MY POETRY

ONLY AT SEVENFIFTEEN AM

driving along the expressway today

in a rush to school i happened to lift my eyes

above the trafficcrowds and happened to see

the cottonball clouds

tinted a dainty, freshdyed pink against a

deeplybreathing blue sky.

May this remind me to lift my eyes above my circumstances everyday.

AND IT MADE ME FEEL LIKE I WANTED TO LIVE THERE AGAIN..

be a part of my own memories:

to smell the old smells and taste the old tang in the tar-laden air

weave through the old men and women and old plastic chairs

mosaic tables and floors and slow games of chess

astride thick-barked trees that grew old together with the land.

thirty years of accumulated grime squeezed between the bricked pavestones

sepia-toned conversations, childrens' laughter and a more innocent time

flash into memory; the stones at least remember.

it is no crime to be old.

the defining word of my life is: tired

my bones are weary with the sun

though i am yet young. would i

have held a different life though?

i don't think so. it is a privilege i feel

to carry my cross

and serve all i can.

but sometimes, just sometimes

i wish i could put everything down

slack in a corner for a while

return to being a child.

yet i know it cannot be

the world will never wait for me

and so i shoulder my cross anew

and wait on God to see me through.

Isaiah 40:31 - "But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint."

impromptu poetry: Rain in HCJC

it rained today..

as i stood at the end of the corridor

random drops sashayed on the senselessly

sensuously

exposed stone. glistening and wet

it invited.

back then

i loved the feeling of the raindrops as i ran

along the corridors and wings

moist wind and mist

would settle in and nestle in

my uniform and my hair

and i would emerge wild.

then, i was a child.

now, as i walk

i avoid the spray

i cannot afford to be sick today

for i have too much work to do.

besides, my hair colour would run.

a poem Written long ago, to someone forgotten long before.

the sky of the daytime burns bright blue, an achingly clear flame that ignites all space

and consumes it to nothingness

sun rays pour down

in an ellipse marked only by the shadows of dewdrops and the cry of windsong

bathed in sparseness stands the scene

of sky, land

you, me.

two hands not touching,

two minds yet feeling,

wanting to, yet fearing

to cross the great divide.

And the two stand

and watch the sky kiss the land

wondering why the distance between heaven and earth is breached far easier

than the distance between their souls.

i had a dream

Last night I dreamt of you:

It was raining in my dream, and I was running after a bus that refused to wait for me.

Somewhere down the road, it stopped and you made a space for me next to you.

The inner seat, and not the outer one, as though you wanted to protect me.

I was surprised, and rightly so, for I had never thought you would so do;

Perhaps it was because of the fat, lecherous unknown who had run with me for the bus and climbed in after me?

But anyway, the open-sided bus wove its way along the forested roads

and the humidity and rain made it cool and lovely.

Rising above a riverside gorge, I remember thinking that only eutrophication could have made the water such a deep green.

We laughed at the people wading their algae-coated way through the river,

and generally had a good time.

Flash.

Same position, you on my left, on a sofa watching the TV.

White sofa in a messy room, facing a wall of cupboards.

For some reason, I put my hand on your knee.

I do not know what made me so bold.

You reciprocated by curling an arm around my shoulders.

I cannot describe that feeling; I cannot put it into words.

I felt like I was home again, after a long and weary walk in the wilderness. Like it was the place I should rightly occupy, to be beloved by you.

Chin on your knee, and you let me channel-surf with the remote.

I was happy with your silence,

and you were comfortable with my dependence.

And then they came in; two,

unknown again, other vague characters of dreamland

The channel was Wikipedia then; I must have confused a computer monitor with the TV.

The two expounded on relationships;

and said we were an example of a Dominant-Loyalist pair or some such

(whatever would that mean?)

It was enough to bring us to self-awareness, and we both sat straight.

Before long, my hand found yours, and you pulled my hand to your lips.

Blushing, I stood and walked out of the room; you followed.

Willing you to ask; for some reason, next to the ironing board.

You would have knelt down and taken out a ring, in idealism,

but then I woke up.

To the realization that it was all just a dream,

And I refused to unclose my eyes and uncurl myself from the bed, for a reluctance to face the reality that such a dream would never be.

I am content to live in the happy fantasy.