YOU full of the
love and the light, lucky
creature, having swallowed
the SEA – mother of pearl,
the world is definitely
YOURS to conquer,
dart into the oyster! before it
slams SHUT and seaweed
sneaks all over your EYELIDS.
Hello there! After attending the Singapore Writers’ Festival, I bought two books [LONTAR] and also Equatorial Calm, a lovely anthology.
Haikus penned by the coolest poets ever (But Why Is David Wong Hsien Ming’s Accent Great AF?), poetry transcending languages (three tongues, guys! English, Japanese and Mandarin). What/A/Steal . Really glad I got the title page signed, too 😉
My inspiration was of course the Daily Post, but also Equatorial Calm and the very exciting concept of a Haiku – that encouraged me to try my hand(re:INTENSELY EXPERIMENT) at breaking out of my usual…er, style (can it be called that?) of weaving words and
a thought or two, into a poem.
Please enjoy ❤ and biggie thanksie to Lynette Tan because of this :’) Oh, tears of joy.
We are close yet so
far apart. How is it that
our footsteps imprint on the sand,
on the beach. Longer than
the time we have left, and that
says a lot. Because wind tends to
blow all the sand grains around,
a foot, no foot, left behind. Smooth
surface, sand grains coming together,
falling seamlessly, afoot,
for tiny crabs to crawl.
We leave our own marks on paper,
on the corners of your favorite
chapbook, dampening pretty pages
with tears and while I think that your tears
fall from a very pretty face,
I still wish you wouldn’t cry on my
You loved to read from a book,
you like the paper between your fingers
and the black ink right before your
eyes, but nowadays even reading
glasses can’t help you. Fragmented, you’d cry,
it’s all fragmented and I don’t like the world
I am seeing! Oh dear,
I have never loved the world I have been living
in; perhaps I should have been born somewhere,
else – but you always told me to
stop with the nonsense! be thankful for
the life you have. In your company, I am actually
glad I wriggled out of your womb.
I, You. We don’t come together nicely,
our skin doesn’t coalesce like how I,
foetus, embryo, egg, non-existent, grain
of a being, used to nestle in your protection. Under
your care we fit together for nine months,
flesh and skin running along
the same seam. 9 months, 36 weeks, eighteen
days, all multiples of three. Although we’re
a family of two, I know I’ll miss you
enough for three. Baby steps, we shall take,
to prolong the time we have left…
you close your eyes
and I wish you hadn’t.
i’m back! after a ton of exams and a
bout of inspiration, i am finally OMG [writing grind, that is] 🙂
I’ve recently gotten a copy of LONTAR, #7! It’s great and I’d recommend it to anyone who feels a little down in the dumps :).
I poke at mother’s steaming dumplings (laid on one of those fancy china plates)
with a pair of chopsticks. She then scolds me for my improper use of the chopsticks;
my cloddish grip,
the way my dumpling-prodding is unsightly. Apparently, I am
never to use chopsticks like this again.
Mother iterates this like the chiding I have earnt is parable;
Unwittingly, I cut into her hemming and hawing,
brutishly, unanchored – like how I held the chopsticks.
Then why don’t I just eat the dumplings with a fork?
Her response is short and punchy, like what poetry websites want
in contributors’ submissions’;
How dare you
say that? Then don’t eat dumplings, don’t eat dinner – eat air with a fork!
My face crumples,
but I go on to tell my children How dare you when I realize that my
my cloddish grip
has been passed onto them. Sigh.
I am fourteen years old, easing into the Asian-way of things – fumbling throubh various steamboats and lo heis on Chinese New Year.