21 février 2010
Ok forget that i thought of doing this
haha!!! about the poetry that I was supposed ot pen throughout the night... well I'm dead beat and really need to rest so... do pardon my overly enthusiastic self that tried to pull this trick off... well its half past 2... I need rest... so I bid thee adieu :D and Bonne nuit !
Pagan Mass
Tonight I'm depriving my body of sleep, to write... so this is a preliminary poem that I wrote at 1am plus...
Will clock in a poem every hour... so here is the first one of the twilight hours... Here I present the
____Pagan Mass____ (this is not meant to be blasphemous)
What is this? By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes.
The Pagan Mass has begun.
Light the fires and let them brew, the fiery stew.
Within this cauldron of pewter made,
throw in clary and sage.
Purify the air around, let there be the singing sound
of the witches rune,
let it be heard on Walpurgistnacht,
let it be heard on Samhain.
Celebrate as we dance round the flame,
where the elements can be alive again.
Singing: Hey ya! Hey ya!
under this canopy of oak, which spoke to me of many things
while there be the playing of the strings on lute and zither run.
Toying back and forth.
Hark! there be the sounding of a drum.
They encircle, around Priest and Priestess.
Chanting out in rhyme and tune,
singing, feasting, seeking the power of la lune.
Why, by the pricking of my thumbs
something wicked this way comes.
________________________________________________
Will clock in a poem every hour... so here is the first one of the twilight hours... Here I present the
____Pagan Mass____ (this is not meant to be blasphemous)
What is this? By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes.
The Pagan Mass has begun.
Light the fires and let them brew, the fiery stew.
Within this cauldron of pewter made,
throw in clary and sage.
Purify the air around, let there be the singing sound
of the witches rune,
let it be heard on Walpurgistnacht,
let it be heard on Samhain.
Celebrate as we dance round the flame,
where the elements can be alive again.
Singing: Hey ya! Hey ya!
under this canopy of oak, which spoke to me of many things
while there be the playing of the strings on lute and zither run.
Toying back and forth.
Hark! there be the sounding of a drum.
They encircle, around Priest and Priestess.
Chanting out in rhyme and tune,
singing, feasting, seeking the power of la lune.
Why, by the pricking of my thumbs
something wicked this way comes.
__________________________
Poem
I don't know about you but dying is a scary thing, to go into that eternal slumber, and just lie there turn cold and just enter into that life which we believe to be eternal, an eternal dream. So here is a poem to imaginary worlds... when your eyes open tomorrow, will you still be alive?
__________Imaginary worlds__________
I died.
It was not a spectacular death, just that I appeared in the papers the following day
DRIVER KILLS 2, MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
Then I went beyond our world, to Paradise.
Paradise is nothing amazing, it is just an endless beach
going on and on for eternity. Eternity, that's what I was promised,
in church every Sunday, never seeing who I was going to meet on the other side.
It is always sunset here in Paradise, and the waves
dusted with the sun's orange rays.
Walking along the seaside I saw my past flash before my eyes,
my old teddy bear that had been torn apart at Christmas during a fight
sat on the beach washed up by the waves.
Soon many things came up, from the water.
I too came from the water, bubbling out clothes,
and many items but people, there were none.
The beach was empty for miles, and for miles it went on and on.
Turning back, my past was behind me and it littered the beach.
The sand turned a rough with the items etched into in
things that I had sent here.
Suddenly the sky grew dark, forced down my throat,
oxygen. Wait. I was there on my bed, dark,
the clock in the corner read half past four.
Everything was silent, like the beach in Heaven,
eternally silent.
__________Imaginary worlds__________
I died.
It was not a spectacular death, just that I appeared in the papers the following day
DRIVER KILLS 2, MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
Then I went beyond our world, to Paradise.
Paradise is nothing amazing, it is just an endless beach
going on and on for eternity. Eternity, that's what I was promised,
in church every Sunday, never seeing who I was going to meet on the other side.
It is always sunset here in Paradise, and the waves
dusted with the sun's orange rays.
Walking along the seaside I saw my past flash before my eyes,
my old teddy bear that had been torn apart at Christmas during a fight
sat on the beach washed up by the waves.
Soon many things came up, from the water.
I too came from the water, bubbling out clothes,
and many items but people, there were none.
The beach was empty for miles, and for miles it went on and on.
Turning back, my past was behind me and it littered the beach.
The sand turned a rough with the items etched into in
things that I had sent here.
Suddenly the sky grew dark, forced down my throat,
oxygen. Wait. I was there on my bed, dark,
the clock in the corner read half past four.
Everything was silent, like the beach in Heaven,
eternally silent.
My life as a poet :)
This is a poem that I have come up with after writing for about one year... I tried a hand a developing my own style so here goes... be nice :D
__________Untitled 6___________
Here I frame myself, in steel bars.
This self portraiture, like the enigma of the mona lisa.
Always smiling, always photogenic,
yet she is only the veil to the hard wooden surface beneath.
Only wall paper, a mere mural.
Here, I prostitute myself,
this art of mine, where words blend with '
an infusion of wine and veiled by the paradise-ian clouds
of tobacco. A drunken debauchery.
O Babylon, Babylon.
I am the depths beneath the waves above.
I am the roots beneath the green.
I am the wall behind the wall paper.
I am the bright light bulb behind the ignoble rays.
I am the body behind the words.
The bars are only holding me back.
I am only painting an orgy.
My job as a poet, don't try to
stop me.
_______________________________
__________Untitled 6___________
Here I frame myself, in steel bars.
This self portraiture, like the enigma of the mona lisa.
Always smiling, always photogenic,
yet she is only the veil to the hard wooden surface beneath.
Only wall paper, a mere mural.
Here, I prostitute myself,
this art of mine, where words blend with '
an infusion of wine and veiled by the paradise-ian clouds
of tobacco. A drunken debauchery.
O Babylon, Babylon.
I am the depths beneath the waves above.
I am the roots beneath the green.
I am the wall behind the wall paper.
I am the bright light bulb behind the ignoble rays.
I am the body behind the words.
The bars are only holding me back.
I am only painting an orgy.
My job as a poet, don't try to
stop me.
__________________________
HAITI
This poem is kinda in reaction to the haiti earthquake that was a terrible disaster...
---Hate---
Hate, the plosive sound of the word
makes me spit.
The undeniable fact that human kind is
built on a single syllabic foundation.
We hate our jobs, the 9-5
mundane routine, hate mondays
going back to school, hate tuesday, the
blues, and all other days of the week we just hate.
We hate our friends, hate the obnoxious neighbour beside our door,
we hate eating, drinking, living on the edge of life,
We hate every waking moment of day,
hating and detesting even the day we were born.
We hate the multitude of knowledge,
we hate the endless television shows that appear on the glass screen
believing in illusions unseen
we hate being fooled, and yet we do it deliberately.
Hate hate hate, the colour of skin, the eyes that we wear,
the mouth that speaks so foolishly
we hate the nose, the breast, the nip and tuck surgery
we had last week.
Yes, I hated it, looking at the mirror,
a plastic concoction.
We hate slowing down, speeding up,
always a criticism always another smart ass that has another thing to say
again and again, the endless cycle of life
hating spring summer autumn winter,
hating the day and night
the first Creation in sight is appalling and detestable.
We hate the blacks, the whites, the yellow and red skinned people.
We hate the Neo Nazi's and the Witches, we hate the
religious clergy and the Pontif.
We hate the Capitol, from Washington to Obama, we hate
Guantanamo Bay, we hate Iraqi's
We hate terrorists, and now Muslims (somehow they are intrinsically connected)
We hate and hate, Twilight, we hate legendary authors,
We hate America, Europe and Asia, we hate the MNC's and the taxi drivers
we hate trade unions, and capitalism and communism, and every -ism there is we hate.
We hate unity, we hate division,
We are always trying to be unique and individual
and yet we share one thing in common,
hate.
What is hate? when your house is blown down by the wind,
when the days have come where there is no shelter overhead,
when the earth shakes and rocks till you have woken up
when the neighbour's dogs start barking
when the waves start rising
when the people start crying
when the father's mother's sisters brothers lay there dying
on the island shore
when trees lay dead on the road
when pavements are strewn with debris
when the hospitals, markets, and everything is reduced to a ground zero.
when the houses collapsed like in 9/11
when my hotel crumbles as I pen this note.
what is hate to me now?
A four lettered, single syllable word
on page 334 of my dictionary.
---Hate---
Hate, the plosive sound of the word
makes me spit.
The undeniable fact that human kind is
built on a single syllabic foundation.
We hate our jobs, the 9-5
mundane routine, hate mondays
going back to school, hate tuesday, the
blues, and all other days of the week we just hate.
We hate our friends, hate the obnoxious neighbour beside our door,
we hate eating, drinking, living on the edge of life,
We hate every waking moment of day,
hating and detesting even the day we were born.
We hate the multitude of knowledge,
we hate the endless television shows that appear on the glass screen
believing in illusions unseen
we hate being fooled, and yet we do it deliberately.
Hate hate hate, the colour of skin, the eyes that we wear,
the mouth that speaks so foolishly
we hate the nose, the breast, the nip and tuck surgery
we had last week.
Yes, I hated it, looking at the mirror,
a plastic concoction.
We hate slowing down, speeding up,
always a criticism always another smart ass that has another thing to say
again and again, the endless cycle of life
hating spring summer autumn winter,
hating the day and night
the first Creation in sight is appalling and detestable.
We hate the blacks, the whites, the yellow and red skinned people.
We hate the Neo Nazi's and the Witches, we hate the
religious clergy and the Pontif.
We hate the Capitol, from Washington to Obama, we hate
Guantanamo Bay, we hate Iraqi's
We hate terrorists, and now Muslims (somehow they are intrinsically connected)
We hate and hate, Twilight, we hate legendary authors,
We hate America, Europe and Asia, we hate the MNC's and the taxi drivers
we hate trade unions, and capitalism and communism, and every -ism there is we hate.
We hate unity, we hate division,
We are always trying to be unique and individual
and yet we share one thing in common,
hate.
What is hate? when your house is blown down by the wind,
when the days have come where there is no shelter overhead,
when the earth shakes and rocks till you have woken up
when the neighbour's dogs start barking
when the waves start rising
when the people start crying
when the father's mother's sisters brothers lay there dying
on the island shore
when trees lay dead on the road
when pavements are strewn with debris
when the hospitals, markets, and everything is reduced to a ground zero.
when the houses collapsed like in 9/11
when my hotel crumbles as I pen this note.
what is hate to me now?
A four lettered, single syllable word
on page 334 of my dictionary.
I love you ?
It is painful to fall in love, to find yourself at the roads with nothing left. Sometimes, when love takes all of your strength and you are left with nothing... and you feel that there is nothing to push you on, the only thing that drives you on is the one you love, to be there beside you, a shoulder to cry on, and to see him/her is just enough for you.
It all ended, the way it usually ends:
with the simple this is me, and this is you.
I tried my best but it was never enough.
It was always more and more, gifts after gifts,
meeting after meeting and daily my love died
like the rose I gave you on our First Day
melted into the pages of endless scrawls,
love letters. Always repetitive,
always frustrating, frustrating, frustrating.
I will scrub you out!
My love hath not be in my penned letters, it hath never been in the gifts that I gave.
Ne'er in the heat of candlelight dinners,
nor could it be found in the mountains we climbed together.
Not even in the bed we shared, that night
nesting like two love birds could be.
My heart, body, soul, makes
your pain, my angst,
your joy, my glee
and now, it is cold, sunless, living dead.
Gone are the endless summers and as
you stand in the driveway. All I can muster
before I fall, this one last lie:
"I love you".
It all ended, the way it usually ends:
with the simple this is me, and this is you.
I tried my best but it was never enough.
It was always more and more, gifts after gifts,
meeting after meeting and daily my love died
like the rose I gave you on our First Day
melted into the pages of endless scrawls,
love letters. Always repetitive,
always frustrating, frustrating, frustrating.
I will scrub you out!
My love hath not be in my penned letters, it hath never been in the gifts that I gave.
Ne'er in the heat of candlelight dinners,
nor could it be found in the mountains we climbed together.
Not even in the bed we shared, that night
nesting like two love birds could be.
My heart, body, soul, makes
your pain, my angst,
your joy, my glee
and now, it is cold, sunless, living dead.
Gone are the endless summers and as
you stand in the driveway. All I can muster
before I fall, this one last lie:
"I love you".
Pianist !
This piece is called the pianist, I thought of this while playing my new electric piano and I guess as poets we feel art through everything we touch, which is quite a beautiful gift. I stand by myself and believe that we are all given different gifts, some are given art as expression some are granted studies as an expression, some are given other things. Art is never learnt, you are born with it, then only then can it develop further.
So here it is : the pianist
The crouched figure, demented.
Alternating, tapping back and forth,
dancing in a sea of black and ivory.
Tormented endlessly by relishes that adorn the page.
The defining moments, the depressed descents
of each glorious aria. Beautiful and melodic,
breaking the stale air, splits and passing over
the heads of the faceless audience in the dark.
O, Unnatural monster!
Arched over the horror of furniture.
Curves unknown to man.
Brandishing an arsenal
that haunts the soul, and it shreds the heart
hammering, reverberating
left to right
a hypnotic dream that possesses.
The fingers touch the cold keys
giving life to the dead wood.
Giving music a tangible touch.
Feelings transpire through
a violent mood swing,
from soothing to suicidal.
So here it is : the pianist
The crouched figure, demented.
Alternating, tapping back and forth,
dancing in a sea of black and ivory.
Tormented endlessly by relishes that adorn the page.
The defining moments, the depressed descents
of each glorious aria. Beautiful and melodic,
breaking the stale air, splits and passing over
the heads of the faceless audience in the dark.
O, Unnatural monster!
Arched over the horror of furniture.
Curves unknown to man.
Brandishing an arsenal
that haunts the soul, and it shreds the heart
hammering, reverberating
left to right
a hypnotic dream that possesses.
The fingers touch the cold keys
giving life to the dead wood.
Giving music a tangible touch.
Feelings transpire through
a violent mood swing,
from soothing to suicidal.
A year of Rebirth, Refreshing and Renewal! 2010
Ok i am rebooting this blog from being stuck in stoicism... So here I am placing many missed post that I have posted elsewhere on my main blog which is here, I guess you could say... I'm coming back with a vengence :) ... Presenting the missed posts.
29 Decembre 2009
The old year is passing and Father Time is getting ready for a new year, to bring us into a year of rebirth, and living afresh again.
I try to do this every year, to try and set a word for the next year, a sort of thing that I will hold on to throughout the new year all the way till the end, it can come from anywhere, philosophers, books, anything really. This year's word was from the Bible "We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;" This was the word I clung to throughout this year, and yes it was a greatly tumultuous year and it had been a year where I felt my capacity to take stress and to forge ahead was strengthened. It was a word that I really clung to in times of desperate need and in times where giving up seemed so much easier. So what word will I choose for this coming year?
Well I felt that the following year will be a year of refreshing, a year that will be a rebirth, a reawakening and a refreshing of sorts. I have no idea in what way this will happen... but I guess after a year where you are under loads of stress i guess it is indeed time to cool off and just take things as they come for awhile. I feel like this year was a year that I left Longbourne and have headed off to Netherfield, realizing who I was, it was kinda like a year of self realization. Well... this coming year is like returning back with greater understanding, and hopefully more maturity. Even though there are parts of me still really left as they were as before. I hope this year will be a year where there is greater growth mentally, and also in my writing, especially in my writing to gain more maturity and experience. So this next year come as it may... I pray it brings joy, celebration and loads of champagne but I also ask that it be a year of refreshed perspectives and new ideas. Where things will not be as it has been, stale and dry.
So here is wishing you all a very pleasant holiday, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!
I try to do this every year, to try and set a word for the next year, a sort of thing that I will hold on to throughout the new year all the way till the end, it can come from anywhere, philosophers, books, anything really. This year's word was from the Bible "We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;" This was the word I clung to throughout this year, and yes it was a greatly tumultuous year and it had been a year where I felt my capacity to take stress and to forge ahead was strengthened. It was a word that I really clung to in times of desperate need and in times where giving up seemed so much easier. So what word will I choose for this coming year?
Well I felt that the following year will be a year of refreshing, a year that will be a rebirth, a reawakening and a refreshing of sorts. I have no idea in what way this will happen... but I guess after a year where you are under loads of stress i guess it is indeed time to cool off and just take things as they come for awhile. I feel like this year was a year that I left Longbourne and have headed off to Netherfield, realizing who I was, it was kinda like a year of self realization. Well... this coming year is like returning back with greater understanding, and hopefully more maturity. Even though there are parts of me still really left as they were as before. I hope this year will be a year where there is greater growth mentally, and also in my writing, especially in my writing to gain more maturity and experience. So this next year come as it may... I pray it brings joy, celebration and loads of champagne but I also ask that it be a year of refreshed perspectives and new ideas. Where things will not be as it has been, stale and dry.
So here is wishing you all a very pleasant holiday, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!
29 décembre 2009
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Imagine if everyday was Christmas... everyday is ... snowing, chestnuts roasting, yule tree, santa, and all the beautiful lights... i would be boring haha! that is if it was everyday...
Well Christmas only comes by once a year, at the end of the year, and it is a beautiful time, a season of giving, love and joy. However it is a time also to look back in retrospect and count our blessings and looking at our achievements and challenges that we faced in the year.
So here is a poem to celebrate, the year that has passed.
I knitted a sweater, it was colourful,
made of many patches.
It was difficult to knit, it got my fingers crossed and
my mother yelled over my shoulder,
No! its not supposed to be done that way!
It was painful, days where i would knit all day
and get blisters on my hand.
But now it is done, it is perfect.
"Just for you"
A gift, to keep you warm in the nights of winter.
And though we be apart this sweater,
thread by thread is knitted with love,
my love given to you.
__________________________________________
Well Christmas only comes by once a year, at the end of the year, and it is a beautiful time, a season of giving, love and joy. However it is a time also to look back in retrospect and count our blessings and looking at our achievements and challenges that we faced in the year.
So here is a poem to celebrate, the year that has passed.
I knitted a sweater, it was colourful,
made of many patches.
It was difficult to knit, it got my fingers crossed and
my mother yelled over my shoulder,
No! its not supposed to be done that way!
It was painful, days where i would knit all day
and get blisters on my hand.
But now it is done, it is perfect.
"Just for you"
A gift, to keep you warm in the nights of winter.
And though we be apart this sweater,
thread by thread is knitted with love,
my love given to you.
__________________________
Merry Christmas Eve
yea yea i know i have been writing quite a tad bit of highly destructive poetry, so to compensate, I will have this poem grant a bit of hope for this Christmas season. So what is really so fun about Chirstmas, I mean the day still looks like every other day, the sun still rises, the moon still comes up at night. There are no fancy things falling from the sky, nor does Santa Clause climb down the drainage piping of our HDB flats to deliver us presents, even though he would have a really hard time squeezing through window grilles. Yea it is just your ordinary day. Really, that is if you want to be a scrooge! I know Christmas has just been another merchandising project to sell more and keep sales up, but then we would just be missing the whole point of Christmas.
The season to love, not that we don't love everyday, but rather I feel Christmas is a season where we all just take extra effort to be nice, take extra effort to prepare gifts and really to love those people that are close to us. Yea i know its cliche, but I would like to propose this, that we love those that we have not loved in a long while. Where perhaps our father's or even mother's anyone really have done things to make us really ticked off with them or perhaps it is someone that you just cant forgive for doing something against you. I propose we release them this Christmas, and love them. For all of us are definitely bound to love the ones that love us back but how about those who don't, or did not love you, where is the reward in loving those that love you? So i ask that you love those who perhaps you have not really loved in quite a bit or did wrong to you. Yea, do something special this Christmas cos nothing much is gonna happen naturally apart from snow (WHICH WILL BE AMAZING BTW) So if Christmas is not special make it special for yourself!
So here is the poem:
The gnomes work throughout the winter.
They plough, and do my gardening in the winter.
I hope Santa bring them presents.
All seven of them in my keep,
this fortress of solitude where it is quiet.
Only for the crackling of wood on the fire
he whistling of the wind outside.
The sound of trees, with their fur coats on brushing off
the snow.
There the endless days alone,
the minutes sitting in this suede armchair.
Outside the gnomes are tending to my little loves,
herbs, and small trees
they are overgrown with weeds.
The house is in shambles, the fire place is cold as snow,
the trees are burnt and charred black
they stand like ancient African tribal art on display.
Suede is torn, frayed, knitted wool.
All is wrecked, nothing is left.
Only the clock ticking in the left corner.
There, the hands still moving
the sound of hope, sounding, sounding.
Like a metronome, like the beating of my heart.
Looking through the frosted window,
the gnomes are out there
their faces frozen.
I should bring them in, they look cold.
______________________________________
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE!!!
The season to love, not that we don't love everyday, but rather I feel Christmas is a season where we all just take extra effort to be nice, take extra effort to prepare gifts and really to love those people that are close to us. Yea i know its cliche, but I would like to propose this, that we love those that we have not loved in a long while. Where perhaps our father's or even mother's anyone really have done things to make us really ticked off with them or perhaps it is someone that you just cant forgive for doing something against you. I propose we release them this Christmas, and love them. For all of us are definitely bound to love the ones that love us back but how about those who don't, or did not love you, where is the reward in loving those that love you? So i ask that you love those who perhaps you have not really loved in quite a bit or did wrong to you. Yea, do something special this Christmas cos nothing much is gonna happen naturally apart from snow (WHICH WILL BE AMAZING BTW) So if Christmas is not special make it special for yourself!
So here is the poem:
The gnomes work throughout the winter.
They plough, and do my gardening in the winter.
I hope Santa bring them presents.
All seven of them in my keep,
this fortress of solitude where it is quiet.
Only for the crackling of wood on the fire
he whistling of the wind outside.
The sound of trees, with their fur coats on brushing off
the snow.
There the endless days alone,
the minutes sitting in this suede armchair.
Outside the gnomes are tending to my little loves,
herbs, and small trees
they are overgrown with weeds.
The house is in shambles, the fire place is cold as snow,
the trees are burnt and charred black
they stand like ancient African tribal art on display.
Suede is torn, frayed, knitted wool.
All is wrecked, nothing is left.
Only the clock ticking in the left corner.
There, the hands still moving
the sound of hope, sounding, sounding.
Like a metronome, like the beating of my heart.
Looking through the frosted window,
the gnomes are out there
their faces frozen.
I should bring them in, they look cold.
__________________________
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE!!!
I have been listening to poetry and recently I came across a reading by Anne Waldman and Allen Ginsberg, both GENIUS American poets. Ginberg is of course famous for Howl and is my current DP, cos I feel his poems carry the sick desires and the truly displays the obscene as art. Truly inspiring, showing what man really is in the time of the beatniks. Anyway here is a poem entitled:
Bathroom Reflections
Who are you?
With my face, my nose,
my lips and globe eyes that roll back into my head,
with my feet and calves,
toes and thighs that
are stuck with black needles poking from underneath the skin.
With my neck, and bent shoulders like hinges on the door,
with my arms and badly bitten finger nailed hands,
resembling a discoloured manicure.
who are you that is I?
The bathroom steam fogs up the image,
now you are only a ghost from my past, another Scrooge.
The vague outline with the orange toilet light
glossing over your (my) body.
Then you are gone.
The cloud of white mist
taking you away like they did to Jesus up into heaven.
Only a whisper,a small light bulb
that flickers and the filament
burns up in a second.
Followed by darkness,
darkness and the Great darkness.
Opening my eyes I see darkness, hands grope the darkness
feet trod on the empty dark tiles reflecting the darkness
that can be smelt and a dark taste in my mouth.
Darkness and shadows, all I see is the the dark of light,
the shadow, covered in darkness.
My own shadow darkened by the other shadows
that are also darkening in dark room where there is nothing
but darkness left in the dark bathroom.
__________________________
Bathroom Reflections
Who are you?
With my face, my nose,
my lips and globe eyes that roll back into my head,
with my feet and calves,
toes and thighs that
are stuck with black needles poking from underneath the skin.
With my neck, and bent shoulders like hinges on the door,
with my arms and badly bitten finger nailed hands,
resembling a discoloured manicure.
who are you that is I?
The bathroom steam fogs up the image,
now you are only a ghost from my past, another Scrooge.
The vague outline with the orange toilet light
glossing over your (my) body.
Then you are gone.
The cloud of white mist
taking you away like they did to Jesus up into heaven.
Only a whisper,a small light bulb
that flickers and the filament
burns up in a second.
Followed by darkness,
darkness and the Great darkness.
Opening my eyes I see darkness, hands grope the darkness
feet trod on the empty dark tiles reflecting the darkness
that can be smelt and a dark taste in my mouth.
Darkness and shadows, all I see is the the dark of light,
the shadow, covered in darkness.
My own shadow darkened by the other shadows
that are also darkening in dark room where there is nothing
but darkness left in the dark bathroom.
__________________________
I think I picked up something from Anne Waldman, she is quite a clever poet. Most of the modernists are geniuses...but Anne Sexton is still AWESOME ... hmm come to think of it poet that i like have Anne in their names...
___________Words__________
I used words to make a house.
Using adverbs, verbs, adjectives
grammatical jargon and vocabulary
all verbose and stately.
I used sentences to create a city.
Filled with lines, and dots
stopping, starting, shouting, questioning,
the incomprehensible dialogue along the street.
I made the nation out of paragraphs.
Constitution after constitution,
law after law. Each separated by spaces.
Those arias in the court house and in the Capitol.
I used a book to create a world.
A world where things are imagined,
with thousands of sub plots and millions of errors..
It eventually came to an end.
I created I.
6 billion images of God,
trailing the streets.
6 billion images of God,
eating, starving,
living, dying,
dancing, sleeping.
6 billion images of God,
talking, muted,
murdering, murdered
walking, limping with one leg
blown away by the bombs.
(apparently God was not as immortal as he believed.)
6 billion images of God,
5 million images of God,
4 thousand images of God,
3 hundred images of God,
20 images of God,
1 God, 1 image.
Nothing.
I used words to re-create the world.
__________________________
___________Words__________
I used words to make a house.
Using adverbs, verbs, adjectives
grammatical jargon and vocabulary
all verbose and stately.
I used sentences to create a city.
Filled with lines, and dots
stopping, starting, shouting, questioning,
the incomprehensible dialogue along the street.
I made the nation out of paragraphs.
Constitution after constitution,
law after law. Each separated by spaces.
Those arias in the court house and in the Capitol.
I used a book to create a world.
A world where things are imagined,
with thousands of sub plots and millions of errors..
It eventually came to an end.
I created I.
6 billion images of God,
trailing the streets.
6 billion images of God,
eating, starving,
living, dying,
dancing, sleeping.
6 billion images of God,
talking, muted,
murdering, murdered
walking, limping with one leg
blown away by the bombs.
(apparently God was not as immortal as he believed.)
6 billion images of God,
5 million images of God,
4 thousand images of God,
3 hundred images of God,
20 images of God,
1 God, 1 image.
Nothing.
I used words to re-create the world.
__________________________
Love
I got inspired to write about this after being down and out for quite a few days and now i really need an output and I guess writing is my output. Ok here goes, i have no idea what is within my own sub conscious but anything that comes to mind I will just put down, kinda like automatic writing, freaky eh? But i think it is also psychological kinda like free association when interpreting dreams, I guess feelings are also from the same neurosis so free association still works... somehow hah!!!
I watched two movies yesterday, Gomorrah and Ne te retourne pas. Both are not too bad considering what is out in the market... newmoon ... haiz and I think it was in Turkey that it kinda struck me that why do people always search for the next fantasy, the next adventure? I felt that it was because sometimes our lives are so empty that we need to fill it with something imaginary and something that we can follow, like a cult of sorts. We have become deluded with something that no longer exists in our psyche and we just need to fill it up with imagination.
Then it came to mind, wait we are going crazy over vampires and mythological characters. It was then I realized that perhaps it is all part of our collective psyche. We all love to watch movies cos it is like our modern amphitheatre, where things were being acted out and it managed to feed the interest of the people. The plays mainly explained why the world worked and how the various parts of the world function, due to gods or demigods etc. It was all to just entertain and yet understand morals and values.
Perhaps our psyche always desired to know why things happened and I guess werewolves and vampires are not people we commonly meet unless you are a unique individual. Nonetheless these movies give us a sense that control is not ours at times and that we can believe in a world greater and more "magical" than ours. Which got me thinking again, wait ... why are we deluding ourselves all the time, believing in a world that does not exist. Dreaming and Aspiring for better things ahead, it just proves that human nature is not suicidal in nature though we are headed for death since birth, it is just like the greeks that believed in the Elysian fields where people prospered, perhaps we are just trying to get a semblance of heaven on earth. (sorry my thoughts are just flowing and there is not much time to worry bout grammar or punctuation)
Heaven on Earth, what we want? I really don't know... Then I came to thinking about love and relationships. I was sitting on the MRT, in a rather stalkerish like fashion I was observing various couples, lucky me there were a few couples. Almost all of different age, which got me thinking... what are the relationships that we all have, i mean boy girl relations. Like at different age we want different things of our "soul mate". For example, when we are around late primary 6 to early part of secondary school we just want a girlfriend cos we just want one, we usually don't understand what having a girlfriend entails but it is just cool to us. Then when there is heartbreak, we usually don't understand or we just think the other is an idiot to us. Well we like to believe that it is the other's fault, but it helps us grow.
Then we reach the age, upper secondary school, usually we still have no bloody clue why we want to get into a relationship but we just do it cos other people have girlfriends. At the same time girls may want someone to humour them, to see the beauty in them and it mainly focuses on the girl. (this is all hypothetical) but yea it kinda does. The boy just tries his best and have a good time with her, she is at most a friend that you hang out with most of the time someone that you are good friends with, you often tell her some secrets and when there is heart break then it is sometimes a bit harder to let go. But we do anyway and believe that perhaps she was not the one for me. Still we sometimes cling on to that semblance especially if it was a good relationship.
Surprise, Junior College, it is as though i have not observed this enough haha!!! ... This is a period where we try to make relationships work. This is a period of time where we try to be mature, kinda like kids acting like their dad and mum, i mean play-acting if you come to think of it. It is where we dress up nicely, or we try, and go out for fancy dinner and just talk. Often the relationship is deeper and there are periodic fights. It is all a process... Needless to say we are just trying our first child steps with a relationships. It can develop further if the two survive together without ripping each others faces off...
And then After JC... Well i have not reached that point of life but through observation, we are trying to love this person, and we realize love is not like on the telly. It is not what we hear on our ipods it is just a feeling of a match to someone you can trust with all you heart. Yet, sometimes we trip up, if we trip up badly then it does not work out but most of the time if it gets to this point usually we know each other's quirks and can accept them. Well I guess that's how relationships change over time...
I am no expert but sometimes in a relationship, we just have to put on our rose tinted glasses, and love the person for who he/she is and look past the mistakes, and look past the wrong, then it can work out.
sigh... haha!!!
I watched two movies yesterday, Gomorrah and Ne te retourne pas. Both are not too bad considering what is out in the market... newmoon ... haiz and I think it was in Turkey that it kinda struck me that why do people always search for the next fantasy, the next adventure? I felt that it was because sometimes our lives are so empty that we need to fill it with something imaginary and something that we can follow, like a cult of sorts. We have become deluded with something that no longer exists in our psyche and we just need to fill it up with imagination.
Then it came to mind, wait we are going crazy over vampires and mythological characters. It was then I realized that perhaps it is all part of our collective psyche. We all love to watch movies cos it is like our modern amphitheatre, where things were being acted out and it managed to feed the interest of the people. The plays mainly explained why the world worked and how the various parts of the world function, due to gods or demigods etc. It was all to just entertain and yet understand morals and values.
Perhaps our psyche always desired to know why things happened and I guess werewolves and vampires are not people we commonly meet unless you are a unique individual. Nonetheless these movies give us a sense that control is not ours at times and that we can believe in a world greater and more "magical" than ours. Which got me thinking again, wait ... why are we deluding ourselves all the time, believing in a world that does not exist. Dreaming and Aspiring for better things ahead, it just proves that human nature is not suicidal in nature though we are headed for death since birth, it is just like the greeks that believed in the Elysian fields where people prospered, perhaps we are just trying to get a semblance of heaven on earth. (sorry my thoughts are just flowing and there is not much time to worry bout grammar or punctuation)
Heaven on Earth, what we want? I really don't know... Then I came to thinking about love and relationships. I was sitting on the MRT, in a rather stalkerish like fashion I was observing various couples, lucky me there were a few couples. Almost all of different age, which got me thinking... what are the relationships that we all have, i mean boy girl relations. Like at different age we want different things of our "soul mate". For example, when we are around late primary 6 to early part of secondary school we just want a girlfriend cos we just want one, we usually don't understand what having a girlfriend entails but it is just cool to us. Then when there is heartbreak, we usually don't understand or we just think the other is an idiot to us. Well we like to believe that it is the other's fault, but it helps us grow.
Then we reach the age, upper secondary school, usually we still have no bloody clue why we want to get into a relationship but we just do it cos other people have girlfriends. At the same time girls may want someone to humour them, to see the beauty in them and it mainly focuses on the girl. (this is all hypothetical) but yea it kinda does. The boy just tries his best and have a good time with her, she is at most a friend that you hang out with most of the time someone that you are good friends with, you often tell her some secrets and when there is heart break then it is sometimes a bit harder to let go. But we do anyway and believe that perhaps she was not the one for me. Still we sometimes cling on to that semblance especially if it was a good relationship.
Surprise, Junior College, it is as though i have not observed this enough haha!!! ... This is a period where we try to make relationships work. This is a period of time where we try to be mature, kinda like kids acting like their dad and mum, i mean play-acting if you come to think of it. It is where we dress up nicely, or we try, and go out for fancy dinner and just talk. Often the relationship is deeper and there are periodic fights. It is all a process... Needless to say we are just trying our first child steps with a relationships. It can develop further if the two survive together without ripping each others faces off...
And then After JC... Well i have not reached that point of life but through observation, we are trying to love this person, and we realize love is not like on the telly. It is not what we hear on our ipods it is just a feeling of a match to someone you can trust with all you heart. Yet, sometimes we trip up, if we trip up badly then it does not work out but most of the time if it gets to this point usually we know each other's quirks and can accept them. Well I guess that's how relationships change over time...
I am no expert but sometimes in a relationship, we just have to put on our rose tinted glasses, and love the person for who he/she is and look past the mistakes, and look past the wrong, then it can work out.
sigh... haha!!!
Yes i know I have not been blogging here recently and I do apologise for a long wait. So here is the posts that i have posted elsewhere and finally decided to move it here to my main blog site.
When we are sad, we smile
to tell people that we are fine.
When we are happy inside, we act sober
to pretend to the rest of the world that we are going through storms.
What is man, who is this one i see,
that pretends to be, something he is not.
__________________________
The sky is draped in mourning garments.
No more the coloured castles in the sky.
They are only lies that my mother told me:
the Earth will always be dry and I could
go out and play.
But today is no such day,
the puddles and raindrops are large.
Reflecting in them are the many coloured lights of
people's windows. They fall, purple, orange, blue
white. A kaleidoscope of colours painted on the pavement.
I sit there by the window
watching the rain patter and turn to snow.
__________________________
Mother, i wish I could keep you forever.
So i will cut you up and take out your innards,
stuffing you with cotton and keep you as a soft toy in my house of toys.
I have seen her die,
on that iron bed, plugged into the sockets
bags of water, electronic systems, wires wires wires.
Visiting hours are over,
I exited the room, I am as I am
unchanged,
the patient still remains on the iron bed.
I am free.
__________________________
When we are sad, we smile
to tell people that we are fine.
When we are happy inside, we act sober
to pretend to the rest of the world that we are going through storms.
What is man, who is this one i see,
that pretends to be, something he is not.
__________________________
The sky is draped in mourning garments.
No more the coloured castles in the sky.
They are only lies that my mother told me:
the Earth will always be dry and I could
go out and play.
But today is no such day,
the puddles and raindrops are large.
Reflecting in them are the many coloured lights of
people's windows. They fall, purple, orange, blue
white. A kaleidoscope of colours painted on the pavement.
I sit there by the window
watching the rain patter and turn to snow.
__________________________
Mother, i wish I could keep you forever.
So i will cut you up and take out your innards,
stuffing you with cotton and keep you as a soft toy in my house of toys.
I have seen her die,
on that iron bed, plugged into the sockets
bags of water, electronic systems, wires wires wires.
Visiting hours are over,
I exited the room, I am as I am
unchanged,
the patient still remains on the iron bed.
I am free.
__________________________
03 décembre 2009
you knew it was coming :P
... Ok this is an erotica... really, it just came to mind to write it all down so i did as i wanted to. So please if you are not mature enough (that means so many things) don't read it, but i know you will anyway... I support the idea that sex is not evil and that we all just have to be mature about it simple as that. I was in the shower that evening, just returning from work. It had been a dreadful day, the new manuscript that i had just vetted had been rejected by the senior management, and i had that lecherous worm, Ignus stalk me round the office. It was hellish, but the water that cascaded from from the spout seemed to wash all that trouble away. It was then that you walked in, you had also just finished work. You opened the door of the bathroom, leaving it slightly ajar, I fumbled and opened the shower curtain. curiously looking, before going back to my shower. The bathtub beneath me had begun to fill up with water and the sound of water drowned out the sound of clothing outside the bathroom. The door opened again this time i had little chance to pull back the shower curtain, before you too got into the tub standing before me, naked. I drew back, my back facing the shower head as the water now began to cascade down my back, little drops dotted over my skin which was beginning to blush. You just stood there, staring to my eyes, gave me a kiss. I staggered back, there was little space in the bath, and my back soon was pressed against the cold wall. My hand reached down only to reach a bar of soap left by the side of the bathtub. It was smooth but firm in my hand. You still standing there, reaching for me, I pushed you back. "how was your day at work?" I asked coyly as I began to take the soap and run it down your front. "It was ..." i slightly grazed his nipples and he flinched slightly. "yes ?" I continued, now scrubbing his torso, his abs that showed he had been working out quite a bit. Bending down, i began to massage his calves and rub his thighs clean just avoiding the thing you desired most. "Tiring" He managed to say as he guided my hand near but I pulled away. My face was now in line with the hungry erection leaping before me. My pulse quickened, and it pained me to not satisfy my own womanly lust. But I wanted you, full of lust for me, wanting nothing but to obey your carnal instinct to fuck me. I looked up, you still stood over me, like a master over his slave, but it was not to be so. I lightly grazed the back of my hand along the line of your cock and you moaned softly. The water was now a shower down on you and i began to use my tongue to lick up the inside of your thigh, licking up the water that fell from your body. Standing up, I pushed you against the wall. You looked in my eyes, A mixed sense of passion and fear crossed your eyes. Giving a slightly teasing looks, I ran my finger up his spine and reaching his neck, I stood on his feet, breast to breast, and finally giving him a long embrace. We exchanged a long kiss, tongues darting back and forth. Then I bit his lip, drawing blood to the area. The air suddenly turning animalistic and wild. Drawing back, he groaned as his wet cock slipped from my thighs wet with my juices.
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