urban poems

urban snapshots in monochrome : rain

2008-10-07T00:01:00.002+08:00

Imagine, a miserable wait at a bus shelter on one rainy night can inspire this. The muse is working overtime. :)

photo by mconnors
image from morguefile.com

needles

waiting at a bus shelter
for the rain to stop,
hungry and going nowhere,
and the rain stabs
like tiny needles
in the harsh haloes
of street lamps.

cold rain on my face
and soon the night will be colder
without you.

15-08-08
********

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

tombstone

2008-09-23T23:03:00.000+08:00

The theme or phrase in Haikuworld's September 2008 kukai in the Free Format section was "any type of Rock or Stone".

This was the entry I submitted. It attracted a total of ... 2 votes. Oh well, better luck next try. :)

photo by DHester
image from pixelperfect

tombstone

fading gold paint
on her name carved in marble.
September day.

13.09.08
********

This one, I didn't send in.

wild flower peeps
from crevice in concrete.
good morning.

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

what's left

2008-09-07T01:15:00.002+08:00

This poem was published in the e-zine Concelebratory Shoehorn Review

I wrote this poem on one wet evening, after a bad day in the office. It's understandable why the mood is dark. :)

photo by gamerzero
image from morguefile.com

what's left

what's left
of the sunlight
on this bleak
wet evening
dances on
the gleaming
skins of
puddles on
bare pavements

as shadows chase
the day
up the
stone piers
of train viaducts
and the
damp trunks
of rain trees.

what are the
chances of
the silvery slice
of cold moon
cutting through
grey nimbus
like a scimitar?

until then
the last rays
dip and play
and dart
over the city

over the trains
pulling into
the stations

and

the tired
hungry masses
trudging home.

06/12/2007
**********

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

rick mobbs' image prompt (3)

2008-08-31T00:56:00.002+08:00

The workload at the office is getting crazy, so the posts are a bit far in between.

But I still managed to write something, thanks to Rick Mobbs' image prompt. And why am I seeing doom and gloom again? :)

painting by Rick Mobbs

i see a raven in the sky

the choppers
     break out
         from rusty clouds

         like birds
     of prey
eyes keen

blood hungry
targets locked

puff
quietly as
smoke rings

above the paddies
     the rain trees

then just below
a rain of
hot metal

ploughs the fields
     the mud huts

a demon hand
sweeping tearing

fear-filled eyes
tired bodies

the lotus leaves
shattered
     torn
from the ponds

07/08/09
********

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

Celebratory Shoehorn Review

2008-08-03T23:01:00.001+08:00

Some of my poems that I submitted to the online journal Celebratory Shoehorn Review are showcased in the August issue of the online journal.

image from freeimages.co.uk

The poems that are published are:

1) my old sergeant

2) Couple

3) the gods are watching over us in the morning

4) Heavy Metal

5) what's left

Poems 1 to 4 have been published in this blog before, on various dates. Poem 5 is an unpublished work

You can check out the e-zine here

rick mobbs' image prompt (2)

2008-07-27T00:03:00.004+08:00

Another poem inspired by a Rick Mobbs' painting.

I am a bit tardy with the prompt (blame it on the office work) but still managed one. Better late than never, no?

painting by Rick Mobbs

the lights of my heart

without you
watching these harbour lights
is not the same.
they don't dance
      and skip
like flames
on shimmering skin.
      and
i hear no more
the sounds
of our laughter
skimming across the waters
mingling with the splash
of waves on stone piers,
the boom of foghorns.
now the lights
they just shuffle
as on tired feet,
even the moon
detest to show
its face.

and i could not
point out to you anymore
like an old salty dog,
the coast guard cutter
that's coming home
from a night watch,
the container ship
bringing oil and grain
to feed our city,
those moving lights
are a cruise liner
like a castle on water
brighter than a thousand
christmas trees.

and so

on some
summer nights
like these
when even the breeze
seems cold
and heartbroken

when it was just me
      and the sea

as i look across the waters
on those harbour lights
sometimes i wonder

are you watching
      watching
from the other side.

07/07/08
********

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

1908

2008-07-12T00:25:00.001+08:00

This was supposed to be an entry for haikuworld's June Kukai in the Free Format category. The theme was "SECRETS". Before I knew it, it was past the deadline. So I will just post it here. Wonder how many points it can get. :)

On second thought, maybe it's a good idea not to send it in.

image from wikipedia

1908

nightfall in Tunguska
the wind whispers
to the trees

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

image prompt by rick mobbs

2008-06-26T21:38:00.001+08:00

I want to do this image prompt. It's an awesome painting by Rick Mobbs. So I will just let my imagination run a bit wild.

What Mr. Mobbs has on his masthead there are 4 in this poetic attempt. "poetry, love, death, war.". :)

painting by Rick Mobbs

on Icarus' wings

i know that
when the wings
of this fighter
are shattered

this airplane
this metal carcass
trailing
smoke flame debris

carrying
munitions, a life
and a forsaken
love

i know
i will have
to love you again
in another life

as i turn
the nose
of the plane
towards the sun

for a final

kiss.

21.06.08
********

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

T Rex

2008-06-15T00:15:00.004+08:00

The first part of this poem was written many years ago. It was fading away in my old journals when I dusted it out and added it to something I wrote recently. I thought the two parts complement each other nicely.

So is it an inspiration or a disaster?

photo from imageafter.com
image enhanced by dsnake1

T Rex

1.)

a pale sun
      straining
to cleave
a ghostly fog
      of chill and grit.

T Rex looks up
      and rears
its truck-like head

snarls
and out
of portcullis teeth

drips
blood and

leftover meat.

65,000,000.)

a tropic sun
      straining
to scatter
a dusty fog
      of pulverised rock

boom of crane swings
sure as battle axe

wrecking ball
      crushes
old shop houses

in two years
new shopping mall

3.09.1989 (part 1)
3.06.2008 (part 65 millionth)
*********

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

a weekend at Batam

2008-05-31T23:28:00.004+08:00

I spent the last weekend on the Indonesian island of Batam. The island is just slightly larger than Singapore, and only about 20 plus kilometers away.

With just such a short distance away, and an hour's ride on a high-speed ferry, it's like visiting your backyard. Just maybe a decade back, it is quite a backwaters place. But times are changing.

Batam is an island riding on the wave of development. Though there are still huge tracts of forests and vegetation around, you cannot miss the power pylons and transmission lines that are everywhere. And the base stations for cell phone communications, and antennae and satellite dishes sprouting from every roof like metallic head-wear.

photo and image by dsnake1

It was a trip back in time when I visited the lazy, laid-back village at Bagam on Sunday. The corrugated zinc roofs, the un-plastered walls of cinder blocks, some with paint jobs that are like afterthoughts. The scruffy children playing in the dust under the hot sun, begging you for another camera shot.

It was just like stepping back into the village in Singapore where I grew up as a child. The only reminders that you are back in the modern world are the TV antennae, poking out from every roof, a couple of SUVs in the backyards, cloth-lines of jeans, skirts, pajamas and some g-strings strung out to dry in the sun.

hello, world!

catching the breeze
trees and antennae.
winds of change

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

too bad about the poor quality of the photo, it's either the camera or the photographer. had to photoshop it a bit. :)

NightSky and Stars

2008-05-11T23:56:00.001+08:00

Here's something I wrote some time ago, and posted here before. It's one of my personal favourites.

I know, another re-post.

photo by Daniele Musella
image from morguefile.com

NightSky and 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 spoke to me in lights of life.

On this planet, spinning, are we.
Solar Planetary System, #3

      ashes to earth to life to earth to ashes
      trilobites in shale, archaeopteryx in amber
      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.

*** DEC 1987 ***

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

Rust

2008-05-04T00:10:00.003+08:00

The theme or phrase in Haikuworld's April 2008 kukai in the Free Format Section was "Rust". Again, I thought it was easy stuff...

Well, 4 points for the effort, and also a comment from a reader : "I really liked the combination of looking back _and_ moving on." Thank you for the comment. :)

Personally, I quite like the haiku too.

image from imageafter.com

Rust

missing dad.
sandpapering rust
off his old tool box.

and here is one that was not submitted :

rusted hulk of bike
abandoned at side of road.
journey's end.

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

Re-post : i sat on the bunk bed and...

2008-04-20T23:52:00.002+08:00

Ran out of ideas, ran out of steam. I am feeling drained, so I will just post another re-post. Something I went through some time back, in the late 70s'.

I quite like this piece, though.

photo by Mark Miller
image from morguefile.com

i sat on the bunk bed and started thinking about home

After dinner I sat on the bunk bed and started thinking about home.
Not yet a week in a foreign land
and I missed my mother's soups,
the sooty air of our street,
the angry vehicles outside our flat fighting for space,
and the sparrows building nests on the eaves of our house.

This was a sorry excuse of an army camp,
wretched wooden huts
laid out in neat rows like gravestones
ringed by concertina, as pretty as Auschwitz,
Perhaps they had used these to store rice or horses.
We had mattresses so thin
they offered no comfort to aching bodies,
blankets so filthy I wondered at times
these were used to wrap corpses with.

The air in the bunk hung thick with indifference,
laced with stale cigarette smoke, sweaty fatigues,
cheap cologne, antiseptic soap.
The boys were treating this place like a motel,
just passing through, five weeks,
they had no time for niceties,
clean floors, flowers on tables,
just a place to sleep, drink, chat and gamble.

The boys were at it again, a hot game of blackjack,
maybe a dozen of them.
They were throwing money around like so much wastepaper;
greenbacks, Sing dollars, NT notes,
that mound of dreams multiplying, subtracting
at every turn of a card,
you think they were haggling over the price of fish
or meat or whores,
the conversation heavy with money and expletives.

I was thinking of my girl friend back home, her smile,
her curvy body, long legs, short skirts
when my buddy came over from the game and bummed me a cigarette.
His luck was going downhill
and like a good soldier he knows when to retreat.
Looking out of the window at the empty Taiwanese sky, he asked if
I was thinking of home, and I wondered how the hell he knew.

20. Nov 2005
*************

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

One of the few times I use capitals in a poem. :)

The Stairs

2008-04-06T22:12:00.001+08:00

This is one of the poems that I wrote for the Golden Point Award competition, but which I did not select for submission. One of the "rejects". :)

photo by Basela, enhanced by dsnake1
image from morguefile.com

The Stairs

just maybe 40 steps
of stained concrete
and a rusted rib
of a handrail
to reach my flat
on the 3rd floor,

but have to keep
those eyes wide open
not just for
the silly love poems
or death threats
on the walls,

but that pool
of rancid vomit
from some heroin junkie,
or the shards of
smashed bottles
from a gang fight.

sometimes slumped
in a corner
of two greasy walls, a kid
not more than twelve,
who thinks nirvana
is a can of glue,

eyes hollow, the brain
all slushed
by the fumes
the air, sour and putrid
from the turpentine
hangs like a heavy cloak.

you think this is a war zone?
these people with the wary eyes
the thin mean lips
taut muscles
ready to spring
as i go past these
this city in pain
telling myself
i am just passing through
i am just passing through

13.07.07
********

This piece is a little bleak, don't you think? And I am not too sure the last strophe fits with the rest of the poem.

February kukai : Night Life

2008-03-23T00:15:00.002+08:00

The theme or phrase in Haikuworld's February 2008 kukai in the Free Format Section was "Night Life". I sent in an entry and I managed a total of... 1 point.

I thought writing about night life was a piece of cake... :)

image by dsnake1

Night Life

neon lit pavement
click of stiletto heels
on hard concrete

And here's another three that I wrote but didn't submit.

i.

early morning rain.
traffic lights flickered
at empty road junction.

ii.

moon veiled by clouds
bats fluttered down from viaducts
looking for fruits.

iii.

last night bus
pulls out of terminus.
i try to catch some sleep.

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

Award

2008-03-23T00:02:00.002+08:00

This blog has been awarded an "E for Excellent" badge from Snake's Poetry.

Thank you, Deborah Vatcher, for this honour.

mood of the day

a mercenary's tale

2008-03-10T00:38:00.002+08:00

It has been another busy week, and I have to dig up some old stuff again. I have posted this piece before, very early on in this blog. I must have read too many fantasy stories when I wrote this.

I wrote this poem about a soldier telling his love about his adventures. It is an imaginary tale but it could have happened in any civilization, any war.

I will try to get back to my normal rants soon. :)

you sat by the steppe's fire
absently stirring the flaming embers
as sparks crackled
in the cold wintry night
you sat listening , intently
to my tales of slaughter
i and my horse-sword
how i rode with the devil's forces
i knew you did not blame me
why i sold my sword for money

the Central Plains i rode
are bleak and barren
vultures & wild hounds picked on
diseased bones
a hundred years of war
the reasons long murky
as the ashes that swirled
between the fiefdoms
kings and dukes and serfs
fell like scythed hay
ragged troops plundered
flaming arrows torched
ravaged villages
the dead left as they fell
amid ruined harvests..

you sat listening intently
the light of the fire bouncing off
your liquid eyes
the glow on your face
more beautiful than dawn's light.

June 1991
revised 08.03.2008
*********

images and poem © cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

that you left me

2008-02-25T02:11:00.002+08:00

Sometimes, in moments of quiet solitude,the past catches up with you and holds your hand...

painting by Albrecht Duerer (1471 - 1528)
image from visipix.com

that you left me

i was afraid
time will erase
your memories

your smiles

and i am
getting old

so today
i will just
write

some words

i cannot
send you
a card
like before

or take your
hands in mine

and point to
the stars
in the sky

take this as
a poem

for you

and if you
have read it
you will smile

and would
have cried.

28.01.08
********

© cheong lee san ( dsnake1)

for the new year

2008-02-17T23:20:00.001+08:00

Here's some thoughts for the new year...(okay, I know this is Febraury, but I have been very busy, and I plan to go slow this year )

After the last sparks of fireworks extinguished from the skies of the cities, and auld lang synes were sung, and ships tooted their foghorns, beer and wines were drunk and confetti flung in the air, after the songs and handshakes, did we resolve to make this world a better place than last year's? Will the guns that fire in anger stay silent longer, will prejudice be tempered with reason?

For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning. -- T. S. Eliot

photo by Apple
image enhanced by dsnake1

will the new year

will

the new day
be

like
    water
       from
the rainfall
       that
    runs
with the
dead leaves
into
the culverts,
to be
lost,
knowing
they
cannot fight
the
pull of
gravity,

or

like the
sunrays
of the
    new
       morning,
scattering
       off
    tree leaves,
the eaves
of buildings,
    angular
       and sharp,
    filling
every corner
every crevice,
    curious,
       piercing

and free

?

31/12/07
********
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

tagged !

2008-02-13T22:30:00.004+08:00

I have been tagged by Gautami again. :)

This time, it's called a 10 for 10 and I am required to say 10 things about myself in verse. So here it is, in no particular order..

10 for 10

i)

it's strange, i can take any whisky,
beer, fruit juice, the bitterest of tea,
but a tiny drop of coffee
is like the deadliest poison to me.

ii)

people keep as pets, dogs, cats, canaries.
me, i once had a baby python.
no, that's not how i got this nick.
that will be another long story.

iii)

when i said i lived in singapore,
they said, ah, that's china?
and i said it's 1 degree 18 minutes north,
and 103 degrees 50 minutes east.
which tends to make things worse.

iv)

rock blasting from hi-fi.
irate neighbour
pounds on front door.

v)

i love to go a-cycling
on my mountain bike
but lately i couldn't do it
as much as i like.
(it's the damn work, baby)

vi)

i like them all, Owen,
Blake, Levine, Komunyakaa,
finest vintage,
but the flavour of the moment
is old Bukowski.

vii)

i wanted to be a journalist,
visit the hot spots,
travel the world for free.
ended up in technology.
dreams sometimes
don't end up as you wished.

viii)

"no candles no cakes no golden key
just a lighted cigarette passed around
comrades
a gulp of contraband beer
the impatient fingering of weapons"

excerpts from [ 21 ]

ix)

oh, school was a bore and a slog.
played the fool.
thought it was cool.
oh, life now is a bore and a slog

x)

thinking hard about the tenth
but the mind's a hazy blank.
right in front's a brick wall,
so folks, i guess that's all.

12.02.08
*********

End of bad verses. Normal transmission will resume in a few days...

Taking a break..

2008-02-01T23:06:00.000+08:00

image by dsnake1
scanned from a greeting card

I am taking a break (seems i have a habit of taking breaks recently) for the Chinese New Year.

It's just around the corner, on February 7th, and I have loads of things to do. There's the little matter of cleaning the house. Throwing away some junk. There are new clothes to get ( a must!). Food. Sweets. Candies. Oranges. Oh yes, beer. Lots of trips to the malls.

Without the last minute, there won't be any work done. I thrive on that. So I will be missing for a while, but knowing the junkie in me, I will sneak onto the Net when there is an opportunity.

Gong Xi Fa Cai to all my friends and readers!

That's it.

2008-01-27T23:02:00.000+08:00

photo by Aidairi
image from morguefile.com

That's it, folks. The 8 poems I sent for the Golden Point Award competition.

I wrote about a dozen for the competition, but I chose these 8. I thought these were the meanest and strongest of the bunch. Well, maybe it was not mean enough (or it was too loud for the judges' liking).

Another 3 or 4 that didn't make the cut are languishing somewhere in my thumb drive. Maybe one day, I will post those rejects too, if I should run out of ideas or steam. :)

before the next day

2008-01-20T23:25:00.000+08:00

This is the 8th and final poem from my Golden Point Award entry.

I ended with this poem in the collection because, well, I am describing the end of a working day in Bukit Merah.

photo by kevin rosseel
image from morguefile.com

before the next day

the day is done.

vehicles swept past honking
angrily, red tail lights flaring
in the darkening dusk.

a light rain began to fall,
cold and unfeeling
on lengthening shadows

that glowering street lights
wrung from trees and metal,
smacking them down

on hard concrete
to writher in jerky throes
in the scattering rain.

we walked in the drizzle
out of the prisons of
the factories, the warehouses,

not really caring,
glad that the day
is over and done,

that it rained in June
that our cigarette tips
still burn red and hot

in the cold rain,
smoke trailing like lost dreams
as the world winded down,

going home to a hot dinner,
to sons and daughters,
to soft moments with lovers,

before the next day catches up again.

22.06.07
********
© cheong lee san (dsnake1)

the gods are watching over us in the morning

2008-01-13T23:52:00.000+08:00

This is the 7th poem in the collection that I submitted to the GPA 2007 competition.

This poem tries to capture the sights and sounds of a morning in Bukit Merah.

photo by Jason Webber
image from morguefile.com

the gods are watching over us in the morning

in the half light that is the dawn over
the blocks of flats, when the night wind
gently slaps discarded papers and dead leaves
along the long expanse of corridor of our block,

i leave for work, my cigarette smoke mingling
with the perfumed incense my old neighbour lighted
to the God of Heaven, praying for safe passage
through the day for her and her loved ones.

then i walked past doors protected by talismans,
baguas, even cruxifixes, past homes guarded by waifs
of pomeranians that snarled from behind locked gates,
their barks, shrill and indignant, in the cool air,

go past flowerpots with plants badly in need
of watering, down the stairs through the coffeeshop,
through harsh fluorescent lights and whiffs of toast,
past grizzled old men drinking coffee from saucers,

then meet the hordes of sleepy-eyed children
sleepwalking to schools, the grandmothers
shuffling to the wet market to haggle over
fishes and vegetables.

the same gods are watching over us all.

revised 20.07.07
****************
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )

and a time for love

2008-01-06T22:18:00.000+08:00

This is the 6th poem in my collection I sent for the GPA competition.

This is actually part of a longer poem that I have but I took out some parts and use it as part of this series, as it was in Bukit Merah that I found my love.

It is not always gloom and doom in that housing estate, far from it. There's chivalry,compassion, love, honesty among the folks. Sure, it's a tough neighbourhood, sometimes blood was spilled, and it's always these sensational stuff that got noticed, not the ones about neighbours looking after the disabled kids, the smiles and greetings of a close-knit community.

photo by Hannes Keller
image from visipix.com

and a time for love

the scimitar of a moon
hung delicately in a cobalt dome
of dancing stars

as the rain trees
spread their arms their leaves
rustled in a chorus of joy

they see love blossoming

her hands in mine
warm as morning's light, quiet
there was no need for words

we looked up laughing

through the chatter of
the crickets, the cicada bands
tried to catch Sirius in our hands

31/07/2007
**********
© cheong lee san ( dsnake1 )