How sad, NDP just had to be right after Beijing's big day. But it's okay, let me sing you a song.
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to Singapore
Happy birthday to you
You’re a peaceful country
Where no villains roam free
We laugh as we’re tethered by
Realpolitik democracy
We are so, so happy
With our peace and prosperity
Please build more casinos
To feed our families
And so…..
Happy birthday to Yew
Happy birthday to Yew
Happy birthday to singapore
Happy birthday to Yew!!!
Saturday, 9 August 2008
Friday, 1 August 2008
Longhand Is Better
Longhand Is Better
It amazes me that sometimes time makes me wonder how
I did what I did a long time ago when I wasn’t sure where
Time would take me.
It is like how
Rust
Eats
It amazes me that sometimes time makes me wonder how
I did what I did a long time ago when I wasn’t sure where
Time would take me.
It is like how
Rust
Eats
Away
The
Mettle
Of
Life
The
Mettle
Of
Life
And
Her
Her
Thoughts
Or how w e a r y m u s c l e s stretch the elasticity of the will
Even to the extent of adding
Ses…ses-qwee…sex-khee...sex-khee-pee-da-liahn…puh-day-liahn…sick-ski…
…Words or seasonal expressions to make a piece of work
Seem more complicated and conceited than it already
Is, all to only capture your attention for a minute or so.
So I ask: What structures the basis of rambling?
Longhand will always be better
For the man who is losing touch
And tearing at his writings,
And whose freedom is his prisoner’s-train-ride to the Arctic
Where upon the conception of “cold, wintry nights versus the warmth of love”,
Ink doesn’t dry but freezes instead.
Or how w e a r y m u s c l e s stretch the elasticity of the will
Even to the extent of adding
Ses…ses-qwee…sex-khee...sex-khee-pee-da-liahn…puh-day-liahn…sick-ski…
…Words or seasonal expressions to make a piece of work
Seem more complicated and conceited than it already
Is, all to only capture your attention for a minute or so.
So I ask: What structures the basis of rambling?
Longhand will always be better
For the man who is losing touch
And tearing at his writings,
And whose freedom is his prisoner’s-train-ride to the Arctic
Where upon the conception of “cold, wintry nights versus the warmth of love”,
Ink doesn’t dry but freezes instead.
~tc©
Tuesday, 6 May 2008
Sunday, 4 May 2008
Letters from Home
Letters from Home
I live at the main street
Begging for another chance to gamble
Alone with many other
People. Darkness was a robe
I picked up from the drain.
I embrace it, the one-size-embrace-all; like
Everyone does. It’s strewn everywhere but
Everyone fights to be a proprietor, flourishing swords of lucre, fending off
Competitors. As for
Me, it’s also all
I can afford to don, since
I squandered
My hoard of time and exchange away to the
Passers-by who look no different than
Me.
I live at the main street and
I’m not any cleaner than it is.
It’s wide and crowded with faceless
People, but
I enjoy
Their company.
People pity me once in a while and drop
Me a rotten stick or some dark fabric to prop
Myself up or to patch the holes that
Rats chew in the dead of the night.
But everyday there’s a flash of light-
The postman dressed in white who delivers me
Letters from home. I’ve
Never opened any one of them
But now my
Blackened nails move to
Peel the side of an envelope.
It tells me:
Darkness is the uniform of the modern parade;
It’s not too late to start playing for keeps. I
See a narrow alley across the street. I
Follow it.
I live at the main street
Begging for another chance to gamble
Alone with many other
People. Darkness was a robe
I picked up from the drain.
I embrace it, the one-size-embrace-all; like
Everyone does. It’s strewn everywhere but
Everyone fights to be a proprietor, flourishing swords of lucre, fending off
Competitors. As for
Me, it’s also all
I can afford to don, since
I squandered
My hoard of time and exchange away to the
Passers-by who look no different than
Me.
I live at the main street and
I’m not any cleaner than it is.
It’s wide and crowded with faceless
People, but
I enjoy
Their company.
People pity me once in a while and drop
Me a rotten stick or some dark fabric to prop
Myself up or to patch the holes that
Rats chew in the dead of the night.
But everyday there’s a flash of light-
The postman dressed in white who delivers me
Letters from home. I’ve
Never opened any one of them
But now my
Blackened nails move to
Peel the side of an envelope.
It tells me:
Darkness is the uniform of the modern parade;
It’s not too late to start playing for keeps. I
See a narrow alley across the street. I
Follow it.
~tc
Sunday, 27 April 2008
Spirit
Spirit by Switchfoot
Spirit, fall fresh on me
Spirit, fall fresh on me
Hear my cry, fill my life
I won't need anything but You.
I've found all that I want, all that I longed for in You
I've found all that I want, all that I longed for in You
Wasted time, is when I'm far from Your truth
I've found all that I want, all that I longed for in You
Spirit, come be my joy
Spirit, come be my joy
Be my song, fill my lungs
I won't need anything but You
祷告与赞美 06/08.
Saturday, 1 March 2008
Blood Test
Blood Test
The clock stares at me staring at the words.
There's a swelling in my heart.
Apparently, it tells me what I see is
Easy to take. "Take it easy,"
It says, with the conducive thumping of a hammer
Whose head is scourged with a rotting rust.
The nails are driven into paper
With torturous leisure. My heart brims with
The blood of the futility of thought.
The screaming flakes of rust make brown the desk
Like coagulated blood. "Bear with the sight,
You'll find something to write." I flinch at the incantation
And look again at the paperthin lady
Pregnant with death; the stench of
Putrefying blood strangles the pit of my palm.
It loses grip. It succumbs to pungent grip.
It suffocates my throat. "Have a sip of water."
The blood liquefies and flows,
Annexing the concrete ground underneath
Infiltrating the pores of
My sweat sickened flesh trembling with every blink
Of her fixed gaze.
The bones of my arms arch in paralysis; I see that
She has more than two bloodshot eyes.
There is a swelling in my heart, the cancerous growth of failure.
"Pens down."
~tc
Thursday, 14 February 2008
Value-time's Day
(11:57pm, 13-2-08)
(At the rooftop of some obscure place)
Boy (whispers) : My love,
Girl (in the warmth of his arms) : Yes dear?
Boy: You are… (deep breath)
My moonlight in the ravines,
The apple of my eye.
You’re my lily in the sunshine,
And the star that lights my sky!
Girl: Aww… (adores wide-eyed, beaming) mmm go on…
Boy: Hahaha!
(panics)
Er…
You are… (deeper breath)
The green leaves in my winter,
The durian on my tree.
You’re the soil and I’m bacteria
My culture shall grow in glee!
Girl (giggles uncontrollably) : Mmm go on...hee…
Boy (subtly performs ‘YES, I’M THE MAN.’ gesture):
You are
The dandruff on my pillow,
The earwax in my ear.
You’re the chocolate on my marshmallow,
My eyebags and my beer.
Girl (dubious) : Wha-
Boy (this is too easy):
You’re the lemon in my lemonade,
The soap that cleans my groin
You’re the blanket when I drool in bed
And my wallet’s ten-cent coin!
You’re the angpao-
Girl: Oh just shut up and kiss me.
Boy: Oh. Okay.
And somewhere as a distant clock strikes twelve, the stars are once again the only witnesses for yet another happy couple.
14th February ("Valentine's Confession" edited)
Are these flowers here for me?
Is that a diamond ring I see?
Am I who I seem to be?
I long to see my bride within
Your bright and gentle redness clean
If people had a heart for me
Then we could fly between them free
Like signatures that coincide
with diamond doves and joyful brides
Like promises that come to verve
From black and white to redness serve
How noble are these chains of love
And when I saw the two aspire
A feather through a silver ring
I thought of how the rest conspire
For just a moment’s preferencing
I wish my short-lived day of birth
Would last till heaven’s fall on earth.
What if today can unbind me?
Love at Second Glance
Some people say that this was how love was made,
Not our common notion of made, not for what price can be paid
But the core of it all, is what I articulate
is that maybe love is just a hormone secreted from day to day.
No no, you don’t-know desperados, love was never ever made,
It rests in the form of a golden planet not quite far away!
Its brightness in the gloomiest nights never seem to fade,
not especially in the darkness, where it can be made.
(Yes now I refer to upper lines of fiscal masquerades.)
Cattle dung! cry our geniuses with dangling crosses
(who never get laid…
not ‘till they wed)
Love is in Corinthians, what more has to be said?
Salesmen preach of spring, sponge and latex gadgets
But I reckon it exceeds the covers of the harem beds
It drinks not wine but spit and spite
It’s not endocrine and it is despite
I’ve seen its lines and squares and appetite
and what it offers is truly divine
So what about love at first sight?
Somebody said God made us in pairs long before time
and when there was earth He threw us inside
a mix and match of search and find
with Him to pronounce where it honestly resides.
(At the rooftop of some obscure place)
Boy (whispers) : My love,
Girl (in the warmth of his arms) : Yes dear?
Boy: You are… (deep breath)
My moonlight in the ravines,
The apple of my eye.
You’re my lily in the sunshine,
And the star that lights my sky!
Girl: Aww… (adores wide-eyed, beaming) mmm go on…
Boy: Hahaha!
(panics)
Er…
You are… (deeper breath)
The green leaves in my winter,
The durian on my tree.
You’re the soil and I’m bacteria
My culture shall grow in glee!
Girl (giggles uncontrollably) : Mmm go on...hee…
Boy (subtly performs ‘YES, I’M THE MAN.’ gesture):
You are
The dandruff on my pillow,
The earwax in my ear.
You’re the chocolate on my marshmallow,
My eyebags and my beer.
Girl (dubious) : Wha-
Boy (this is too easy):
You’re the lemon in my lemonade,
The soap that cleans my groin
You’re the blanket when I drool in bed
And my wallet’s ten-cent coin!
You’re the angpao-
Girl: Oh just shut up and kiss me.
Boy: Oh. Okay.
And somewhere as a distant clock strikes twelve, the stars are once again the only witnesses for yet another happy couple.
14th February ("Valentine's Confession" edited)
Are these flowers here for me?
Is that a diamond ring I see?
Am I who I seem to be?
I long to see my bride within
Your bright and gentle redness clean
If people had a heart for me
Then we could fly between them free
Like signatures that coincide
with diamond doves and joyful brides
Like promises that come to verve
From black and white to redness serve
How noble are these chains of love
And when I saw the two aspire
A feather through a silver ring
I thought of how the rest conspire
For just a moment’s preferencing
I wish my short-lived day of birth
Would last till heaven’s fall on earth.
What if today can unbind me?
Love at Second Glance
Some people say that this was how love was made,
Not our common notion of made, not for what price can be paid
But the core of it all, is what I articulate
is that maybe love is just a hormone secreted from day to day.
No no, you don’t-know desperados, love was never ever made,
It rests in the form of a golden planet not quite far away!
Its brightness in the gloomiest nights never seem to fade,
not especially in the darkness, where it can be made.
(Yes now I refer to upper lines of fiscal masquerades.)
Cattle dung! cry our geniuses with dangling crosses
(who never get laid…
not ‘till they wed)
Love is in Corinthians, what more has to be said?
Salesmen preach of spring, sponge and latex gadgets
But I reckon it exceeds the covers of the harem beds
It drinks not wine but spit and spite
It’s not endocrine and it is despite
I’ve seen its lines and squares and appetite
and what it offers is truly divine
So what about love at first sight?
Somebody said God made us in pairs long before time
and when there was earth He threw us inside
a mix and match of search and find
with Him to pronounce where it honestly resides.
~tc©
Here's a triple-treat for those of you who still visit this patient page-patient who has but one leg in the coffin. Happy Valentines' amigos; make love not war; spread Jesus!
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