The Real Fengshui
his door faced the bend of a bridge
they told him that would bend his luck, so
he had the door torn down and bore through
a wall for a new door, one that faces
the Sun well for the sunshine of life
her door opened to the sharp edge
of a building she thought was the
inauspcious razor that had slashed
her chances in life, so with much incisive
belittlements of her neighbours,
she hung a ba kua mirror to throw back
what she thought should be theirs to keep
another one with the same predicarment
bought a large cannon to aim it at the poison arrow
she thought would overpower the bad influences
one man tore down a whole house
spending a few hundred thousands on
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Spirit of Love - The Little Crustacean
transparent, white
but the lines distinct
the little crustacean
the little prawn
so little it touches
the softest spot of my heart
throw it back
throw it back
the world screams to me
in each successive wave
the breeze soothes
my ruffled feeling
halcyon day
everything peaceful, calm
the little prawn
waves to me
as i take a look
at it again
wanting to be my friend?
its life and death
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Little Women
little women of my childhood gravel lane,
fill out a part of my memory of
linked-wooden houses built on stilts.
their crowning glories still so vivid;
how they flipped like a pendulum from
shoulder to shoulder as they ran;
those different-styled hair
each carving a story and character in
my own little women world;
straight, graceful tresses,
shoulder-length lioness-styled crown,
and their varied-toned skins;
fair, dark, palsy so many different shades
in one family, it's a wonder how genes work.
all these differences held tight by a love
that flowed so abundantly from shy mom and salt fish market businessman dad.
how they had run helter skelter
from their games of rope jumping, hide and seek, hopscotch, ....
for home when they saw daddy
strolling home with his straw basket round his elbow, the dollars and cents of the day to get the family runnning.
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A Prayer in Spring
the universe
flows through the man
a minscule of
all creations
a volcano
seethes beneath
a calm demeanor
the krakatoa
that never announced
its blast
lava and all
the anger
that seethes, it burns
through the man
the tempest
the wind, the thunder,
the lightning
that sweeps through the land
the dowager throws her tantrums
a whole army of men beheaded
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Remembering Roald Dahl - The Pig
firecrackers
were noisier
than the hosts
the pigs when
they were ushered
in three days ago
well, the crackers
since they were
invented were
to frighten away
the nien monster that
came plaguing
villagers every year
and their job is
to be loud to -
drown out the old year
and rock in the new
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The Summer Rain
My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
Plutarch was good, and so was Homer too,
Our Shakespeare's life were rich to live again,
What Plutarch read, that was not good nor true,
Nor Shakespeare's books, unless his books were men.
Here while I lie beneath this walnut bough,
What care I for the Greeks or for Troy town,
If juster battles are enacted now
Between the ants upon this hummock's crown?
Bid Homer wait till I the issue learn,
If red or black the gods will favor most,
Or yonder Ajax will the phalanx turn,
Struggling to heave some rock against the host.
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Who Is Now Reading This?
count yourself blessed
if you are reading this?
you are the rare few
who actually read others' poetry
nobody is serious about other people's life anyway
poetry reading is being noosy
an orphan in an alleyway
tries to look for a
home sweet home
count yourself doubled blessed
if you fully understand any poem
for poets write for themselves
if a poet says he writes for others
he is probably a liar
after money probably
count yourself blessed for having learnt this
for among the millions of poets
there are poets in lost alleys
trying to find a piece of themselves
the lane that runs to treasures of heart and mind
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A Song
well i hate to sing this song
this song written in black on white
the black words so prominent on the white sheet
in the proclamation of democracy
well, is there at all democracy in Whitman's world or to be exact
white men's world? Whitman's song of a great land and love of comrades how deceptive, unloving
oh what a black discovery to know that poets
too could be blinded to the real state of the world
racism, injustice; the loads of chained souls that arrived to greet
the Statue of Liberty, epitome of world freedom
in actuality always chained, mocked in black and white
oh the repair of the Statue a hundred years later
the main desire to whitewash it, whiten it
the last thing the statue should turn is black
this great land, how i wish the vision of liberty
would be viewed in the the Chinese principle of Ying and Yang
an equilibrium of black and white contributing to
a wholesome mind, body, spirit
in the plain of the wild i i cry out a justice song
day and night, of white light that brightens the dark night
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Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours
yet in this downcast hour
the mornlight
beautiful twitters of birds
lost in this dungeon of
meaninglessness of life
what sinful existence
day in day out
the beauty of the outside
that clashes with the
congested inside
that plies between loneliness,
sadness, anguish, near despair
yet the half opened window
on this seventh floor of the condominium
does not invite a jump
poet killers like plath and sextons are cowards
i dont fancy their cue
idiots slapping god's hands
so tirelessly, ceaselessly polish
the artistic soul, feelings
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After the Sea - Ship
a dancer on the stage
the ship and the sea my envy
they dance to god's repertoire
a heartwrenching spontaneous dance
energetically executed
over a stage that rotates in waves
strenuous steps that shuffle between life and death
poignant steps that send the hearts afiery, the feet frenzy
first a breeze, a soothing calm
that would soon throw the dancer helter skelter
onto a tempest
where the goddess of dance
has to be propitiated, called upon
for each step, each stomping of foot, feet
up and down, up and down
over treacherous waters
where the living bares their souls
and dancers fashion in motion every emotion
each muscle, each nerve
tested for their fitness in
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