Archive for the ‘poems’ Category
Taste the songs of birds
See the scent of morning dew
Hear the richness of honey
Smell rainbows forming
Fight the blues with my illnesses
Excel with my imperfections
Repeat mistakes to make them right
Start to count the
And live life like it’s unreal.
The prince’s response to a hundred-year long.
I’ve been raised by my father the King for many purposes,
the first of which is to take over his kingdom one day
I hope, one day far far away –
I hide this fear of responsibility deep inside me.
The second of which is to learn of the seven languages,
including the language of the swordfight.
I dare say I am the best fighter in this kingdom,
The kingdom I am to take over, one day far away.
The third of which is to protect my mother the Queen,
frail as she is as she gave birth to triplets,
my two brothers they died as infants,
and that is why my purposes are multiplied.
The last of which is to marry the sleeping princess.
My father said her kingdom’s riches would be mine,
my mother said her beauty and her soul would be mine.
P.S. They had not seen her, nor her kingdom, for themselves.
So here I am, cutting brambles which grew over a long-forgotten castle
While my second cousin removed took over my ride and game
While my squire feasts his eyes on the mermaids down the road
While my entire court, really, drinks tea and eats supper.
This girl, they say, I must kiss –
With lips I used to kiss Penelope and Amalia –
Both of whom just found out about each other and about the sleeping princess,
And then they left me. Damn girls.
Father, mother, ’tis my duty to please you,
so here I am climbing over crumbling walls
dreading kissing a hundred-year old gal (what breath!)
while slaying the dragon in the way (two strokes and a half, I do believe this beats my record).
Finally, I step on long dark hair
which had grown over a hundred years.
In a room which stank of mildew
But she smells like roses and she looks, well, like a princess.
Well, she is fair enough to be a wife.
I hope she cooks and cleans and does the chores.
I certainly won’t mind her next to me at night.
Here it goes. The kiss to seal my fate (and hers, I suppose).
She did not wake.
And I watch as maggots crawl out of her ears.
And the smell of roses were funeral flowers.
Blimey, I think I’m at the wrong castle.
hello, how are you?
how am i? perfectly fine
ignore these tear-stained cheeks will you
ignore the tremble in my voice
i am perfectly perfection
hello dear, how are you?
how am i? could be better
but generally fine, it’s nothing much
what’s wrong you say?
nothing at all! (what gave it away?
do i look pale? but i always look pale.
my eyes, downcast? gray? lightless?)
hi mum. how’s dad.
oh that? …
i don’t want to talk about it.
hey, sorry i couldn’t pick up, it was my mum.
you know how it is.
you should be honored.
i’m about to tell you something
it’s bad, real bad-
feel the gut and the wrench and the stab
in the back.
feel sorry for me.
it’s so easy to share the good news.
exciting to share the ugliness
as long as it’s other people’s
but my bad news is mine alone
thank you for taking on a piece of it.
Forked through my wallet stained pink
Saw the blood red, purple notes
I won’t be using those in a while
Strange-shaped coins, just like my strange-shaped fears
I paid the cabby,
He shortchanged me
If you value that extra dollar much, sir,
I guess you can have it, take it – but not without my curses!
Tottered up in my new high heels, the new nude
was what the shopgirl said at Louboutin
Gripped that railing by the pool and hurled
New nude, dirty nude floated but I still felt like ash
Home to an empty home, but it’s still sweet
Although my lips taste sour and my stomach is acid
I should probably feel bitter
But sugar, we all should and could survive, I s’pose.
I forgot my daddy’s birthday.
The more meaningful the present, the harder to get.
Just got home from Players… V tired. Ended 5th, but damn so much hard work just to break even. Inspired to write a poem… I shall finish writing it by 5.00 am.
The quiet of the morning makes me think
How everything has an end
Even the sky needs to touch the ground, somehow
You can’t fight this limit
And we only want things that we lack
So henceforth thus, do you realize
The yearning may be worth having more
Than the thing itself?
Also. In this dark you fear for ghosts and ghouls.
But fear them not, feel their envy
It’s really all you, scaring yourself silly
You imagine, you dream, you breathe, they can’t
4.52, 8 minutes til I wrap this up
Time stands still at dawn really
You can be anything, think anything these remaining minutes
But come 5 am, touch the end of the sky and wait for the sun.
Not sure if I’ve put this poem up before, but it’s one of the poems I studied while in Bath and it reminds me, on top of that delightful time of idyllic classes with Zee and Yang, the depth of sadness that I would never wish to experience.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
There was once a lady in white. Her long silken gown would trail behind her, making ripples like the ocean, as she walked barefooted. Her hair, as white and as long as her gown, glinted in the sun like silver strands; but it was by the moonlight that it glowed so she was bathed in a halo.
The lady in white was searching for something. She felt she had been searching for it her whole life, but that should not be the case. For she had lived a long, long life. She was older than the forests, as old as the sky. But you would not know it looking at her face. Fair, flushed with pink, she had been twenty-six years for as many centuries.
She came to a winding road lined with cottages, one night. The first was mahogany brown, with a tiny chimney. Smoke puffed out in wispy streams. A man was raking the field. One glance at her and he paused for a long second.
“I am searching for something,” she said, in a voice so whispery it kissed his ears.
The man, as if magicked, replied dazedly, “Could it be the feel of a home, comfort, and stability?”
She tilted her head. “No,” she said, and then, “I’m sorry.” She raised her hand slightly and made a tugging motion. The man’s eyes could still register the shock, but only for a half of a half of a second. For his heart had been ripped clean off him, and she was holding it in her hand.