem is certainly not cozy. 😁

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Uriah Heep - Rain

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

how deep is

"if you imagine us scurrying down to the
tunnels, each of us is an apparition"

dsnake1, the night sticks like wet petals

artwork by Saydung89 at pixabay



how deep is


how deep is
   your love?
down in the
subway tunnels
on late nights
   some nights
aimless rides
the tunnel walls
just inches
from my face
flashing by
our lives
on a reel
of memory
sliding by
till it all ends
on a bleak night
and here i am
all alone
   in the
rumbling wombs
of the trains
   that song
playing again
on the tracks
how deep is
   your love?
till i resurface
to the neon
drenched streets
to the city lights
           starlight



written 21/04/2012
revised 10/07/2012
****************

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"the train doors close
like a breath exhaling"

dsnake1, and all i see are wet petals on asphalt

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

a coming of age

Magaly Guerrero at Poets and Storytellers United wanted us to " take a poem or story you wrote many years ago (preferably, one that wasn’t exactly awesome), and rewrite it."

So I took out some old journals with yellowed and crumpling pages, picked a less offensive "poem", sat down, did some cutting and adding to this 44 year-old work, and hey, here it is...

photo by dsnake1

The original -

A coming of age


Like aging cognac
I seem to have matured
Or at least I have thought I have been.
To have waded through the tide
Of uncertainty
Of the 60's and early 70's
Stumbling and drenched
With the foam and spray of confusion
And battered by the waves of failure.
Now I stand on a beach,
The deep sea,
And the flotsams of disaster behind me.
And like a new-born child
I have sandcastles to build...


20/07/1978
**********

The rewrite -

a coming of age


We see the sea, raging, and we wade into it.
We are youths then, we thought we could not die,
Not the reckless 70's, not rock music, arcade games.

We have our heroes and they carry knives or guitars.
Later we dig foxholes and wait for the enemy to come.
The enemy is Time, endless as hell, and his ally Age.

We see dreams fade like a mist, our pockets empty.
Good friends die or walk away and failure throws us
Like cigarette butts and spittle by the wayside.

Now I stand on a beach, the gulls lifting off the pier,
The deep sea, and the flotsams of disaster behind me.
And like a new born child I have sandcastles to build.


06/05/2022
**********


I think the rewrite is more 'visual' in a way, and the original suffers much from clichés. Also, it has been cleaned up in a format for easier reading. Which do you, dear reader, prefer, the original or the rewrite? 😃

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Heart - Stairway to Heaven Led Zeppelin - Kennedy Center Honors

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

a perfect day

"I lit another cigarette and wondered distantly how I would get through the day. It was a problem demanding some ingenuity.”
― Iris Murdoch, A Severed Head

photo by Karen Powers at Unsplash



a perfect day


i am looking
at the window grills
the clothes hangers
                 hanging there
on the dusty metal
like big question marks.
and outside,
the sanitation workers
are banging the trash bins
           and dumpsters
around the dump truck
they are shouting in a
           rapid-fire language
like directing fire in a war.
i do not understand
i feel a migraine coming
i could need a nap
i lay on the bed
looking at the ceiling
               the ceiling looks
               back at me
               and smirks.



22/02/2022
**********

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BAND-MAID - Real Existence

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

quarrel

now I just want to hear her voice...

ink and water colour sketch by dsnake1



quarrel


like a rush
of arctic wind
that scutters over
a winter pond
dusting hoarfrost on reeds,
we sat, stiff, cold
as strangers

no words, no words pass between us today.
no words, no words she said.


revised 07/12/2008
****************

Shared at Friday Writings #9.

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BAND-MAID - start over

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2022

Dear 2021

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

- dsnake1, a few days to the new year

digital montage by dsnake1



Dear 2021


Dear 2021

I know, it is the beginning of the year, but you sure know how to grab our attention. The world, and especially America, looks on with disbelief, as its own people storms the Capitol, trying to overturn an election result.

Then, as another joke, a large container ship runs aground and obstructs the Suez canal, disrupting global trade. We can never forget the image of a little digger trying to free the behemoth from the banks.

The Summer Olympics finally gets going, one year later, and as a cyclist, I watch all the cycling events and was touched by the enthusiastic Japanese people along the route cheering the competitors on. Also, American gymnast Simone Biles taught us it's alright if we don't feel right.

The USA exits Afghanistan after 20 years of war, and people are pointing the fingers to the memory of Vietnam. For a kid who lost a dad early in the war, the kid is probably all grown up now, and wondering if the servicemen, and the trillions of dollars, can be put to better use.

You let billionaires go to space for joyrides and and turn a blind eye to disinformation, as it continues to fool people on social media, where governments are also waging a relentless propaganda war.

It seems like nothing happened, COVID-19 continues to hog the news, and yet we continue to be touched, angered, perplexed and entertained by the year's events.

You will not walk out with a hobble. You will walk, maybe hunched, but walk. And let us all hold our hands, forget our differences of opinions, and wish for a normal return to life from the pandemic. And a true yearning for a return to peace.


Sincerely

Lee San


18/12/2021
**********

Magaly at Friday Writings told us to write a “Dear 2021” open letter, in verse or in prose. So this is it. It is a very hurried write. Wish I have some time to polish it. :)

291 words

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U2 - Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021

a good day but still cranky

“I grabbed a pile of dust, and holding it up, foolishly asked for as many birthdays as the grains of dust, I forgot to ask that they be years of youth.”

― Ovid, Metamorphoses

photo by dsnake1


a good day but still cranky


trust that the sun will rise
that time is on my mind
how do you define a second then
when it is gone faster than my heartbeat?

trust that my head will clear
rages must wait another day
i am trying to type poems on the keyboard
and the bowl of noodles awaits.


27/11/2021
**********

photo by dsnake1


I had a good birthday recently. The kid brought me out for food, even bought me a toy. I reminded myself to be kind that day, be patient, do not pick fights with people. I even managed to write some poetry. This poem.

Shared at Friday Writings #6

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Heavy Metal Kids - It's The Same

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© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 ) 2021