vocivus

when my heart gets kicked like a pillow it throws up
gently;
some of me trickles out as milk from a carton
and that's when Ii feel my heart beat, like the pounding
feet of the wounded mammoth lumbering to a collapse
it goes Thump, Thump

(Some synonyms:
Beat: exhausted, smash, pummel
Thump: smash, pummel)

it ain't a kick in the head but
the damage done leaves nothing but an untouchable
record like the photograph of last night's dream.

then little molecules of emotion (ex movere) take the letters
from within to the incorporeal address
but it's the unopened letter that's
most indulging, as with presents. Nothing heard, nothing discerned

it's outer space that's inside of me. Deep, dark, and dangerous.
The planets are big,
but it's what's between them that's bigger

and it's the space between the words that makes the page look
full, and in that respect, emptiness creates fullness

(there are only 242 words in this)

and it's what's inside that has greater potential of largeness,
we learnt to dabble in meanings, and denotation.

and I?

Even the essence, if you desire, is just a total; of disjointed
oddments;
a dollar sign, an exclamation mark, an asterisk, a bracket,
taken together, mean nothing.

Most colossal hulls betray their contents:
Jupiter, for all its mass, is full of gas.

What's inside is difficult.
As with the Earth, everything that's important

is on or near the surface, so look no deeper.



.

sad. very. this is.

well,
i'll tell you what;
write prose

yes my dear boy!
prose is wonderful
prose is artistic
prose is beyond poetic

imagery springs alive
words are used to fullest function
grasp the meaning;
there is no need for abstract!

yes, write prose
dear boy, write prose;
don't you take mathematics
never shall i allow such dullness!

write, dear me, write -
oh! my, a mistake!
oh bother!
i've written a poem...



writing for the fun of it. don't think there's much quality in my work sometimes. well not really enjoyingmy ultra slow unproductive working speed. One piece of overdue homework a day. Yet I sleep at 2... I nearly fall asleep in lesson. No teacher of math, i am no slacker. I try, i really do...

for sale

70% off, 80% off,
it's for sale, on sale.
dull, tired house hunting
for the lustre lacking,
for the spark of life
dying.

how - very cheap,
just $5 on hour.
car on diesel running on
coffee-stained seats,
dusty dashboard
sighing.

just for that light,
anything would do.
down 90%, down 95%
i'll give it free even.
it's called caring.

personal escort. free by
the hour, signed on by his will
unchained. service to nation-wide
needs and nooks.

free, yes free.
all that i'm looking for
is the tickle of the morning dawn,
the bejeweled laughter of light on dew
the shining sincerity of sky-blue horizon

tipping the edge of the dark
teasing and poking fun at bluebells
singing with the fresh breeze.
that's all i ask for.
that's why i am free.

Functional

purposeful points
in bullets and dashes
perfectly proper for
pigs' lazy slumber

dutiful dances
planned and predicted
roles and rosters
written and directed

kind words expected
list of reserved lines
spouting sensible comfort
insensitively.

4/1/05


dug this up from my cap/blog. i am somehow reminded of this issue. im not upset at it or anything. i use to go raving mad each time this issue came up. but now ive sort of accepted it already. im functional myself. though i try my best not to be. but its very tough.

knock knock

Knock knock
Hello sir would you li-
Well maybe not
Knock knock

Knock Knock
Who's there?
Me, I'm a -
Ohmygoodness you!
Oh, sorry wrong hou-
*Pow!*
Ow! ow...


[hah two posts in a row! I shall pwn all! :P naw just a stab at royce's and bing's ability to knock so well]

sleep forever. in pieces.

Dem orange peels,
Scatter on da seenk,
I see dem rotting bananah peels,
Stinkin' smelli in dat been
Hah, no mor 'o dem vegertable peels
I throws dem all outta da window
Nyah, hyah!

I wanna da peels, them peels, doctah
I loves dem sleeping peels...




[something on the suicide topic tonight. But i think royce is very scary :P Dearie me, seems like everyone else on this blogga-thingga-ma-jig is like angsty/serious/dramatic/cryptic. That's why they are CAP material. I didn't get no cap. Apparently. Oh well, let me post something dramatic too, on the same theme]



a moment before the ground

why do you look down on me so?
am i inferior?
the basest of the base?
i must be

why do you say you can survive without me?
am i expendable?
the person there for the moment?
i'm probably not your friend

don't you care?
care about my feelings?
care to empathise?
care to understand?

you claim nothing
but you tell everything
saying you don't
and showing you do

whenever you talk
i feel it
whenever you act
i sense it

maybe its my fault
i don't know as much
live as much
think as much

perhaps i'm not fast enough
not good enough
not close enough
not important enough

maybe i'm not here
maybe i'm invisible
maybe i'm too different

too gone to be noticed

i'm sorry

i'm so sor-



[this may seem a bit too familiar to some of you. who? dunno. its a bit 'aww' too. dunno. cannot make it? dunno la :D gonna be sleeping in class tmw sigh.]

sleep

there is a tired candle
flickering, waiting for sleep
like a ghost at a lonely bus stop,
alone, still quite alive and shuddering

everything else is missing:
even the tears of hope
that we shed in times of despair
now just tucked away like a shoelace

daylight is a liar: yes it fills in
like water into a trough, but
what was already in the trough
just floats, untempered with

just flirting with the surface,
like petals in a pond
movement paints the illusion of change
but you see, nothing does

and with our long sighs of regret
we extinguish ourselves

sleep

it came when i went to take my panadol
it fluttered into throbbing, flustered
headache.

two pills. just two.
500g paracetamol.
stops the pain,
stems the drain.

two pills. just two.
escapism from bloody burned-out
midnight oil tired flame

knock knock.
the box beckoned.
no just two will do.
two pills, two boxes
500g paracetamol
eases headache,
next stop: relief.

knock knock.
im bushed. tablet after tablet
of scribes and papyrus
and panadol partake

two pills, two boxes.
boxers, peel. orange-
white pleasant parace
tamol takes pain

next stop: relief.


i really was thinking abt the whole box of the bloody panadol. when i found myself thinking that, i was stunned, even disillusional. i dunno why i was just so shaken up. usually im not liddat. must have been caught at a bad time. ergh.

more rules

Whose are these rules of thine
These rules that hold and bind

Who is it that draws the line
Between the good and bad and fine?

They are not my rules,
Not your rules,
Not her rules
Not his rules
Not anyone's rules

No,
No rules
No rules to sign
No rules of mine

Forgive me, my rules are kind


[cannot compare with royCE the pro pianist. His is so cooliolly angsty, poseurish and brilliantly cryptic. Go and try understand what he means! Mine are always so 'duh...' (eheheh no puns please). The ones I intend to be cryptic are undecipherable. oi. cannot make it lor. hm :P so late must go and sleep]

rules

1245am a month a year away
you see, i just cant bend
cant break from boundaries set

they're brickwalls built with
toilsweat and tearsong
furnished with expectations

i cast a line into the waiting ocean
while a wave crashes onto the shore
the horizon marks the end

i can only see till the setting sun
i can only see till the rock-hard cement
of the heart's plea,
the cross' cry,
the altar's joss-stick sigh

knock knock.
the door
still closed.

Eh? Can not liddat or not?

Wah, so cool one!
Eh, eskew me man

got blog,
my first man!

got royce,
he very pro one

got bing,
cannot take him man!

got me,
cannot make it one la

i tell chew ah,
sekally all go wrong how?
sekally we all neveh post den how?
sekally my englis fail den die man...

wah i seriously got feel darn sad seh
cannot speak proper singlis even

i is hopech very much for dis blog
i dreams that it hopech it not become too liddat
us three ah, too see-lee-us la i tell chew

but me? royce you wrong loh!
Like oi brudder!
I cannot make it la!

Wah, the plessure man!
Cannot take it!

~ My sentiments exactly. Especially when I'm posting next to the likes of royCE and binggy. Hope we won't just be some loser poser S3R wannabe-poets who seriously cannot make it! ~

- The author could not and did not make it on 28/3/05

boo.

and someone,
somewhere,
someday,

will bring us here.


new poetry blog. i guess it can be fun reading. haha. three different styles of writing. three different personalities. yay. hmm i think im the eccentric psycho, bings the crazy overachiever, and josh is a cool guy. haha. my view lah my view only.

well. hope this blog doesnt get abandoned too soon. haha.

prelude - hey blog !

you are the tenth knock on the door of my mind and
another reminder of how impossible it is for thought

to settle; like delirious sand that can sometimes dance
while keeping afloat in water but never never never

dissolve, unlike how Life does it, slowly, surreptitiously
and without a trace, no recollection, just frenetic

disentanglement, like how one might jump out from a
solitary ocean liner in the giant sea of existence: memories

struggle to stay alive, and after that, we move on and
what's left is what we haven't lost to the waves