Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

It Might As Well Be Summer



Last night
there was much rage
at the local laze-park.
The police and the commoners
clashed ideas and heads
in the heat of
social injustice.
And it was only mid-April.

A teenage loner,
much too furious
to play by the rules,
killed six and himself
on a sunny Saturday
in the heat of
social apathy.
And it was only mid-April.

An asylum-seeker,
thrown off balance by
the crooked wheel of Western justice,
set himself alight
burning fierce and bright
in the heat of
social marginality.
And it was only mid-April.

Last night
there was much loose talk
about holiday and future plans
among the clubhoppers
and their ha-ha friends
in the heat of
tropic mid-April.
I said to myself,
“It might as well be summer.”

Copyright Edward C.W. Ong, 2011.
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The Importance of being Earnest

Social, carnal, their wants remain eternal
Pretentious attitudes make them insufferable.
If Care nests itself in the heart’s deepest hole,
Why play a song and then go home?

The kidneys yearn for that mechanical obtrusion,
But however, was it once an illusion?
For here it mirrors, assimilated not
By the failing education that simply clots.

To pursue a higher level of self-gratification,
Materialism and little amusements.
Bah! Tell me next time if you’re coming,
Because then I’ll be blissfully sleeping.

by Lim Wei Jie
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FF FM and Fairlady (Nurhayati Ishak June 08)


FF  FM
Nurhayati Ishak

Cheerleading is my thing,
Paintball is your thing,
Taptaprevenge is our thing.

Facebook is my thing,
Twitter is your thing,
Skype is our thing.

Garlic prawn is my thing,
Risotto is your thing,
The apartment is our thing.

Banana blast off is my thing,
Immuno kick is your thing,
Raspberry blackcurrent is our thing.

I am your one,
You are my only,
We are the one and only.

Fairlady.

No doubt you look hot and yummy. So smooth so sleek. How I wish I can run through my fingers on you. Damn you can really show that off. That smell, oh so wonderful. I could just hold you tight and we'll definitely go for a ride! Just you and I. Alone. Every hour, every minute and every second of the day. You know you're perfect for me. Not too big. Not too small. You’re just nice. I was in awe when I saw you for the first time. You're oh so pretty my wonderful white Fairlady (;
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I Wonder ( Tee Annli, 1 Galileo)


            I wonder how wheels turn,
            And touching fire burns,
            Why crocodiles never frown,
            Why pigs always look down.

            Why is the sky often blue,
            Why not green, pink or maroon?
            Why do bells ring?
            And how do birds sing?

            Why are ants so small,
            And giraffes so tall?
            Why does the sun go away?
            And come back the next day?

            Why do dogs bite?
            Why do we have sight?
            Why are bats blind?
            And diamonds come from mines?

As I ponder on these things,
I realise that Earth is simply amazing!

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See me Hear me (nalza)

See me Hear me
nalza

Fleeting glances, downward eyes
hidden feelings, awkward smiles.

A touch of hope, when I see you glance at me.
A whisper of doubt, when you look away.
A shiver of excitement, every time you walk by.
A heavy disappointment, when you seem to disappear.

Do you notice me when I am standing there?
Do you even have the slightest care?

It seems to me,
you look but you don’t see.
Open your eyes and widen your mind,
see the soul behind the disguise,
beauty comes, beauty goes
but the beauty of the heart is what remains behind...


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RM11000 broken down into 11000 RM 1s (Muhammad Azhar Bin Abdullah)

RM11000 broken down into 11000 RM 1s
Muhammad Azhar Bin Abdullah

4800 hours
2400 customers
1200 cans of soft drinks
600 yummy ice-creams sold
three hundred packs nasi lemak
two hundred packs of tasty noodles
a hundred and fifty sets of “nasi beriyani”
a hundred and twenty mouth-watering curry puffs
a hundred sweets of assorted flavours sold out quickly
ninety accurate, close and hopelessly astray throws at cans
eighty stalks of red and pink roses accompanied Cupid’s arrows
seventy hot chocolate-coated marshmallows sold on Valentine’s Day
sixty containers of fresh chocolate chip cookies snapped up by gourmets
fifty slices of marble butter cakes and chocolate cakes sold at Merdeka Carnival
forty packs of delicious fruit salad (rojak buah) sold during Swimming Gala
thirty packs of spice-packed curry chicken sold and eaten within minutes
twenty putts, mostly unsuccessful, at mini golf course during Open Day
ten months in 2008 - planning, experimenting and implementation
nine times we fell, nine times we got up and brushed off the dirt
eight super committee members as movers and shakers
seven fantastic ideas implemented successfully
six other ideas that hit some rough patches
five roc teachers working hand in hand
four major fundraisers events
three major donors
two motorbikes
one vision
roc
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The Connection (Chin Keat Meng , June 09)


It goes on, 
it goes off. 
And sometimes 
it doesn’t come on at all.

I want it fast, it prefers to take its time. 
And when you need it most it crashes like so much trash.

It is amazing how such a high-tech piece of “equipment” 
can be so undependable, unreliable… 
Unbelievable!

It is the blasted Connection
I am ranting about, the invisible link to the wonderful world of the Internet. 
It baffles me how such a superficial “tool” can be so utterly temperamental.
The I.T. guy that came in said something about the DNS (and a bunch of other stuff I can’t remember),
 but I knew that the Connection has a life of its own.
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Poem: Hello?



Who’s there?
I call out,
As I must know,
If I’m alone,
Or I have some company.

Who’s there?
Echoes reply,
Unable to lie,
Perhaps tonight,
I just might be on my own.

Who’s there?
My skin tingles,
My brows wrinkle,
Upon receiving,
This question from beyond.

Who’s there?
What is your name?
Where are you from?
Are you alive?
Or are you not among the living?

I’m here,
The whispers,
Embrace my ears,
I succumb to fear,
Forgetting the package I was meant to deliver.


by Khairil Abdul Ghani (June 08)
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Loneliness: A Utopian Nightmare

by Lewis Jackson (June 08)


            Today’s world is characterized by speed; we are a people that are truly on the move. From the angered banging of the table when a program fails to load instantaneously, to the hurried cadence of the march which characterizes today’s executive; we are ceaseless in our efforts to speed things up. Today’s world is not satisfied with anything but instant gratification, and the entire service industry has adapted to fit our desire. One has only to look as far as fast food, one of the most defining concepts of our generation to see our desire projected onto food as well. We have let speed become one of the most treasured qualities of today’s marketplace, where speed and its sister ease of use rule an oligarchy of thought.

            This epidemic of thought is most visible in the desperately treasured youth of today. Having grown up at the very cusp of the technological revolution, knowing nothing of the before and seeing only before it the boundless open spaces offered by this delightful new medium, this generation has not stopped in its ceaseless journey forward. Technology and its mediums are the train pushing forward, building its rails as it goes, and sitting atop in true pioneer fashion: with the wind in their faces and the excitement ever-present, is this generation. Information technology has managed to accomplish something unique to technology of the past, in that it can self-replicate fast enough to update itself. The train never fears a lack of fuel, for with every day there comes a new sacrifice to the furnace.

            So we sit upon the train, and we scream, oh how we scream our lungs out. We pat each other on the back, and gaze with awe upon our surroundings. Yet there seems to be a problem: we can’t hear each other over the rush of the wind. Ah well, we sigh, hand signs will suffice; yet secretly we sigh with relief at no longer having to talk to fatso at the other end of the train, hand signals being so easy to ignore after all. Information technology is unique among our many creations in that it has managed to magnify the creator. Our own creation has managed to turn itself upon us, and Technology now has highlighted the innate selfishness of man.

            Man has shown throughout his long and colorful history to have the capacity for extreme acts of dastardly evil, yet also a redeeming quality expressed within his ability to love unconditionally. However, man has long struggled with his darker nature, and oftentimes it comes to the fore, with selfishness and greed taking the forefront; disguised with words like “independent,” “motivated,” “self-reliant,” and “driven.” Technology today has allowed man to be able to think about the one thing man holds most important: himself, and at the same time degrade the level of effort needed to deal with less important things, namely: other people. Oh man hides it well, cowering behind large checks and bags of rice, disguising it with soup kitchens and homeless shelters; but at the end of the day the majority of mankind cares well and truly only for themselves. And as we all know too well, the majority is all that matters in this world.

            Many will question, for technology has wormed its way into our lives with brightly colored boxes, dazzling displays and lovely buttons, all proclaiming instant communication, ceaseless connections and social networks to daunt a hedonist. However, technology has put in our hands the answer to most of man’s secret prayer; we can now have nothing to do with people yet seem to have a discernable impact on their lives. Man no longer has to care, yet we can hide this relief; it is after all culturally looked down upon, behind the speeding train of technology. When one does not have to listen to another person, it is oh so easy to ignore them in all but the superficial and engross oneself in the most important thing in the world: oneself. This is seen as negative by our collective culture, but is one of those curious hypocrisies in which we look down upon something we secretly long to be able to do. We condemn most strongly that which tempts us the most, after all what else would garner so much of our attention?

            Facebook is one of the most obvious offenders in this category, reducing complex human interaction to the clicking of a few buttons and the tapping of a few keys. While Facebook would proclaim to have laid the entire gamut of human interaction down in one small easy to use interface, thus enabling us to share ourselves with more and more people, Facebook has in fact allowed us to show interest in people’s lives for absolutely no effort. No longer does one have to calendar friends’ birthdays, laboriously buy a birthday card, nor write a message longer than “Happy Birthday,” and then mail it off. Effort is no longer needed, and therefore dead. Man’s greatest dream is accomplished: being able to appear to show interest in the life of another, cultural decorum must be maintained after all, yet contribute no effort to such an action. For interest in another’s life by definition requires effort on the investigating part with little or no promise of return, a thought most painful to the majority of humans. Where once we would have had to make a painful effort, where no desire to was exhibited; now we can use absolutely no effort to make a gesture that by dint of this lack of effort should be meaningless. Social networking has not brought people closer, it has allowed people to send nothingness to more and more people with no extra input. For what effort is needed to type out a few words and click send? It is a fallacy exposed only once one can recognize nothing for what it is, however today’s world has gone a long way into disguising nothingness as substance. It could be argued that today’s entertainment world is growing more and more adept at this process. Yet one could argue that it is merely humanity, by dint of internal urge, has destroyed its ability to discern something from nothing. After all, if one does not practice, one forgets.

            At this current point, the lie is kept alive by our cultural perceptions. At this point it is still culturally desirable to care for people, and more so to want to care for people.  However this is beginning to fray at the edges, already we joke about “not giving a shit” or being “too busy.” This is still said of course with a quick look around to judge for approval, and the phrase “just joking” being on the tip of our tongues. Yet this cultural desire, to want to care for others, conflicts with most people’s priorities that being of course themselves. Yet our society allows for us to once again make a gesture with no discernable efforts. Charity exists to take advantage of this innate desire, and thrives on donations of people, people claiming to be putting others first by dint of giving their own money. However, most money given is what can be afforded, therefore it requires no effort. What is it to give $10,000 when one has millions? The gesture fulfills cultures expectation yet allows us to expend no effort; a perfect win-win situation.

            One question however looms large. Culture which is in essence collective human opinion does change, and if current human opinion stands at this point, how long before culture is changed and this final motivator is removed. Technology is well on the way to accomplishing this, with the latest Farce being Facebook’s: “Click to donate a dollar to African children,” or other similar hyperboles. A forerunner to this was of course the infamous forward emails with their sugared promises of “A dollar donated for each forward.” If one thinks logically, one realizes that no money will be donated, and that clicking will not in fact feed the starving multitude. However, thinking is oh so much trouble. Why bother your mind and conscience with questions such as this, when to click is to layer on the soothing balm of satisfaction and enable you to continue with your own priorities, having fulfilled your “quota” of good deeds. This is in essence doublethink as outlined by George Orwell in “1984.”

            There is a danger in this, this fear of thinking, this selfishness, that has been foretold many times over. Bradbury touches on it in “Fahrenheit 451,” where a society ceases to think, where instant pleasure and acceptance is simpler and easier. The danger is ourselves and comes from ourselves. We want everything now, and we want not to care. Oh how we wish we did not have to care, for to care is to worry, and when one worries one is not having fun. Yet beware this path, for oversimplification means the sacrifice of what may define us as human.

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Peom: KILLING ALZHEIMER

by Pratik Raghu (June 09)
Two black flames had been masked by cloud,
A knife’s edge had been smothered by a shroud,
Two titanium claws had been gnawed by age,
An indomitable eagle had been trapped in a cage,
A razor of a beak had been all but clipped,
Towards unbroken silence the scales seemed tipped,
The forest floor slid slowly out of frame,
But the battered raptor would not succumb in shame,
The shadows of its feathers were again on the ground,
It soared to another tree, and there it found,
Chicks that nudged the side of its head,
Chirps that drowned out bitterness and dread,
Then and again it plummeted from the nest,
Still, still, it refused compliance and rest,
Now, it squints at the demon that hangs,
And rolls back the years to shatter its fangs,
For, you see, the blaze that appeared doused and gone,
Now roasts misery from dusk to dawn.
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Poem: The Journey

by Muhammad Azhar Bin Abdullah
4th August 2008

We started this journey
Very much aware of the vast distance, challenges and potential obstacles
After all, we had a solid foundation
Thanks to the previous architects, engineers and labourers

We saw our tower taking shape
A mere boulder it seemed like
A small speck in the horizon
Where the blue of the ocean danced with the blue of the sky
The clouds choreographing this dance of nature

We soldiered on
Oblivious to the scorching sun intertwined with the torrential downpour
Powered on by pure energy and determination
Much like Pheidippides in the early stages of his message-bearing marathon

Then the journey began to take its toll
The sheer magnitude began to hit us
Were we like the ancient Egyptians toiling away on the pyramids
Only to see blocks of sandstone?
Or like the ancient Greeks working on the Parthenon at the Acropolis
Only to see columns?

We were in our 40 year wilderness
Working, working and working
And yet not reaching our destination
The work on the tower seemed to have stagnated 
Rise from the ground it did
Yet touch the sky it did not

Seven years of good weather behind us
Seven years of bad weather ahead of us

Walking along the dried sea bed
Yet we soldiered on
Burning from the scorching sun
Not a drop of rain to counter the heat
Energy sapped, determination crumbling
Did Pheidippides ever wonder whether he would finish his marathon?

Then came the turning point
God ripped open the sky
Letting down a sea of water
Drenching our bodies and souls
Our flooding of the Nile had begun
Sweeping us away on her mighty currents
  
Did our eyes deceive us?
The horizon was an arm’s length away
The tower was reaching out to the sky
Pheidippides running like the wind upon seeing the end
The sea breeze could be felt
We could taste the salt in the air

It seemed effortless now
We were simply flowing along
Hearts pounding in anticipation of the impending end

We looked in awe

Where once the magnificent Lighthouse of Alexandria stood
There now stood our tower
Her head in the clouds

We were emptied by the God-sent river
Into the blue sea

Legs wobbling
Hearts full
Spirits ablaze
We walked to our tower

We had arrived.
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Poem: Meow Part III

by Aimran Alif

If you could see through my eyes you would see yourself-
A tiny speck in the distance,
result of the void you’ve made as resistance.
If you could speak through my lips you would find them-
nailed together violently.
If I am to love, I must do so silently.
If you could write with my hand you would find it-
dripping slowly from the wrist,
I am not allowed to openly love, and so I must resist.
If only you could feel with MY heart, you might find yourself-
finally allowing yourself to be cherished
instead of forbidding me from your house of cards
and slowly, watching me perish.
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The Present

This, I’m writing a poem for you, you and you.
I am not over you. I am falling for you. I am flirting with you.

Right at this moment,
I am dreaming, dreaming about you.
Finally, we are one once again.
But, it’s just a dream.
Definitely, I am not over you.

Right at this moment,
You are wearing that polo shirt,
Making me wanting you even more,
Falling for you even more,
And deeper.

Right at this moment,
You are so flirting with me,
Wanting me so badly,
Pulling me inside of you,
Playing around with your words just to get me with you.

This, I’m writing a poem about you, you and you.
I am not over you. I am falling for you. I am flirting with you.
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POEM:

Sedated

I remember
White walls
Brick and mortar, plaster and paint
I used to stare
Splash a little
Colour
Around in my head
Stain them scarlet red
Most of the time
Some days scarred black
They always seep back into the cracks
And leave me
Fading, falling into oblivion

Always


I avoid cold glass
Because
Seeing
Parallel, empty copies of me
(Or am I the one that's empty?)
Scares me
More than I like

To admit

That
A wraith
Haunts every breath
And every damn step
Closer to you
That

I take


Too much
Sometimes, I suck
You bone dry
I break your brittle
Fragile paper body
Puncture your
Pretty organs
I play with your
Sick brain
Corrupt it
A little more
Each time I leave you
Stranded deeper
In

The dark

Is generous
It takes away pain
It hides secrets
It distorts the truth
Keeps the fear
Cemented six feet under
With things
Long dead and nightmares

Unseen


Hands
Hold me down
Strap me tight
To my gurney
I resist, for awhile
Just to keep
Things interesting
They tell me
To behave
So that I will get better
"It won't hurt"
No, it doesn't
Or at least, they make me believe
That it won't

But
I'm back
To white walls
Iron, metal
Dig into my mortal
Flesh
They sting, and run
The brightest ruby river
So
This time
I add, I give them
More shades

Of red.

Vivian Cheah
4 Dickens
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Poem

Sedated

I remember
White walls
Brick and mortar, plaster and paint
I used to stare
Splash a little
Colour
Around in my head
Stain them scarlet red
Most of the time
Some days scarred black
They always seep back into the cracks
And leave me
Fading, falling into oblivion

Always

I avoid cold glass
Because
Seeing
Parallel, empty copies of me
(Or am I the one that's empty?)
Scares me
More than I like

To admit

That
A wraith
Haunts every breath
And every damn step
Closer to you
That

I take

Too much
Sometimes, I suck
You bone dry
I break your brittle
Fragile paper body
Puncture your
Pretty organs
I play with your
Sick brain
Corrupt it
A little more
Each time I leave you
Stranded deeper
In

The dark

Is generous
It takes away pain
It hides secrets
It distorts the truth
Keeps the fear
Cemented six feet under
With things
Long dead and nightmares

Unseen

Hands
Hold me down
Strap me tight
To my gurney
I resist, for awhile
Just to keep
Things interesting
They tell me
To behave
So that I will get better
"It won't hurt"
No, it doesn't
Or at least, they make me believe
That it won't

But
I'm back
To white walls
Iron, metal
Dig into my mortal
Flesh
They sting, and run
The brightest ruby river
So
This time
I add, I give them
More shades

Of red.
Vivian Cheah (4 Dickens)
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Poem : The Comfort Zone

The Comfort Zone
It’s gray in colour.
It’s warm to the touch.
It offers reassurance.
It comes with a steaming mug of hot chocolate with cinnamon sprinkles.
It’s my own booster squad
It’s cosily familiar 
It fuels my ego
It cocoons 
It reminds me everything will be fine
It’s gray in colour.
Its warmth is addictive, never allowing me to succumb to the bitter cold
It says it’s risky
It does not yield to challenges
It hates change
It never expands
It does not grow
It develops
Ever so slowly
It’s an island
It takes forever to issue a passport
It limits
It stifles
It soothes and caresses
It’s a rock
And it’s my own.

by Geradline Phillips
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Poem : Blue


Blue

I loved you till the stars went blue,
Of frozen pictures, audible sight,
Often sepia tinted,
that captured your vibrant hue.

Your coarse hands, but gentle,
like a river rushing down my back,
A breath forgetting to exhale,
at an awe that was anything
but little.

Now awake,
drinking in the midnight pool
Of stars and the unknown,
But my eyelids, heavy,
Dry, red and tired,
Because I loved you till the stars went blue.

by Nadzirah Yunos (IB3)

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Poem : Losing You


Losing You

My eyes
I'd hate to lose them
'Cause I'd still want to read
'Cause I'd still want to see
'Cause I'd still want to hold
Your smile in my eyes.

My hands
I'd hate to lose them
'Cause I'd still want to help
'Cause I'd still want to write
'Cause I'd still want to hold
Your hands in my own.

My tongue
I'd hate to lose it
'Cause I'd still want to taste
'Cause I'd still want to talk
'Cause I'd still want to say
To you, 'I love you.'

My legs
I'd hate to lose them
'Cause I'd still want to walk
'Cause I'd still want to move
'Cause I'd still want to dance
With you one last time.

My mind
I'd love to lose it
'Cause I don't want to think
'Cause I don't want to fear
'Cause I don't want anything
To come between me and you.

My heart
I'd love to lose it
So long as it is cared for
So long as it is treasured
So long as it's safely kept
to be returned by you.

by Chin Keat Meng (June 09)

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