winsome words

five minute poetry. (long overdue)

2011-12-27T05:59:00.000-08:00

FINGERS

Its cold here, without you.

Hand-holding weather, you used to say

When our fingers were cold until caressed by the warmth of the other

and Our hands could

interlock without sweat.

But you are gone, and I am

Sitting here, frozen fingers fast

becoming numb.The Cold is

seep/creep

ing into me now that you

are not here, and it is

squeez/freez

ing my mind dry.

CROSS

You are sitting,

Eyes closed, head down.

Mouth turned down at the corners

Eyebrows knitted together, tight

like an infant's fist.

You are looking,

But I am not sure what you are

Seeing. You hold the long piece of

plastic and it is slick-slippery with sweat

and you look up, and I look down

At the positive, the negative, the plus,

another cross to bear.

STAGE

Darling,

the stagelights are glaring,

and this place is cold.

I am shivering, and I hope that you,

down there with the rest of them,

do not notice.

You are watching me, your

Eyes flicking from my head to my toes.

I wonder what you are thinking, but

then I have no time to wonder when

Your hands begin a chorus of

applause and rudely push my thoughts

out of my mind and onto the stage, where I

pick them up, and begin to throw them

at you.

05/09/2011 - untitled

2011-09-06T06:19:00.000-07:00

Son,

You send us messages at night,
Excusing your absence with some
Pixels on a screen.
You say you are at with her.
(As always.)

Some days you do come back.
Safe,
Whole,
(but not wholly back)
Still unable to disguise the
Helium hope in you that is Her.

Maybe tomorrow you will be home.

2011-07-04T00:15:00.002-07:00

i. malinconia melancholy

who are you? she asks, white hair trailing
who am i? she wonders, tracing the varicose veins
that trail over her arm

ii. grave solemn, slow

where is this? she wants to know, it is all
sterile white sheets and blue
paper gowns and too-bright
lights

iii. giocoso merrily, happily

here there is
a pretty young girl to take
care of me
pretty like I used to be
(small smile)

iv. dolce sweetly

(time for your meds louisa)

v.

but who am i?
i don't know yet
i cannot take pills
and sugary syrups
if i do not know who i am feeding
I want to remember.

vi. lamentoso mournfully

(but then again, you may never know again)

Poh Poh

2011-07-04T00:15:00.001-07:00

I could always hear Grandmother before I saw her. The clicking of her perilously high heels, the guttural fragments of dialect. Her smile-wrinkled face would beam all around whichever room she was in, showing her bright crimson lipstick and yellowed but straight teeth. Her gray hair was almost always in a bun, I suspect to show off the large jade earrings and heavy gold pendant she always wore.

“Ah girl,” she would say to me, “Eat these dates, drink this herbal tea that Poh Poh made just for you! I also bought some chicken essence and ginseng for you to drink. Then you will be smarter, then next time can earn more money, then can buy Poh Poh jewellery, right?”

Grandmother would pat my head gently. I would try my best to smile and look grateful, bobbing along with her. She would give me a hug each day as she sent me off to school, and I would inhale her familiar scent of Prickly Heat powder, sour plums and Axe medicated oil.

She always tried to get me to call her Poh Poh, like the rest of her grandchildren. I insisted on calling her Grandmother. It was my way of distancing me from her, removing myself from her. I did not want to be emotionally connected to her. I knew that she, like most other elderly people, would soon pass away. The more distance I put between me and her, the less I would miss her when she too, was gone.

Grandmother was never the same after Gong Gong’s death. She became louder, flashier, as if in order to make up for his absence. In the night, she would comb my hair and tell me long sentimental stories of how Gong Gong slowly wooed her.

She told me how he would send her long lists every day, stating the reasons why he was an ideal companion. She told me how even though Gong Gong had been poor, he always tried to look his best, patching up the holes in his clothes and styling his hair with Brylcreem. She showed me how Gong Gong had danced with her. I would always see a spark of nostalgia in her dark, Singaporean-brown eyes. Most of the time, I would also see a river of grief behind those eyes.

When Grandmother thought I was asleep, she would simply sit next to my bed and sing Cantonese love songs to herself, eyes bright with the sheen of unshed tears. Once, I slipped my hand gently into Grandmother’s hand, rough and callused from years of hard work, varicose veins protruding. I did not look at her, but I felt a warm splash on my hand, the outlet for her sorrows.

I called her Poh Poh from then on.

2011-06-09T01:41:00.001-07:00

She told me that I
Should write instead of venting
My frustrations on others
Instead of pounding about the
House, stomping around

She told me it was
Easy. Take a pen, sheet or
Two of paper
And pour out your mind
While trying your best to make
Some semblance of sense

Or not.
Because that’s okay too.

5 Minute Poetry

2011-06-07T07:33:00.001-07:00

Here's what we do for 5 Minute Poetry:

1. Open a mass MSN/FB/Skype convo

2. Add all who are involved

3. Spew out topics

4. Wait five minutes between each topic then post your poetry and read others' :D

5. Continue for as long as you want.

Here's the result of when I did this with Myko, Wei Khai and Kat:

(Mine are the discernibly noob ones.)

Note: This is copy-pasted from Myko's facebook notes, and i'm not deleting any comments. So like yeah. Here goes.

traffic light (12/5/2011)

myko's

I will be waiting here

Here at this traffic light

For a sign, any sign

That you still need me.

Like the light to call Batman,

Or Gatsby's green light

across the sound; I will

wait at this traffic light

for a sign, for your sign.

Wei Khai's (more beautiful one)

in essence the presence

of lighted effervescence the

result of countless experiments,

when combustion in conditions make for

perverse tradition -

we transverse the outrageous

and bullish stubborness

of sensual maroon hubris;

the price we pay for a rashness

that gets under our skin.

Ant's (also REALLY CUTE AND GOOD ONE)

widened eyes connect

over darkened windows

a small wave

a tiny smile

a brief connection

green!

now broken.

Kat's..... (wtf why so imba)

When there are no more lights

To lead you home

It is okay, perhaps

Even appropriate

To wander the smiling streets

With its rotten teeth and

Benevolent fingers

Crooked in your direction

Beckoning your footsteps to

Indecisive lights

That may lead you away

grass (12/5/2011)

myko's

do you notice how the grass sways

in the wind; in the endless fields?

do you notice how the grass prays

with their heads bent down in deep thought?

do you notice how the grass plays

upon the flute a reedy tune?

do you notice how the grass stays;

it bends but never moves far away

do you notice the small things like

the grass? do you notice the small people,

like me? the people smaller than the grass?

Wei Khai's

you taught me how each blade

was not as sharp as they were

supposed to be, instead a luscious

sea of green and yellow and all of

summer, when one bristles his fingertips

over the gleeful heads of welcome stalks,

each one a smattering of childishness like

cereal on a sunday morning.

the mud you smeared on my face, you cleaned with

the grass, and the smell of freshly fallen rain a miscible

solution to my dewy worries.

Kat's

Those green

Gentlemen fall

Into garden ballrooms

Waltzing with bugs, surrenders their

Blades' edge

cards (12/5/2011)

myko's

One day, I will run out of cards to send you;

I will run out of excuses to write sweet things

to you without sounding pretentious or awkard,

one day I will run out of Valentine's Day Cards,

Or Happy Birthday Cards, or other cards, so

One day I will send you my name card, the

King of Diamonds, because I'm superficial. But you

should be the Queen of Hearts, because

that is what you are; the queen of my heart

and all my hearts and my heart of heart of hearts,

In possesion of something more precious than gold.

One day I will send you a postcard

from my heart saying "I wish you were

Here", because that is all I could ever

wish for. For you to see be with me

in my heart, sharing something special.

One day I will write you a card without

any reason apart from the fact that I want

to write you a card.

Wei Khai's

you played your hand

right into mine, as i held it

and told you, that life is a tower of

cards, and your dog-eared emotions

but the royal flush

that colour your cheeks with the powdered

cherry - in essence the presence

of an unwilling poker face.

Anthea's (oh this is my favourite)

I'll send you a note

A stiff piece of paper,

Covered with flowing script

On one side

Decorated on the other

folded in half.

I'll expect it to mean more to you

Than what it really is:

A stiff piece of tree.

Happy birthday.

Kat's

Essentially

We pay

Greeting card writers

To paraphrase, in a million

Witty

Politically correct

Obscene

Ironic

Endearing

Hilarious

Unique

Ways, what should be

Scratched on to the backs

Of scraps of paper

By pens that struggle to work

In, above all, our own hand

coffee aka the super-difficult-to-write-about topic by Anthea (12/5/2011)

myko's

what's there to talk about coffee?

I wake up at every morning, have

a cup of the damn thing and then

go to school. normal routine.

what's there to write about coffee?

what's so special about coffee?

is it because it keeps you awake?

honestly you keep me sleepless

more than coffee can. love keeps

me more sleepless than coffee

could ever hope to keep me sleepless.

Wei Khai's

twenty seconds in and he is

late for work, the fog from the coffee

pulling a comfortor over his sweetest vision

like caramel in an hot blend of the latest

latte, flowing in silent motion to mock his

frustrated dash for the 8:04, the swirling mess in

chipped mugs which have so often connected chapped lips

together in a silent acknowledgement of brevity in love,

and the flourescent reflection of the heavens long

after his wife has turned off the lights -

no longer a celestial divinity

but a passing affinity.

Anthea's

One day, my father says, you will learn

to appreciate the aroma of coffee

One day, he always says, you will like

this more than you like tea

One day, you will concede that

ground up, boiled beans

are infinitely better than

ground up, boiled leaves

Because one day these beans

will give you that so

badly needed boost

that those leaves cannot.

Kat's

Every morning

I make myself a cup of coffee

And, every morning, as an

Afterthought

I make a cup of coffee

For you

I carry both mugs and set them

Down on the table, where they stand as

Warring cities, divided by an

Ocean of milk and butter

I sit down then and you know

I hate to be impolite but

I've stopped waiting for you to arrive

Instead, I bring the mug, scorching

To my lips, take a sip

Then cradle it in my hands

Nursing the drink like a

Fresh bruise

Until all the heat has left

And your mug remains

Untouched

Grandmother

2011-06-07T07:02:00.000-07:00

Grandmother would pat my head gently. I would try my best to smile and look grateful, bodding along with her. She would give me a hug each day as she sent me off to school, and I would inhale her familiar scent of Prickly Heat powder, sour plums and Axe medicated oil.

***

I need to write more (regularly).

Winnowing memories

2011-05-29T05:28:00.000-07:00

How many times have you

reached for a day in the

once-clear depths of your memory

and found

that it was not there?

how many times have you tried

in vain to locate

A particular name

To match it to a crystal-clear face

but it eluded your grasp?

How many times have you

recorded a thought in the

Notebook of your brain

and referred to it later

only to realise that that entry

had been erased, its pencil smudges so

just out of reach

how many times have you referenced

your library of memories with others

and become conscious of the fact that your version

is a tinted

biased

and painted jigsaw

with missing pieces?

you reach, you grasp, you try your best to find what was once there

but that memory is gone

Swept away

in the winds of change

While the grains fall, unbidden to the ground

In an earthbound constellation

of cherished memories

your mind has deemed those

days of your life

too unnecessary

too superficial

too irrelevant

to take up space in the prime real estate

of your memory

You will carry on with your life

And obliviously walk the path that has been ordained for you

But one day

You will try to grasp that long-gone memory

And realise

That you never knew it was not there.

2010-12-26T00:20:00.000-08:00

I haven't been posting here for some time.

Sorry.

CAP looms.

Doom looms.

Ahh what.

Anyway,

I'll get a new piece up here soon, yeah?

#10

2010-10-10T05:46:00.000-07:00

the ballet stage

a bright, seemingly

weightless world where

dancers defy gravity

whimsically ethereal costumes

and gossamer-thread hair

satin, silk, pink organza

pointed toes slice the air

leaping, twirling, spinning

they are no longer walking

the dancers do not dance

they fly.

#9

2010-10-10T04:57:00.000-07:00

Words hurt the most. They go deep into your heart, piercing its very core. And then its like your heart freezes. Cracks. Then simply shatters.

#8

2010-10-04T04:30:00.001-07:00

look at her

frizzled

(bed-knotted)

hair

surrounding her

button

(scrunched-up)

nose

her lips, dry,

many

(zig-zagging)

cracks

body carelessly splayed

decorated by

(white-pink)

lines

eyes screwed

sealed

(tight-shut)

closed

all the while

trying to

(deep-sleep)

pretend

she stirs in her

fake

(so-called)

sleeping

wakes, shakes her

ruffled

(hair-tendriled)

head

yawns, stretches her

cramped

(dead-numbed)

limbs

rubs, knuckles her

red

(sleep-blearied)

eyes

and smiles

her morning elegance.

#7

2010-10-04T04:29:00.001-07:00

I can't understand

And I can't pretend

That this world will be

Alright in the end, you see

So my best, I give

To love and to live

This life given to me

By the only Almighty

For Him, I'll serve

And give without reserve

To love without retreating

To hope without regretting

In the end, I will see

The reward of eternity

In heaven with Him

My Lord and my King

#6

2010-10-04T04:28:00.001-07:00

The first time

You made friends with someone

And held hands with them

And ran with them

To the playground

You felt happy

The first time

You met your best friend

You slid down the slide

Holding handsLike recess

Would never end.

The first timeYou fell down

While runningYou looked up

And saw your friends

Holding their hands out

To you.

The first timeYou got an A

On your report card

You jumped and danced

In a circle with your friends

Squealing at the top

Of your lungs.

The first time

Someone made fun of you

Your friends

Ran to your side

Defending you

To make sure you wouldn't

Feel hurt.

The first time

You lost someone dear to you

Your friends came

And wiped your tears

And gave you

A shoulder to cry on.

The first time

You hugged your friends

And laughed with them

And cried with them

You made sure

It wasn't

The last time.

______________________________

halp, get me more people to tag. i know its not very good.

i kinda crapped it out during chinese :P

heh.

KAYBAI.

TANKS EVERYBAHDEE. TANKSSSS.

#5

2010-10-04T04:27:00.001-07:00

She lay there in that twilight state just between being awake and asleep. The night was still, hot and humid. The wind whispered sweet nothings into her ears and seduced her to sleep. And she was lulled into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The staccato crash of the thunder punctuated the soft pitter-patter of the rain, and woke her up just as the lightning slashed a tear in the otherwise perfect pewter fabric of the skies. Leaves swirled, riding on the gusts of wind that wailed their mournful cries.

As the rain intensified, the droplets that fell seemed to cut holes in the air, the windgrew louder and louder. She ran out into the storm, reveling in all its destructive glory. Around her, trees swayed and puddles deepened into pools.And still she stayed.

It was only in the rain where she cried. It was only in the rain where she poured out her feelings.For when she cried in the rain, no one could see. For when she screamed in the wind, no one could hear.

With every blade-like droplet of rain, a small part of her was chipped away. And she would continue to stand there, until the rain took everything away. Until there was nothing left.

And she stood.

_________

OLDOLDOLDOLD

#4

2010-10-04T04:24:00.001-07:00

When she walked into the classroom, time seemed to slow. Heads turned as the whole room’s attention seemed to be focused on her. A glance that seemed to carry on forever. Shrinking, cowering, she all but shivered under the cold clinical scrutiny. She pulled her argyle sweater closer, as if it would shield her from their glares.

Time sped up. The empty space called air was once again filled with chatter. Fingering her tight black cornrows, she slid into her seat, alone, as per usual. She had detested it, this loneliness, and asked what she had done to deserve this. She asked her mother, “Mammy, why do they treat me this way?” and her mother would simply shrug.

“It’s the summer of 1849. Who knows when this madness will end?”

So she began to accept it as part and parcel of daily life. And still later, she began to embrace it. The bell pealed a shrill, impossibly high sound. She walked to her next class. “Laticia Lee?” And, almost defiantly, she raised her hand, a small black pinprick in an ocean of white.

____________

I know i seem to be impossibly fond of stopping time, but they were for two different assignments and this one was rushed so yeah.

#3

2010-10-04T04:23:00.000-07:00

It was all a mistake. He had fed her his lies. “Darling, I love you. If you loved me you would do it with me.” And like a fool, she had swallowed them. She had believed the deceitful untruths that spewed forth from his mouth. She did It. She did It for the first time, with him.

It had hurt, dreadfully. At that time, she had thought it was worth it, to gain his ‘love’. She had thought him worthy of this precious prize. She was wrong.

But no sooner had she done It numerous times, she had been tossed aside. Like a worthless plaything he had outgrown. Or like an empty packet drink, used, disposable and discarded. In a word, she had been dumped.

She moved like an animated statue. No emotions showed on the granite mask she wore. But below, her emotions were in turmoil, contrasting and conflicting. During the day, she was like a robot. Nothing seemed to matter to her. But in the night, she would cry herself to sleep. Fat tears would roll down her face and seep into her pillow.

Her despair and shame were palpable. And no matter how many times she bathed, she would still feel dirty. But this grime was near impossible to wash away. This dirt would remain an ugly reminder of her teenage folly.

Part of her wanted to beg him to take her back, to call her his darling, his love, his only. And the rest of her despised this pathetic part of herself. She half-hated him and half-wanted him back. This internal battle was fought day after day.

Until one day she thought of the possibility of a baby. They had not used contraception. Alarmed and afraid, she rushed to the nearest store and bought a pregnancy test. After urinating on it, she waited for what seemed to be millennia for the result.

She was not surprised by what she saw. Instead, she felt as if she was sinking to the bottom of an ocean of despair. She stared blindly, unseeing, at the test. It was a positive result. A baby, a plus, a cross to bear.

_____________

the middle part is really draggy. help?

damn, it sucks. but it was kinda forced, for LA crap. and i actualy handed up an even worse one on jealousy but made the mistake of telling the teacher i actualy wrote one on this too. and she wanted to see it.

yeah.

KTHXBAI.

#2

2010-10-04T04:21:00.000-07:00

He stepped into the room. Heads swiveled as time seemed to hold its breath. Their hostility was palpable and it froze him in place. Cringing, cowering, he flinched under their cruel, dispassionate glares. He timidly looked up, as a mouse would a cat. He clutched his books closer, as if they would shield him from their scowls.

Time sped up. He crept to his seat in the corner. Conversation resumed and filled up the air. His long fringe swung around his face and obscured his eyes as he bent down to tie his laces. Thump. He felt a sneaker kicking him. He fell with a thud, flat on his face, on the floor.

The class cackled at his dismay. They enjoyed this sport, the strong against the helpless. He gingerly picked his lanky self up. Through his thick prescription glasses, he saw the wicked smiles on their sharp faces. He heard their cruel laughs. Quietly, through the cacophony, he stole to his place.

Around his seat was a ring of empty seats. Nobody ever sat next to him unless they had to. Nobody, probably, ever would. The teacher strode in, and chatter abruptly stopped.

“Jѐsus? Jѐsus? Young man, are you listening?” He looked up. The teacher, satisfied, continued to drone on. Throughout the lesson, he dozed. But every time he dozed, he jerked awake because of the fear. He knew what was coming next. The clock seemed to mock him, going faster and faster.

“Class is dismissed.”

They leered at him. They too, knew what would come after this. He was hustled out of the classroom, toward the toilets. He quavered and quaked. And yet, he could do nothing to stop them. They could smell his fear, like a pack of dogs.

And so he prays, for he does not know what else to do, for it is what he has done his whole life.

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

______

again, really old.

#1

2010-10-04T04:19:00.001-07:00

Look, child
See the bombs
dropping
Lighting up the horizon
Like fallen angels

Listen, child
Hear the people
sobbing
Weeping for their loved ones, tears flowing
Like streams of running water

Smell, child
Sniff the scent of acrid smoke
rising
From the guns, the fire
Like a cloud of hatred

Taste, child
Drink of the resentment
seeping
Into the atmosphere
Like the bitter taste of lemons

Feel, child
Can you sense the desolation
mourning
The great loss, pain
Like knives in the hearts of the mourners

look.
listen.
smell.
taste.
feel.

_________

I know it sounds a lot like san's poem, but i promise, i didn't copy her at all. i didn't even read it before i wrote this. this is really old. like...4 months old or something. XD