(Re)lapse (25/12/2012)

blanketed in dust and darkness
pixels and colours were cold winds
that blew them all away

shards glistened like stars
saw his face in every fragment
picked them up with her hands
and they bled over his cheeks

now flushed red and alive

picked up another, yet another
cut herself a little more
reeling in the pleasure of pain
of a lapse in time, then a relapse

of memories...

her heart and trembling hands
could no longer withstand the loss
they beckoned her eyes to weep

every teardrop shattered
the stars and images that were welling up
slid into the fresh and burning scars
stitched the soul within

and he was buried deeper in dust and darkness.

Bloom (10/10/2012)

In the brown still waters
where no sunlight passes through
a lotus flower blooms brilliantly
against them all.

Lament (8/10/2012)

“Life is short”
a one in too many has said
again-
(and we make a kill for it)

Losing ourselves in so many moments
we stop once in a while
rummaging, searching
(where did they go?)

To the burdens we add that
weigh ourselves onto the ground
to the numbers, facts and figures
the things and the great expectations-
(stability)

the very things that kill us all
in a life that is already short
(and we ask, “where did they go?”)

Waves of the past (8/9/2012)

When memories from long ago
long long ago
ebbs back into consciousness
in the lens of the present self
they only serve as aches

When aches gather
the heart grows heavy and weary
every step is a journey
that never seem to end

Swimming across the earth
beckoning the sun to cleanse all sins
when eyes close
they swim back to us
and never leave...

Exploration #44/part 5 (July 2012)

The Big Push

He was idling by the sea

his entire weight pressed

on the miniscule particles of sand

and it is the big push downwards

that coerces sand into hardy glass

He ran towards the sea

he swam and his legs became cramped

it was the big push of the waves

towards the jaws of death

that coerced him to fight for his life

Now he was on the sands once more

and it is the big push of his lungs

that coerced him a breath of air

and another, and another

It was the big push of inspiration

that coerced him back home

and pen the day into words.

Exploration #44/part 4 (July 2012)

Alphabet Soup

my mum mAde soup for me today

"the Best you ever had", she ClaimeD

thEre were lots oF letters swimminG around

in tHe bowl It made me dizzy

I had to reach for that Jar of Kisses from my secret Love

to Make everythiNg all Okay

she added Pepper and i Quickly sneezed

dRipping SubsTances into my soUp

which Varied the taste Without me realising it

until the siXth spoonful-

I then spat out spitefullY and screamed "geeZ!!!"

Exploration #44/part 3 (July 2012)

Seven Gothic Tales

I. A riot of colours

His hair was a shock of violet

decked in an indigo-coloured shirt

his veins were blue and coarse

He was lying motionless on the green grass

foaming with yellow

against the orange sky

red was everywhere

The forest ahead was

turning black with darkness

and the pure white doves- they flew away

(away, away, away)

II. She

She woke up to the sound of silence

sunlight was peeping through the stained-glass windows

the pile of dust rose from the dead and twirled towards light

but her eyes remained tightly shut.

  

She woke up to the sound of hunger

the searing heat burning her skin

the pile of dust twirled and scattered with great force

but still her eyes remained tightly shut.

She woke up to the sound of the owls and crickets

the cool moonbeams kissing her pale face

the pile of dust began to settle down and rest

and her eyes that remained tightly shut

began to open...

III. Sleepwalking

I saw him only once

his silhouette against

the silver moon

He was on the plains ahead

sitting on top of a horse

wielding and waving his sword

towards me

(Come, he gestured)

I started walking forward

and forward

there was a desire I could not resist

and so I ran

(Run to me, he gestured)

With a loud crack I was jolted awake

only to find myself

stepping on a pile of bones and a sword

dripping red

with confusion.

IV. Dreams of the walking dead

They were walking

across graves

to the towns

into the shops and houses

They felt no sadness

no blinding anger

much less happiness;

only hunger

Occasionally

they would close their eyes

and dream of pain

and heartbeats

Nothing would satiate

their eternal hunger

more than the fulfilment

of truly living again.

V. Delusions

She began to sing the lullaby

in a minor key and chuckled at her ingenuity

(He held her tighter in her arms)

She looked into the sockets

and smiled back sweetly

(he looked right back at her and gave a heartbreaking smile)

  

She kissed the bones to sleep

and said "Good night, good night"

("good night", he said)

"I'm with you always"

(and his silence meant consent)

VI. Apparitions

Vampires were dancing in the sun

they were glittering like diamonds

Monsters frolicked in the pool

they were big and proud

 White figures leaped in the air

they ran like the wind

And in a blink

the room was dark once more.

VII. The End

It was a bright and sunny day

the world was full of colours

left behind by the boy who a riot of colours

Today began

with another boy who was preparing

for the same end

at the far end of the rainbow that arched across the sky

He longed for the girl who would never again awake

a life cut short by a man on the horse against the silver moon

He was the dream of the dead: of pain and endless heartbeats

he was sick of the girl in that house who talked and kissed bones

and his apparitions became his only joy and sign of life

and so he watched the pure white doves fly away

the forest turn black

red was everywhere and against the orange sky

the foams were yellow

as he laid on the green grass

veins turned blue and coarse

and he was decked in an indigo-coloured shirt

his hair a shock of purple

and he was away,away,away...

Exploration #44/part 2 (July 2012)

No Time to Cry

She was writhing

at the glare of her own light

and in the blindness

tears tried to douse the fire

she could not control

At daylight

all colours were lost

shapes and lines disappeared

she was already in the tunnel

where was the end?

Shadows followed her everywhere

they plastered their hands on her eyes

fumbling, falling

so with stained tears she

mapped the ground for her way out

Till a hand sat softly on her head

holding back her tears he whispered to her heart:

"it's okay..."

When he put the flames back into her eyes

her heart and her soul

they both could see the end

it was still far, she thought.

Apparently not, he thought.

There was no more time to cry

a step closer was eventually a step further

from each other

so he clasped her hands

and the tears that would threaten to fall

When the end was near he could not

speak anymore (would not speak)

when they walked out of the tunnel

he disappeared.

There was no time to cry.

No more hands to catch those tears

or even hold them back

there were no imprints of his palm

resting on her hair

only the warmth in her memory...

The sun was out for good.

Exploration #44/part 1 (July 2012)

The following series of poems with the seemingly random titles stem from this particular exploration task I decided to try out after El gave me this book: How To Be an Explorer of the World- portable life museum by Keri Smith. Just thought I would try it out for fun!

(p.s: thanks el for that interesting book! I really liked it!:D)

EXPLORATION #44
...ALTERNATE: CREATE POEMS
BASED ON THE TITLE OF BOOKS

The 5 titles of books that I came across at the Serangoon Public Library:

1. Beethoven was one-sixteenth black and other stories by Nadine Gordimer

2.No Time to Cry by Lurlene McDaniel

3. Seven Gothic Tales by Isak Dinesen

4. Alphabet Soup by Johnson Tammy

5. The Big Push by Erika Wittekind

***

Beethoven was one-sixteenth black

She said

"once upon a time

blacks wanted to be white

and now

whites want to be black

it's the same secret"

We yearn to be

the people we are not

live the life we have never lived

"Beethoven was one-sixteenth black"

so the radio announced

If he knew what jazz was like

would he be all fired up

angry even

because he was one-sixteenth black

and never got to live with jazz?

I was born in the wrong time-

was there ever a right time for

existence and

non-existence?

Is being one-sixteenth black

the key to deafness and thus

greatness?

We yearn to be

the people we are not

live the life we have never lived.

"It's the same secret."

The Korea Diary (June 2012)

DAY 0 (on the plane): 

And so, my dreams 

are about to take flight

 With a push and a roar 

I'll get to ride on clouds

 The heart wants to jump out 

on no. 9 

 (can't wait)

DAY 1 (HELLO KOREA):

Is this too good to be true?

Fairytales and imagination

do own a dimension of their own

here

My poetry has only

begun taking shape

DAY 2 (CAFES GALORE!):

In a picturesque scene

adorned with utopias of coffee and art

warm words flowed

And so

lanterns lit up

street lights were aglow

I am only a speck of light

but in the dark and cold of night

a speck is

a warm star in space

a priceless jewel in the vast emptiness.

DAY 3 (SEOUL ZOO!):

                                                              We are afraid

                                                              of falling

                                                              from dizzying heights

                                                              of limits

                                                              defined by others

                                                              Yet when we are

                                                              set free we

                                                              realise that an

                                                              endless flat land is not

                                                              that good a path to keep treading on

                                                              for the rest of our lives.

                                                              We are one

                                                              we live and breathe under

                                                              the same sky

                                                              Yet when we were

                                                              once free we

                                                              we

                                                              decided that they should be here

                                                              and we

                                                              we

                                                              should be there

                                                              On a road

                                                              in an enclosed area

                                                              I learnt about the

                                                              growing vastness of the world.

DAY 4 (ROAD TRIP DAY 1- CHUNCHEON):

Blessings

they come in fierce gasps for air

hurried steps

A closed door becomes a

silent cringe of another

door opening

The chill that cuts through bones sets

new trails for warmth to

set ablaze

Chaos and collision of time creates

music so sweet yet haunting it is

incredibly beautiful

Blessings

they do come disguised and probably

in threes

DAY 5 (ROAD TRIP DAY 2- GANGNEUNG):

                                                             Mere stranger

                                                             the warmth you possess and offer

                                                             it moves me
                                                             and it moves even the sun to

                                                             melt into an array of colours;

                                                                                   the colours of your heart.

                                                             Crashing waves

                                                             you are a two-note lullaby of an ebb and a flow

                                                             it rocks me

                                                             and it even rocks the sky and

                                                             the world to a state of bliss and calm;

                                                                                   the only endless reptition we never get tired of.

                                                             (I slept well that night)

DAY 6 (ROAD TRIP DAY 3- PYEONGCHANG/GANGNEUNG):

Fog and wool

sands and beer

raincoats and hats

dancing feet and freezing cold

It was a warm and icy day.

DAY 7 (LONG JOURNEY BACK TO SEOUL):

By the window

in my seat

The world keeps

growing outside

They come in

curves, slopes, seas

deep green and

light blue along with dots of other colours.

By the window

in my seat

we happily exchanged

our hearts in flowing conversations

The waters are

still and clear

they are like

mirrors reflecting their surroundings.

By the window

in my seat

we are still

and we reflect on each other's thoughts and feelings;

By the window

in my seat

with lovely company (and scenery)

no ride or journey is ever too dreary.

DAY 9 (HONGDAE):

                                                         Creativity that bursts through

                                                         the roofs, the doors, the furniture

                                                         crafted on clothes and accessories

                                                         I breathe it everywhere on the streets.

                                                        When it is a part of air

                                                        of the essentials of the world

                                                        I am recharged

                                                        and am proud to proclaim that

                                                        there is hope in this world after all.

DAY 10 (DAEJIN, INSADONG AND GANGNAM STATION):

Broken castle

a stuck wheel

Sword with snake

a long maze

If only I can carve out

my scars, the deep ridges

that have formed in me

There must be a way

to set my ruins on fire

to burn the old bridges

and blaze the grounds

for new seeds to grow

There must be

no turning back.

DAY 11 (E-MART AND SLEEPLESS LAST NIGHT):

                                                As night sails away

                                                I watched the birth of

                                                a new day

                                               Yesterday, today

                                               tomorrow

                                               there is no word to describe

                                               the simultaneity of all

                                               time and space

                                              Time moves

                                              before this life

                                              (and after this too)

                                              A journey thus may come to

                                             an end

                                             but at this point it is also

                                             a new beginning.

Believe (18/2/2012)

I do not care
     if my dreams are deemed as
         clouds
stardust
                sandcastles on air

It does not matter 
     if all I see of others' dreams are
           roses
           sunlight
           fields of hope

Rose-tinted lens?
But I see them all
with my
            heart

I ask that the sun within
                     shines
so brightly
       it bursts through me
all my clouds
stardusts
       sandcastles on air

Believe in me
as I believe in you;

believe in mine

as I believe in yours.