Acquainted with the Night
shut your eyes and dream
for that is where paradise is
the world is not
as good as a dream, daylight
at least for many
you see them
all over the morning papers
crimes that came out
of the nights
the husband who
in his rage
against a runaway wife
hanged all three children
and himself
terrorising readers
a wayward son
that beat mom to death
for a little money
to spend at the club
the old spinster
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Baby's world
baby's world
the parts i remember
for verses
come in growth
now recollected
for sheer fun
granny dipping her salty forefinger
into my tender mouth
for that budding first tooth
so well imprinted
after so many turbulent decades
mom swinging me to and fro
in a sarong suspended
from a spring tied to a pole
her poor attempt at lullaby
added to my pleasure
my head softly tugged against the floor
up and down, up and down
it went until i slipped into dreamland
and cowpox oh yes
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Seeing the world with god
i look through my body
at the world, the stars, moon
stars beyond stars
i know there are stars, moon
stars beyond stars too
from my temporary sphere
the aura that shines
from this physical self
the trillion of cells
all the moving atoms,
electrons, protons
the universe inside and out
i look at them
from my infinite self
god the puppeteer
shrewdly playing
the beginning, the end
the two walls
between the human brain
the man innocently walks
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Meeting With Despair
the cancer striken
has life ended for him
even before it ends?
the HIV child
has life cheated on him
before it has even began?
whose fault?
the worlds spins
without a care
she cries, nobody cares
the mother who refuses to let
her dead baby go
feeling its warmth
till the numbing cold
jolts her to realisation
that a phase of her life is over
her tears, broken heart
and the eerie cold
the clearcut divider
all the love that wont
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Brook In The City
in my heart
a river runs
alluvial, fishes,
leaves, flowers and all
a catfish winds
its way up to the surface
shows its pinkish whiskers
and round mouth
and down in a fleet second
puyu splash
their way down
after a fall
bubble, splash, bubble, splash,
big fish, small fish,
breakdance
down the river
their only way to show
joy and gratitude
for nature's care
like a gymnast
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Along the field as we came by
where i lived as a child
a little jungle thrived
opposite our row of
wooden houses
migrant houses
built just to live
with bare necessities
the beds, tables and chairs
mom's wedding presents
the only decor in the rooms
the few toys we begged
from dad and mom
strewn across the floor
the verandah sometimes
ended up on the shelf
oddly they sat to brighten up
our house
and over the jungle
a hive of activities
kept our days occupied
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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On Growing Old
only the bayan tree
by the temple seems
to be growing stronger
tougher these forty years
while my legs have loosen
developed rheumatism
the old cement floor too has
given way to the bayan's roots
that rise to show its steely strength
bayan, the first to herald
buddha's enightenment
our ancestor's friend
ever strong, tenacious,
saviour to barren women
seen occasionally
at lonely dawn
weeping profusely
for a heaven sent
smoke of their josssticks
angled on crevices,
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Poem about Poetry - An Eastern Ballad
i long to be an eastern poet
to write about the Great wall
wean stories from every tearstained stone
that still echoes the cries of those
missing homes, wives and children
walk its length to measure the cold
and forlorn monolith borne from the
heart of stones of Shih piled high
over hills and mountains
i long to be an eastern poet
to write about the legion of
gods and goddesses in the nook
and corner on the pantheons
of the the temples of india
those alluring and well endowed
gods and goddesses who stole from
heavens to teach about salvation
senseless senses, seeds of bondage
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Famous Moive Poem - Phantom of the Opera
do you cry
the night away
when laughters turn
into a bottle of sobs
of an alcoholic?
your warm heart
finding itself floating
on a lake of ice?
is the fabled tale
in the warmth
of your hands
slipping away
from your grip?
an opera singing
a dissonant tune to
your fantasy?
the director you seek
leaving you in a valley of wants?
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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I dance with the Gods and Goddesses
i could have danced away
in the lotus bloom,
the wood that
comes to life
under the hands
of a master carver.
my eyes fleet from
one sacred countenance
to the next,
the prelude to the
mystic dance
i am drawn to do
with the
gods and goddesses.
the first step
i learn from the
KuangYing (goddess of mercy)
with a thousand hands,
so graceful
and delicate
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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