leaving

since everyone seems to be going off for some camp/holiday or another - i decided to dig up something i wrote last year.


leaving

you are leaving.
i'll be waiting,
taking flight
for your return.

i'll be waiting,
speck in the sky,
for your return?
fast fading,

speck in the sky,
of azure tears.
fast fading
of greying fears.

of azure tears?
down empty corridors
of greying fears.
plain and dull

down empty corridors,
i'll stare blank.
plain and dull
resolved regrets.

i'll stare blank
you are leaving?
resolved regrets
taking flight.

a struggle, perhaps

these reading portfolios

the effort

this work [they say] i know
rips out my heart
my soul and leaves
nothing a dark
black void nullified
most of all
by weakness there resides
not a broken spirit
but the lack of one presents
the drainéd, empty soul [just
one fashioned by strained self staggering
down the long road that has been believed
to lead to the paradise of pride emplaced
in joy from the successive results embodying
the resulting success]

this isn't the original poem... i first wrote it in class after getting back my math paper. it was quite despairing. bad result after bad result. i wondered why it had happened. perhaps it was because of burnout. the portfolio takes a lot out of me, but returns little. i suppose the original poem was best though. it has punctuation and i think it contains the essence of the anguish:

this reading portfolio,
rips out my heart
my soul, and leaves
nothing. a dark
black void of null
most of all
weakness. there resides,
not a broken spirit
but the lack of one

wonder what royce was talking about in the previous post by him.

stamford raffles award

i was kinda disturbed when she started to talk about the aspects of the stamford raffles award recipient.

morals, righteousness, exemplary characterness.

i hate them all.

fairy tales

sigh. what a wonderful blog template. could have hardcoded the previous one anytime. :D sigh lets do something that is interesting... something that won't make me embarrased for not knowing the big words the other two use... lets see... something stupid is in order:

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A Fairy Tale (Cookie Crumb 1)

Once upon a tim- STOP!

Once upon one of those many once-upon-a-times, there lived, or rather shall i say, existed three little, ugly, obese, overweight and unhealthy pigs and a big, bad, mean and uh, extremely impolite and unpolitically correct wolf. One day Uncle Sam decided to invade their land to root out a dictator he said was building weapons of mass disruption underground but who actually was the granny cooking which the wolf eventually ate in order to eat both Little Red Riding Hood and her cake. So the US, after realising the evil dictator had been disposed of, decided to occupy the land. Meanwhile, the wolf had eaten Little Dead Riding Hood and her cake, which immensely worried the pigs because it represented the growing lawlessnesss under the sudden democratic pro-US authority, especially the glaring problem of child prostitution and abuse by the big, mean, extremely impolite and unpolitically correct wolves. (I shall end here. the part with the wood chopper with the chainsaw and the ensuing Texas Chainsaw Massacre comes later)

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A Fairy Tale (Cookie Crumb 2)

Thrice upon a time, there lived a King and a Queen. They were a very happy King and Queen because the King had just been crowned King and the Queen had just been made Queen and the jester had just been made rubbish. For some reason, the King was called the Handsome Prince and the Queen kept her original one, which was Cinderella. As for the jester, he was rubbish.

Now one day the Queen, as all modern wives do one day, found out the King was having an affair. For those of you kids who do not know what an affair is, it is something the grown-ups do when they get married. Anyway, as I was saying, Queen Cinderella was told of the Handsome Prince-now-King's affair with one of the milk-maids or one of the pretty maidens he had given her for christmas along with the partridge and the pear tree and the other whatnot that had turned her part of the castle into a mad-house for all 12 terrible days. So, the Queen, as all modern wives usually do, decided to find it out for herself and then become very angry indeed at the King, call him all sorts of horrid names, chase him with a broomstick and finally make sure he slept on the couch. Now, the poor-actually-quite-rich-in-terms-of-monetary-value Queen sent the Jester to investigate, and the jester, while easily disguised as rubbish, found it was true. This made Queen Cinderella very upset and she finally worked up the feminist qualities within her to confront the now-less-Handsome Prince-now-King.

"Dear, are you having an affair?", she asked the King, being very direct in the sudden, wonderfully feminist way she was very proud of. "Honey, of course I am NOT having an affair", said the King, who looked slightly uneasy. "Yes you are," said the Queen in a very upset manner. "No, I'm not" the King replied unhappily. "Are to," she said. "Am not," he replied. "Are to," she replied back. "Am not," he replied to her reply back. "ARE TO!", yelled the Queen very loudly, now feeling very angry indeed at the King. The king fell silent and was very red in the face. The Queen fell silent too, looking very pensive but secretly proud of having had the last word. The Court also fell silent, but they were actually mentally calculating how much they could sell the story to the tabloids. The jester, on the other hand, decided to be rubbish. (That's the end for now. The part where the Queen calls the King all sorts of horrid names, chases him with a broomstick and finally makes sure he slept on the couch before divorcing him comes later)

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good nightez... i shall continue my trail of crumbs sometime later... or rather, earlier cos its quite late enough now...

posing

i think we should stop it.
its getting boring.
not to mention sickening.

being sad does fine.
hooks you on
hit the jackpot
high and sad.

pose with the winnings
austere dignity
laughs at us posing.

Textbooks (Incomplete)

Provender all these years for our celibate minds,
Our minds turned, through time, into their silhouettes
Sketched cities of knowledge, civilly built by architects
Whose names we knew too well: Times, Longman, SNP,
We were travellers, hatching our invisible homes,
Carrying fishes from different seas in our pelican mouths

Carving our ambivalences towards littered facts,
Pictures sometimes surprised us like advertisements.
Gladdened, we invested in our childhood energies
For the vanilla joys of colour, or worthier representations
Such as that full-colour close-up shot of a spider;
It dawned on us instinctively that that was better art

...

*reminds myself to complete this when i'm less sleepy*

cast

off into the depths
of the sea of medicated
plasters and paris.
fish out a broken bone
chip or two
fillet too -
reel it in.

Movement

1.
The cup is filled to the brim with nothing,
While the TV screen, fatigued from endless
Rearragement, hums a silent sigh, rich now
With deafening black tones, the darkness of which
Could blind, disorientate, and drive to suicide

2.
Most things stay still, most or all of the time,
Inducing the self-same desire for no disturbance,
Bringing rivers of spring water to wintrily calm,
Holding flowers at gunpoint with dead air, and
Cutting up and arranging movement into neat paragraphs

3.
But I have always suspected that the minute I slapped the
Cover onto the rest of the textbook, the words within
Would spring to life with childish glee, as the splashes
From the landing of a weight in an untouched pond, then
Jump around, play sports and collapse from the frisson of the first relsease

4.
When the body stops, and helps itself to the
Buffet of sleep or the temporary peace and delight of
The moment when eyelids finally kiss, our souls start to squirm
Invisibly, like worms in the hard soil, demonstrating that, perhaps
The greatest distances are conquered frantically and from within.

Thunking

aNUdDeR oN3 fOrM m0izZ (is that cool-neighbourhoodish-way-of-typing nice enough? dunno how write like them... aw darn)

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Th' Deep an' Dangeruss Business of Thunkin'

'Ewell, one day oi decided to think

so sits myself down an' oi thunk and oi thunked
and oi thinked, oi thunked and oi was thunkin'

i 'ewere just so 'appy oi could be thunking so clearly,
when all of ah sudden, it hits moi!
An' it swell thunks me right on th'ead!

oh moi!, oi thunks ta meselves;
'tis a wonderful day t' be athunking!

well, gee, t'waint it? oi asks meself
oi bets ole 'sak new'n musta thunked just loikes me!
'e musta thunked soo hards th'appl musta dropped from th' tree

and so oi slaps meself on th' back fer figurin' it out so 'ewell
An', 'ewell, methinks that be when th' apple above me fell!

thunks!, oi swear it wents!
ouch, oi says me to meself,

thunking shore is a dangeruss busyness!

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Thunk You Speech

thunk you, thunk you very much
there is no need to thunk me, i assure you
i am not worthy of your thunks
if you thunk me, i am obliged to thunk you a hundred times!

once again many thunks for your support

fine, i'll rant too

hmm i see bing and mr. pianist have wreaked much havoc and destruction upon this poetryblog. I shall intervene to bring variation to this rule of TERROR! Yea, thou shalt die without mine peals of joy and laughter! Yes, yes thank you... I have come to save the day once again... Thang yuh veruh much indeed....

OH and what be wrong with going around with them hipster pants mon? there b'aint be nothing wrong with anyone in partikler saying you can't imagine someone else like that. its just different personalities methunks. not really an insult. but of course what zach said i have heard not. so upon me, it is not, to comment. thy yoda speaketh. peace, peace my glorious fans.

lol yeah, "it's like, wutever, dude"... A Pos3r? Man, he's just a normal guy. And normal people are unique, at least in one aspect. What's there to it mon? Well ok maybe he differs in the respect of trying to be poetish, but yeah. Lotsa people liddat. No worry boy, no worry. OK? But why people think i listen to popular music? Is that discriminating against me? I'm just one of dem masses? Izzit? Izzat? Izzut? Must i listen to U2, Frank Sinatra and other cool bands from many years ago just to be considered a matured listener? Harh? Izzit? Well, yeah U2 is ok... some of their songs...amazin how gd they are still at their age... Sinatra? Darn Mafia courier... bah.

There doesn't seem to be much left but don't stop holding on to what's falling. Waterfalls die quick.

well i'm really not sure
how I should go about this,
poetry or prose or rhetoric?
Maybe I should just be
blatant, and proud about it
like most people are. I'm not
good enough at this, not seasoned
neither am I confident enough,
for confidence may sometimes
make giants out of grain.
Now, now, now, there really
doesn't seem to be an alternative
either. I'm quite happy now, really
I don't have to be upsetting everything
with this tiny tickle of a worry
Maybe i'll have a thick brew of coffee,
and hope it goes straight to the last
apartment, ignoring all that peers out
of broken windows. Uncertainty, certainly
I used to be much more direct,
I figure, and it worked like a herb
Alright, I should be
getting back to the issue now.
I'll make it as short as I can, since
there's really no better way
to say

that I don't care.

wake

chandeliers decked with
elegiac opulence
murmuring hushed with
ceremonial garb

heavy curtains drape
regal sympathy over
red and white

while veiled indifference
of passive bouquets
celebrate mourning.

take a step forward
on polished marble
solemnly bow
in cordial courtesy
step up to the coffin
steeped in remembrance
remember
the standard procedure

presented with austere calm
not a tear -
not a qualm.
dignity conscends
bequeathing decorated charm

a salute due
to rigour and duty
for robbing the souls
of those forever sleeping.


- 4th may '05. written in memory of the wake of the late dr wee kim wee.

pos3r

well i suppose individuality is the most fundamental of all pos3r behaviours.

its being yourself. setting your own rules.

doing what makes you feel best. playing it the way it should be played.

there's nothing wrong with standing out, actually.

but it gets boring after awhile.

just beyourselfstandoutthensitdownunderthecanopyofstarsandbestill

pos3r

ok a more analytical post now.

zach: can u imagine royce or bingwen in low pants? like ronaldkong's? lol.

WE FEEL OFFENDED! what stops us from wearing low pants!

nvm. what he sed after that sentence was worse. but i shall not care to mention it here.

now the question is - wad makes u a pos3r.

1. be loud. im not loud. thats why i cant wear low pants maybe. lol
2. be lanky. body shape helps. looking dao helps too. haha.
3. listen to popular music. dj. haha
4. be bad. dun have to be so moral all the time.
5. be pro and sporty. not realli me. nor bing i think lol.
6. be urself. which means u have to encompass the above five points. and be natural abt it.

hmz. interesting list. now to get to work.


- campaign for pos3rprefects (CPP)

sigh

what's so sighable
about sighing and singing
and signing and highing
crossing the miling
to reaching a clearing
for feigning and finding
therein the fading
sighing and singing
fauning
flying.

ever felt

this way?
where everything seems like its going to stop
being linked to the ground and the sea
being cloudless and blue as the
paper blank and the
telephone silent
smiling.

ever felt this way?
its called:


"ring ring."

switzerland

can i apply
precision engineering manufacturing
to my life?

compromise and accomodation
power-sharing
direct democracy
referendums
initiatives

i am
my own commune

question 4a)(ii)

missing out once again
on the fate of the deer
trapped in snow, under the
moons of May, I thought

do we abandon our dreams,
or them, us?

dreams throw the world then us away.

can we

can I ?

mugger's guide to chinese/ phrases associated with poetry / elitism through language / meditation on the complexity of choice/ reachedthewordlimitdarn

肺腑之言　／ 　冠冕堂皇　／　忐忑不安　／　神志恍惚　／　摆脱禁锢　／　纸上谈兵　／　冥思苦想　／　匪夷所思　／　如释重负　／　痴人说梦　／　扪心自问　／　胸 襟坦白　／喋喋不休　／　蹉跎岁月　／　啰啰唆唆　／　纷至沓来　／　犹豫不决　／　虚怀若谷　／　吹毛求疵　／　一意孤行　／　

一百五十六天前:

...应该是去年吧

i think that moment
would be chinese
simple, intimidating,
lush, delightful

for some,
arresting yet forgettable
like rape
(how chinese takes liberties with your mind sometimes!)

and simply
undecipherable
(meaningless even)
useless
enslavement by memory
winters before spring

and to most:
don't mean s**t.

*********

apologies

was mugging chinese, you see.
and felt like being imposing for once
coy subtleties of metaphor - bah !
brashness is best sometimes

and royce never fails to remind me of art's difficult possibilities.

56 days

ago - it was today.
and yesterday. as well
as tomorrow.