April 30 - I See No Colours (The Series)

I see your face,
the paleness of its language
speaks in tongues
the colours of spring,
forgets its own anger,
patches every field,
seeks every nook,
caresses every glass blade,
and hugs every tree,
to turn stings to kisses.

I see your hair,
black yesterday, brown today
and prehaps red tomorrow.
It doesn't matter.
The dreads are gone now
and straight strands remain
to reflect the whispers
of an ocean's tune
that spans the earth
like a breath of mint.

I see your eyes,
the slant at the corners,
now broken free
from the dying echo
of a caged flamingo,
evangelised into sweet
mountain air tapping
on your neck, forgetting
its shapes but pregnant
with the music it carries.

I see your nose,
the slight turn at the tip
carries the spirit of death
like a cowboy in a showdown,
fingers fused to the trigger,
ready to spin black into white
at a wriggle and a twinkle
that can hang up stars
or split a nation like splitting
of personalities.

I see your lips,
the taut redness,
bursting at the seam
like a tight cheongsam
with just the right tension
to hold the lust in,
weaving wisdom into balls
of thread that slowly unreel
into cinematic viewsof a dove.

I see your spirit,
a melody that can do a treble,
a falsetto, a tenor,
and chain octaves and pitches together
like DNA polymers and molecules
entwined into colours
on the palette of an artist
painting just the right note.
I remember all the colours
but see none of them.

NAPOWRIMO

April 29 - Mid Autumn Festival

A full moon hangs like a lantern in the sky,
Stars twinkle silently like small festive lights.
The air is chilly with a mild breezy breath,
a perfect setting for mid autumn’s fest.

Children decorate trees with little coloured
candles, light lanterns and gather together
to join the procession with family and neighbours
in celebration of the mid autumn moon.

Mothers split pomeloes, cut mooncakes,
and brew tea as they wait for the festivities
to cool down and the children, big and small
return to eat the delicacies offered to the moon.

The air is chilly and its mild breezy breath
pokes at fallen leaves to jiggle on the ground.
As the moon light the sky, the ground reminisce
the separating distance this mid autumn night.

April 28 - Meeting

Voices drone on incessantly.
..........Sweating in my jacket like a piece of melting ice cube
..........I wondered how the others could tolerate the heat.
Some words caught my attention,
and I started to write profusely like a kite riding the wind.
..........I missed a word or two, but I can make them up later.

A voice, arrogant, asked “What is the product?”
He attacked her like a wolf hungry for blood
“What are we re-branding?”
“You have the AIDA. Where are the 4Ps?”

..........I drew my pen across my note book to record the 4Ps and the AIDA
..........and peeped up from my bent head at the poor girl,
..........as silent as the calm before the storm.

She tried to explain her plan but it came out like a repeated stand.
He didn’t buy it but instead bit until she bled.
The others could not help to calm the predator
until the white knight, slightly tanned,
unable to bear seeing the lamb being slaughtered,
came to her aid with some wise words.

..........I thought he was handsome, both the way he looked
..........and the way he came to the rescue, oozing charm and sexuality.
..........as he tried to zip the wolf’s mouth.
..........I tried to keep up with what he was saying, for the record.
..........I bet he’s married.

The kill was successfully halted and voices drone on again.
They checked on stocks and how they kept the upward trends.
Perhaps, they could emulate --
and White Knight advised on efforts and financial results.

Finally, the projector was shut down and the laptop closed.
They got up to thank each other.
White Knight came over to shake my hands.
..........His handshake was firm, warm and strong
..........like a fantasy in a dull meeting.
Then, he left.

April 27 - Attempts

You tremble like a tree in a storm,
waiting for her to stamp your life
with her marks, and you will lick
them all up like a dog.

Your brain choke on you
as she bites on a strawberry
and you stared at her
like a man in comatose.

April 26 - Strawberries

Bulging red pleasures dangle
among the sea of green leaves
and buds waiting to ripen.

Thoughts crystalise at the sweetness,
firm between your teeth
and juicing on your plumb lips.

April 25 - A Further Poem

We discard the infatuation of the flesh,
honour the passion raised by our pens
and transcend the symbols in our writing.

We bear the cross of our differences,
slain at the sight of the birth
and submit to the intensity of our words.


We are the poem.

April 24 - Another Poem

The paper becomes our world,
and the pen, a fresh breath of air
exhaled in ink to bring us to life.

The world is a congregation of spirits,
the air -- fresh dew for the flowers
and life -- the language that kisses us.

I became you in the poem.

April 23 - A Poem

You sat with me at my desk,
and as we write, our minds flutter
like moths circling a light bulb.

You tap my brain In a sprightly dance
and I response like a tempestuous storm,
sucking up your attention.

Your hand touched mine in the poem.

April 22 - She Remembers The Tango

She remembers his hands,
warm in hers. her chest against his,
cheek to cheek, they took their steps
in unison and melt into the music
as their unison melt into the air.
He led her forward, around his world,
then in retreat, he killed her.
People tried to paint indifference
but their smile betrayed their gossip.
She remembers the plunge from the cliff
into the icy cold water below,
waking her up from the tango.

Tango

April 21 - This is my earth

Do you hear the rumbling sound
from my belly and see the truism
that serenely annihilate my skin?
My blood is cold and guts are withering
in absolute abandonment, longing
for the comfort of pine trees
and spring water. You have forgotten
our indissoluble pact that you will not
trample on my bones and leave me naked
to corrupt minds. Spare me the artic
and I will bear you a child; our sun
will warm us but will not burn our roots.
The green leaves beckon and I give
because this is my earth.

Earthday 2008

April 20 - Mission

You carry her into the ocean
where the melody of the water
is an alien's encounter; buried
in the layers of the waves, you

reach the bed where roots
are planted deep and the landscape
is a burst of fireworks and the fire
is like the end of the world.

April 19 - Haiku (Cherry Blossoms/Moon)

Pink Cherry Blossoms
Moon and lanterns light the sky
Bind and mesmerize

April 18 - I See No Colours (5)

I see your lips,
the taut redness,
bursting at the seam
like a tight cheongsam
with just the right tension
to hold the lust in,
weaving wisdom into balls
of thread that slowly unreel
into cinematic views
of a dove

April 17 - Don't Leave

The sea seeks consent to confuse my mind.
I find solace in the warmth of the wine.
I want you to hold me, love me today.
I don't want you to leave, please stay.

Oh, please don't leave.

The waves play a game of touch and go,
tapping my bones and filling the hollow.
I want you to hold me, kiss me and stay,
to love me fully just for today.

Oh, please don't leave.

The insects hum and embrace the sky.
The wind haunts the night and cries bye-bye.
The girl warmth with tears and wine,
wants to say you're mine, you're mine,
wants you to just hold her today,
to stay and never go away.

Oh, please don't go away.

April 16 - Migraine

Nerves strung tight
like guitar strings.
Each strum played
tic-tac on the bones
and lightning flashed
like a ghost
stabbing the eyeballs.

April 15 - Envy

Green fills up your body and blasts
like heavy metal in your ears
as you watch the bees buzzed
around her the whole day.

While you, a damn caterpillar
trapped in your cocoon,
lie naked and waiting
for the miracle of her touch.

April 14 - I See No Colours (4)

I see your nose;
the slight turn at the tip
carries the spirit of death
like a cowboy in a showdown,
fingers fused to the trigger,
ready to spin black into white
at a wriggle and a twinkle
that can hang up stars
or split a nation like splitting
of personalities.

April 13 - She Remembers The Lime Tree

She rubs her knees and slowly gets up
from the chair. She sees her mother
in the garden, sitting on the lawn chair,
a pale shadow occupying the air.

She smiles and sits besides her.
The sun touches the lime tree
and gives each leaf a porcelain gloss;
she knows the realness is in the breaking.

She hugs her and their eyes
speak the language of the wind,
warm in her ears and carried
into her soul, almost hollow.

The wind parts the branches;
a leaf drops from the lime tree
and she tries to catch it
but it slips through her palm.

April 12 - She Remembers The Roses

She sips her coffee and looks out
the window where leaves are drifting
down the trees and the weather
is just starting to bite the bones.

She remembers the red roses
in the garden and the bouquet
he gave her, when life
was always spring and summer.

Sometimes, the sun was hot on their skin;
sometimes, the wind cooled them down.
But their passion was strong, and the night
always brought them together again.

But nights grew cold and petals fell
and rain could be negative even in spring.
Their days became tedious,
toiling one behind another.

She remembers trying to know
how a rose, fragrant and vibrant,
can be bred black and how anyone
would want that to happen.

She looks at her garden; the lime tree
had died and someone had planted
black roses. She knows
it will never be the same again.

April 11 - I see no colours (3)

I see your face;
the paleness of its language
speaks in tongues
the colours of spring,
forgets its own anger,
patches every field,
seeks every nook,
caresses every glass blade,
and hugs every tree,
to turn stings to kisses.

April 10 - Her name was Kitty

After being snapped at by Chicky,
he went home to feed Kitty.
He poured some milk
into her bowl and called out,
"Here Kitty, Kitty."
A meow came from the bedroom.
He went inside and saw
Chicky dressed like Kitty,
meowing and purring on his bed.

April 9 - Her Name Was Chicky

His eyes lingered on her golden hair
and he drooled at her round bum.
She looked at him with her chest
held up high like a pagent queen.
The more so he longed to take her
in his hands and fluff her feathers.
When one day he finally mustered
enough courage to confront her,
he stood in front of her to say,
"Let's make out at the barn"
but the words that came out were instead
"Let's take the chicken out of the barn".

April 8 - Hanging On

The ground wet with slime sucked
my feet until they swelled
like two red rubber Crocs.
Branches like arms of scarecrows
poked and scratched
at me until my knees hit the grass.
Splashes of muddy rainwater
taunted me in slow motion
and splattered my face brown.
I fell to meet the slug wriggling
in sinuous obscene motions
that said "I won! I won!"
The trail was lost, washed away
in a bath of ethnic cleansing.
I crawled to the side and wrung
my arms around a twine, swaying
like a leaf on a twig and justice
came in the form of slaps
of rain on my face.

April 7 - Anxiety

Mist stood in front of you and coloured
your forehead as black as a toothache,
as you waited for her to extract
the agony from your brain.

She dug deep into the root and licked
your hands until they were cripplingly
wet and poked your eyes
into bloody balls of poo.

April 6 - Rats

She sat and prayed for healing
of her friend's mother. The tongue
detected the scurrying of rats
on the roof, feeling
but not understanding
the language, wanting to seek
a glimpse of the loner
among the group a hundred mile away.


She jumped
up to check for burglars,
the rats trying to escape
the body once holy, to seek
the santuary of their king's lair.
Silence.
The rats sniffed her out;
then on lighter feet to fool her,
they tried to slip out of her prayers.
Silence again,
forever.


When dawn arrives she will know.
The pain is gone.

April 5 - Incoherent

Words tangled in colours
tumbled from your lips
to mangle into unseen shades
of creases on your face.

You tried to string them
into windchimes but they fell
into the hinges of the door
and creaked like curses at her.

April 4 - I see no colours (2)

I see your eyes;
the slant at the corners,
now broken free
from the dying echo
of a caged flamingo,
evangelised into sweet
mountain air tapping
on your neck, forgetting
its shapes but pregnant
with the music it carries.

April 3 - Tongue-tied

Words rolled up your sleeves
tightly woven into threads
that yearned to form
the fabric etching her breasts.

As ghosts tiptoed on your tongue,
evading the hymns in your hands,
they closed their eyes and coloured
the words hollow.

April 2 - Love

Colour her like a tattoo
and let the ink imprison
her like an allergy
until it seeps into the throb
of her heart where it will bloom
in her blood and trap you
inside her, swimming
like a fish among corals.

April 1 - I see no colours (1)

I see your hair,
black yesterday, brown today
and perhaps red tomorrow.
It doesn't matter.
The dreads are gone now
and straight strands remain
to reflect the whispers
of an ocean's tune
that spans the earth
like a breath of mint.