Malaysiana - The Cultures in the Maidens
The maiden of Malaya is full of romance
Her hair curls and flows the way the Straits of
Malacca meets the Andaman, stretches of love that
sweep onto The Golden Chersonese
Seeds from afar as the desert plain of Arabia, the
land of Taj Mahal, Asoka - you see them dancing in her
ebullient eyes, magical eyes with lashes so long they
flip into your heart to remain in warm quarters you
could savour in the dead of nights
Her finely arched eyebrows sweep you through the
swathes and swathes of Arab sand where you remember
the Prophet and all his sayings
Layer upon layer of her young passion is played out by
the sand that swirls with the wind the moment it
blows, turning the clear sky into a miasma of her
desires
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Ode to Houses of Worship
my heart just refuses to be bound
i walk into the hindu temple
to savour the myriad manifestations
of the formless God, who can take any form
i walk into a buddhist temple
knowing that all the manifestations
wont help us one bit if we dont help ourselves
to heaven, nirvana, syurga, tiang tang
God can be a wine we lose our mind in
if we do not take him in the right way
whom we go to favours without fail
draining the blood of a thousand animals
in the mad scamble for favours in this sin laden realm
forgetting the task to liberate ourselves
buddha's wise dharma has brought us to our senses
that the soul is our responsibility and ours alone God or no God
and animals cannot walk us to God
if we dont even have a heart for them
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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In January
i could walk carefree
in tokyo streets and lanes
in october, november and early december
in my T-Shirt treating it as spring but not january
when the temperature would suddenly take a dip
like an olympic swimmer with fiery ambition
plunging into the pool
the chill bites into the most sensitive parts
near the chest, setting the bodice trembling,
teeth hitting each other the way dad shunts his soroban beads
shaking like the winter breeze on and off, on and off
throughout the lanes and streets
laughters, songs trail the ears
on and off, on and off as the izakaya door
opens to either welcome or sends off some customers
the cold and loneliness of the streets
make these drinking houses
feel like a happy family where children and parents
crowd together for their nightly fun
january in tokyo could either be warm or cold
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Chinese Cemetery
smoke trails the sky
over the cemetery
hell money burns
casting a misty layer
between this world
and the next
but not its reality
even after death
you need money
they reckon
stacks and stacks
they burn
every stack twenty million
everyone wants
their late next of kin
to be billionaires
to be rich
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Ode to the Umbrella
what inspired this poem
is mary poppins, the caring
British governor who carries
under her little pink umbrella
her warmth and the creme
de la creme of life lessons
and flies children into
home sweet home
every umbrella it has
become a metaphor to
carry off that great task
to make children laugh
warm and hearty as the
summer sky
japanese and chinese
traditional lacquered umbrellas
do that job come rain or shine
they always carry the herons,
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Malaysiana - The Maiden of Malaya
The maiden of Malaya
is full of romance
Her hair curls and flows
the way The Melaka Straits
meets the Andaman, stretches of love
that sweep onto The Golden Chersonese
Seeds from afar as the desert plain of Arabia,
the land of Taj Mahal, Asoka - you see them
dancing in her ebullient eyes, magical eyes
with lashes so long they flip into your heart
to remain in warm quarters you could
savour in the dead of nights
Her finely arched eyebrows sweep
you through the swathes and swathes of
Arab sand where you remember
the Prophet and all his sayings
Layer upon layer of her
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Omens
A single sheaf of large shrivelled
Teak leaf glided uncannily to the
Ground with a tap and continued its
Forlorn dance across the road below
A lone street lamp - right in front
Of me as I was cycling by troubled
By an upcoming undertaking.
The dropping Of a leaf as if portending some untoward
Happening coming my way, telling me
Not to go foward with what I had decided;
Nature's way of telling me to be careful,
That dangers lurked ahead; analoguous
To Caesar's wife's disturbing dreams
Of his coronation murder. I continued
The journey back home and was again
Greeted by a large black cat dashing
Across just as I was making my way to the porch.
I shivered, feeling lost for a second,
Sighed, laughed and went straight into
House with a lighter chest.
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Bird Came Down The Walk
bird fun, they are all up there
drizzle, the row of little robins on the wire
a lost bee flying by, takes a round and flies off,
bird fun, a little kite gliding chirping
a sentinel for female kite
hatching its young in the trees
bird fun, they are all down there
a white energetic scintillating dove
after the rain cleaning itself in a puddle
sprinkling off the water
inches its head in and out of water
quick and skillful as a roman prince in his bath
bird fun, they are all down here
a drowsy cockroach on the sundry shop verandah
snapped up by the sharp-eyed little sparrow
flew in, snapped and went without a care of the world
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Poem about Poetry - Poetry sites
if you wish to
have an afternoon
of fun, what about
reading throgh
the amateur poem
writing sites
the work here reeks
of things raw -
some even confessed
they wrote their work
while cutting their wrists
of things great -
some poets actually
are already carrying stars
- but think they need
to be on the ground
- stay in touch with
their best readers
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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