mrdes

Quiet Intimacy

2012-02-11T16:54:00.000-08:00

Untitled

eyes feed lights
tiny scythes glint
at lips' corners

unseen curtains
part a moment to
your inner self

no matter your order
or manner of plotting
sounds, signage, map
bits are already pinned
on my ears' wall

-----

Quiet intimacy. I guess that is what I was doodling with in this piece. And perhaps, something long for in my life. Hence, the desire to play with words, to delve for expressions, imageries beyond the language.

TV

2012-01-29T16:44:00.000-08:00

TV

Newsflash:
Soul-robber armed with blaring guns
Probably still lurks about your restful
Disposition, holds a flat face painted
Variegated shades of life.
The siren of sleep comes too late.
The bank: Your Life.

P.S.: At one point I realised that life can only be lived, the highs and lows included.

From One to Another

2012-01-21T16:28:00.000-08:00

Untitled

I shut my door to outside
world, it replies with silence

familiar hence comforting
like morning's bird songs,

and the inked heart
slips out of its cage

a little afraid,
then sings along

like chance meeting
of old friends.

----------------

CNY is at our doorstep. Time to look back? A boy in a Superman's suit flew by, fishing a $10 note from his poor father's rumpled palm to buy his favourite food from Uncle McDonald - that is, if he is here, or does he even exist? Nevermind.

Digression sufficed. We are made, hence live on beliefs. Such thin ices. The world will not end tomorrow; that is what we think. Moral and value corrosion - an-old-man's-weary-world speaks. Yet, mind you, I am no old man. Just feel so - every now and then...a door opens, and words inundate. Like chance meeting of old friends.

Say, is a prolonged sigh at this age a sign of sanity? Or what about feeling like a society outcast? Perhaps neither. Perhaps, one is where there is unfettered expression of one's soul. Art, poetry et cetera, or sports, are different channels. In poetry, you scrutinise your own mental movements; in sports, your physical ones. You are made more aware of your existence.

--------------

Nothingness

Feather-weighed,
Time-heavy
Nothingness moulded
Repetitively in the mind
Never stays, flees
Along lines of logic,
Leaving no trace.

It's nothing, really.
Let's see.

There are old dust
Which turn golden
In retrospect.

There are dark shadows
Crouching in doubt
From stealing light.

Only time moves on
And on, but nothing
Changes, really.

-------------------

Say, how does one mould nothingness? It's all in the mind. Poetry is beautiful, but ultimately, pointless...

I forgot my yearly book/poetry review this year completely...

mrdes's recommendation

1. The Lake by Banana Yoshimoto (The author is clearly in her element, deploying a deceptively simple use of language to lay out love and emotions in all their complications.)

2. The Shadow of Sirius by W.S. Merwin

3. They Speak Only Our Mother Tongue by Theophilus Kwek (This is a period of poems of a local flavour - a passing fancy?)

4. The Trial by Franz Kafka (A satisfying journey into a dream-like landscape sculptured by crafty language usage as words are colours for an eerie portrait of society in Kafka's hand)

5. Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee

6. The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

7. Moving Words 2011: A Poetry Anthology (Some of the poems here are just so right on the spot.)

-end-

I guess the list is kind of short. There are others, though for one reason or another, just couldn't sit with me: Leonard's This Mortal World (some of the poems here are just great; may just pick this up again), Damon Chua's Traveler's Tale And Other Poems (some of the images are just too abstract for me unfortunately).

Last, but not least, go watch "The Great Magician" if you haven't - the narrative is just delightful.

And of course, a very happy CNY to all!

Moon Face

2012-01-08T17:49:00.000-08:00

Moon Face

I once secretly laughed
at the moon face,
how she smiles
without her lips.

Now I know
how silly I was,
for the moon
needs no lips
to spread her
romantic notions,

needs no eyes
to watch over me,

neither does she
need ears to hear
my laughs.

An Unsent Thank You Note / Older

2012-01-01T21:41:00.000-08:00

An Unsent Thank You Note

It has been a great year.
The sun shines through storms.
The flowers and plants stand firm
in the wind under the tree.
I don't know how you do
all these, but thanks for being
the sun with your smile, the tree
with your strength.

Older

We grow
worn, all the time

layer upon layer
pains of regrets

gather, dust-bite
on mind's shelves

grained beautiful,
timeless like antique.

Some days,
we house keep,

remove pains.
Some days,

they return
as if new,

as what they were,
only older.

Dreams

2011-12-25T23:04:00.000-08:00

Dreams

I roam freely the land of dreams
in search of an imagined person.
Night is my cover and leads me
to you. If you too close your
eyes you open another door
where we walk under the inviting
moon lighting our path to nowhere,
from nowhere, where time and
reasons stop, only love wanders.

P.S.: This piece seems to me undeveloped, as if the poet is a wip, and this is part of the journey. Spent my Christmas feasting. What about yours?

In the News: On SMRT and a Poem

2011-12-21T19:19:00.000-08:00

Will start my post with a poem by a certain Mr Gan See Siong (presumably male, judging from his below piece) from the Moving Words collection (a great initiative by NAC and SMRT!)

You Need Me

"You like to enter me in the wee hours of morning
That part of yours in protective sheath
And go romping with me
Three to four times a week.

A gentle man you are not
For without warning you would spread me wide
To accommodate the full extent of you.

You strapped me up
With those dexterous fingers
So close I can see your grim determination
The even rise and fall of your chest.

And just like that
You would head me
Down the pleasure road
Growing all hot and hard in me.

If only you knew how I long for these sessions,
They are the reason why I even exist," said the pair of running shoes.

---------

As a matter of fact, it's not lost on me that I need her, more than she me. You see, I have been out of action, or rather not "romping", for the past 3 weeks due to persistent flu, cough, fever followed by giddy spells, to much extend that my GP has no idea what's causing my calamitous failing of health and recommended the hospital. Initial diagnosis suggested ear infection. On retrospection, I narrowed two possible events that may have started the chain, which I rather not elaborate further than to add that one has something to do with a loud crack in the sky during a nice walk at Punggol waterway followed by a cold, soaked body and a few good fishermen.

The good news is I have now recovered sufficiently for a short 15 minutes run against the advice of the hospital pending my next appointment.

On another front, the subject everyone is talking about (presumably so, judging by the readers' letters to Strait's Time).

In my opinion, perhaps, certain functions in our small tiny dot may not be suitable for privatisation. Public transport being one of them due to the small size of our population and land: a small gitch would be a big disaster (lucky, no life was lost). And for the same reason, privatisation in this instance does not promote competition.

The cold fact is that the populace has no alternative here - if you need to go somewhere, you will have to take the bus or train, otherwise pay more for taxi, but considering the recent hike? - and hence is at SMRT's mercy. And stop comparing SMRT to London tube: our rail simply isn't as complex or long; their system has been built over a long time and can afford alternative routes, we just remained trapped in the system. Having said that, I am sure that no public transport system (owned by the public, funded by tax payers' money) would have allowed passengers to be left in airless darkness, not knowing when the ordeal will end.

Just read this: http://theonlinecitizen.com/2011/12/what-has-gone-wrong-with-smrt-lta-and-the-entire-system/

Alas! All are but to no avail, SMRT and SBS are just "contracted" to operate and maintain the train system etc. LTA is the owner of the infrastructure bulit using taxpayers' money! So I guess in the meantime, I will just have to bring a hammer to work in case the MRT window needs breaking...

SMRT's Ms Saw is looking more and more like the scapegoat...she might as well grow a beard...

Happy going back to work tomorrow...with a hammer, that is...

Words Rain

2011-12-09T23:42:00.000-08:00

Words pouring out one after
another break-less like rain
soaking you wet through yet
feels so right that you lift
your opened eyes to the sky
to let it sink in, all awakening
bitterness and nostalgic sweetness.

Random Thoughts

2011-12-05T13:25:00.000-08:00

The year is coming to an end. Things have slowed down at work, or in fact, in life in general, as if the winding down has begun. Thoughts, poetry in ink trickle at times, but nothing coagulates.

Am excited about the Lion's Malaysia Cup adventure next year and watching "The Muppet" at the cinema again - "Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street!"

It's the little things that are little bubbles of joy, getting to write on my notebook, listening to a great piece of music, even reading poems.

Just watched "White Vengeance". Some great epic scenes here and there, but I think that the director, Daniel Lee, somehow slightly lost his focus on the relationships, the strings of fate that work on mortal men like puppets. Intriguing battles of wits, after all, life is like a game of chess. The climax that is the banquet was the movie's central piece and truly sublime. I thought Xiang Yu should look more fearless, and merciless. Still, it was much better than "Immortal" - what was it about again?

One poem I wrote some time ago...

Waiting for my bus

Rain-rushed grey river runs giant
metal boxes on rubber before slipping
into downstream hollow, but none
of them I am waiting for,
thus are all loathed.

I am making paper aeroplanes
out of time but they don't fly
well, which brings life
to standstill.

Now I sit in a ghost town waiting
for the ultimate disaster to befall.

Hair Today, No Her Tomorrow

2011-11-20T14:17:00.000-08:00

I've been upstairs,' she said.
'Oh yes?' I said.
'I found a hair,' she said.
'A hair?' I said.
'In the bed,' she said.
'From a head?' I said.
'It's not mine,' she said.
'Was it black?' I said.
'It was,' she said.
'I'll explain,' I said.
'You swine,' she said.
'Not quite,' I said.
'I'm going,' she said.
'Please don't,' I said.
'I hate you!' she said.
'You do?' I said.
'Of course,' she said.
'But why?' I said.
'That black hair,' she said.
'A pity,' I said.
'Time for truth,' she said.
'For confessions?' I said.
'Me too,' she said.
'You what?' I said.
'Someone else,' she said.
'Oh dear,' I said.
'So there!' she said.
'Ah well,' I said.
'Guess who?' she said.
'Don't say,' I said.
'I will,' she said.
'You would,' I said.
'Your friend,' she said.
'Oh damn,' I said.
'And his friend,' she said.
'Him too?' I said.
'And the rest,' she said.
'Good God,' I said.

'What's that?' she said.
'What's what?' I said.
'That noise?' she said.
'Upstairs?' I said.
'Yes,' she said.
'The new cat,' I said.
'A cat?' she said.
'It's black,' I said.
'Black?' she said.
'Long-haired,' I said.
'Oh no,' she said.
'Oh yes,' I said.
'Oh shit!' she said.
'Goodbye,' I said.

'I lied,' she said.
'You lied?' I said.
'Of course,' she said.
'About my friend?' I said.
'Y-ess,' she said.
'And the others?' I said.
'Ugh,' she said.
'How odd,' I said.
'I'm forgiven?' she said.
'Of course,' I said.
'I'll stay?' she said.
'Please don't,' I said.
'But why?' she said.
'I lied,' I said.
'About what?' she said.
'The new cat,' I said.
'It's white,' I said.

- by Brian Patten

P.S.: "I lied," she said./ "About what?", I said./ "The hair," she said./ "It's mine", she said.

no feet

2011-11-17T13:40:00.000-08:00

i have no feet
to walk
my thoughts
but i rather
think that i
just run out
of words

P.S.: Wrote this just for fun in a work-filled afternoon at my work station.

Theophilus Kwek's Love Letters

2011-11-06T15:56:00.000-08:00

Love Letters

If the ‘my’ in love is spelt m for ‘me’
and y for ‘you’, then let me keep
the Unbelievable Secret of ‘us’ as well
so I can taste its wait-sweet words
by dappled moon and softly laugh
at young and tenuous follies;

when you were to me
a state of mind
and I to you
a sometime find.

And if hearts by time wearied are
then give me scarlet paper ones to light
quiet fires red as forever sun,

or better still leave
me Every Yearning Eclipse of ‘eye’,
that open window to your soul, to give
me a glimpse of journey’s end.

But since your pen and these my words
soon roped, spell open doors when mixed –
then we might here in somewhat time
love, learn, talk, kiss
or switch the letters of our lives
and make pair with our initials.

- Theophilus Kwek

P.S.: Theophilus Kwek is another talented local poet who has recently just published his collection, "They Speak Only Our Mother Tongue"

tv

2011-11-06T01:01:00.000-07:00

peace denied but
war is not lost
pressure light
from rested thumb
raises light-up
smile, still
only silence

P.S.: Liverpool vs Swansea, 0-0. Say, how much did Liverpool pay for Andy? And I wonder why.

Shootout at High Noon

2011-11-05T17:38:00.000-07:00

Above engine's rumble, its
Gurgling at stops, and a manly
Radio DJ peeping from the pocket
Of the Indian beside me, conjecturing
Commentary, two Malay ladies
In pink headdresses open at
Each other across a narrow stream
Of undulating passengers,
Fires of thoughts my boxed life
Denies ignition, yet sisterly
Intimacy shimmers like the high
Sun silently smashing cold bus window.

P.S.: Having a frustrating and trying time connecting to Internet at the library.

Filling, Never Completes / Alien

2011-10-16T17:28:00.000-07:00

Filling, Never Completes

You could have been in my morning
Mirror; I drowned in your warm lake.
Age spreads beside our eyes
Its wings, life yet still as night
Needs filling, never completes.

What feeling left this late
Nobody stops to know,
Too held up with one's own
Escaping, escaping
Needs filling, never completes.

-----

Alien

They talk,
Poor folks
In alien country.

Away from home,
What they need
In this country,

Definitely warmth
In these moments
In chatters

Of home, alien
Too to me.

But Then Morning Has Come

2011-10-09T14:23:00.000-07:00

You come in nights to fill
Otherwise empty dreams,
Eyes like faraway stars
Burning warmth and softness.
I don't want to forget,
But then morning has come.

The “Gatekeeper” Overture

2011-10-08T09:35:00.000-07:00

Is it not for us to confess that in our civilized
attitude towards death we are once more living
psychologically beyond our means, and must
reform and give truth its due? Would it not be
better to give death the place in actuality and in
our thoughts which properly belongs to it, and to
yield a little more prominence to that unconscious
attitude towards death which we have hitherto
so carefully suppressed? This hardly seems indeed
a greater achievement, but rather a backward
step...but it has the merit of taking somewhat
more into account the true state of affairs...

- Sigmund Freud

For the past two evenings, I had been watching what is now one of my all-time favourite Japanese movie, “Departures”, on DVD. There is one scene where just before an old lady, who has just passed away, and is going to have both her coffin - “the last purchase of your life and you don't even get to choose it, how ironical!” - and body burnt to ashes, an old man whose job is to push the button initiating the process, talks about what does it mean to him, after overseeing so many cremations over the years.

The old timer feels that death is just like a gate and he is the gatekeeper, guarding the gate for the dead to pass through; he always says to himself, that soon they will meet again on the other side. I always thought it a humble idea, a comforting way to think of death or partings with loved ones, as if it is just a transit or transfer of one life or form to another. Death becomes a more natural process in this way, which I think is a much honest way of living than keeping death away from our minds, thinking of it as something that will not happen to ourselves, and our lives as “above nature” (instead of being part of nature), as if we are “gods”, hence the disrespect of nature itself – or every plant, tree, flower and animal, which of course goes through the dying process. Think how much more the human race would have embraced this planet, and live in harmony with nature and each other.

Watching “Departures” for god-knows-how-many-times, it only seemed to get better. And the above-mentioned scene returned with a new light which does not differ much from another main theme of the movie. The old “gatekeeper” has gained valuable wisdom, for which only his years on the job tell. And it is this wisdom that has bought my respect for his professionalism and pride in what he does for a living for the dead. Some people may say that he is just another self-important and delusional old fellow doing some dirty job. Yet, I see that he has brought respect for himself and into his profession, which could only be born out of his attitude, his personal vision of what his work meant. And perhaps, this is what matters, no matter what job you are doing. Just like life, which has no meaning by itself (Albert Camus called it “the absurdity of life”), can only be purposeful by the way you live it (or in other words, the meaning you put into it).

And recently I have been thinking that a customer service officer is somehow similar to a doctor: both have to face the fact that we can't help all those who needed our help. Some are bound to “die” on us. The only difference is the former is all about bread and butter; the latter is all about life and death – but is not much of a difference to some people.

Random Rambling

2011-10-03T11:32:00.000-07:00

I know there are things, many of which more pressing, yet I can't seem to put my mind to. Should I go back to studies? At my age? If yes, why? If no, why?

I can't shake off the fact that my poems suck. Really suck!

Am I making the most of my life? Sometimes I wish I have children...but I got no clue how to raise them up well...

The books, the words, all wasted...

Caught this flu that seems to gnaw away at my normal life...

Untitled

2011-09-24T14:17:00.000-07:00

night you tumbled into
entangles in web of misted
dreams with shimmering threads
of familiarity, sinking deep inside you,
then again nature light awakes and
you are gone, pour into different lights
of lies, trickery, or at best,
half-truths, walking deaf, blind
to the heart, only riding on
the city's heartbeats.

P.S.: Are dreams, even of the nocturnal kind, the only tool keeping our insanity intact?

Another Thursday's Ramble

2011-09-22T13:39:00.000-07:00

Time must be running on rocket fuel, if you ask me.

Been meaning to write some movie and book reviews...soon.

In poetry...I suck, really, but will continue, for my own pleasure.

If my poems suck, so do Liverpool! Andy Carroll was off the pace in his last game - totally unacceptable.

And being sick, like I am now, sucks too!

What price to pay for this freedom and peace? I wonder...though, to a large extent, we are fortunate. No natural disaster (like Japan, US or China), no riot (like Greece), no political instability (like Egypt, or Libya).

Reading "The Weekend" by Bernhard Schlink, the well-regarded author of "The Reader".

The Sea

2011-09-12T22:12:00.000-07:00

Her frantic goodbyes and kisses
Of sunshine hold eyes. She is
A persistent one.

Day or night she hisses and puffs,
Stretches white fingers to climb on

Smooth hard stones, come threatening
Always to abandon the fish for dry

Unknown. What I can't understand is,
Why doesn't she quietly come?

P.S.: Sometimes, a poem comes from fragments of different dreams from a distant past, or from your memories of some old children poems.

This is Life

2011-09-10T23:52:00.000-07:00

Reading. Running. Work has been busy. This is life. And I am living mine in the best manner I can. How are you living yours? The sky is as high as any other day, dreams as far away. But we will live, we will live. This world needn't be perfect. I haven't given it much; it owes me nothing. If only I need or want nothing. There's only lamentation - just another emotion in the spectrum to prove that I live. Life can only be lived, for it can't be contained in pages or mouths of words.

Have no fear. Go! Go out there and live!

Retro: 周慧敏 - 近情情怯

2011-09-08T23:28:00.000-07:00

One of my all-time favourite...

First Draft: Words

2011-08-31T01:03:00.000-07:00

Words can be like a train,
goes charging now, bringing
down walls of difference,
doubt, or dislike, lifting floored
leaves of the past; or mother
clearing stock of ill-fitting
feelings from the old closet
like unwanted clothing.

Leave a trail of blinding,
almost-mystic smoke, or
mother's nagging calls.

P.S.: Written on a whim.

Edited on 31 Aug 11, 0840 hrs

Pond

2011-08-23T22:31:00.000-07:00

don't break
your glassy smile
what bridge it hid
falls, and along I
fall into sorrow pond

a bird of words flies
sudden then plucks off
a peace of mind ruffled
and along feeds it to
its pond, the sky

P.S.: I thought this one had died on me.

Short Note: Eerie

2011-08-22T01:05:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking that sometimes it's hardly a good idea to look back at stuffs you've written, like when you have a blog...

http://mrdes.blogspot.com/2007/01/state-of-things.html

P.S.: I was in the library reading about the First Emperor of China, Qin Shi Huangdi, wanting to be the ruler for eternal, when I thought of death, of how I wanted to see this world forever, of wanting to see how it would turn out.

Evening

2011-08-21T12:50:00.000-07:00

In the slow death of light
Rings of blades stab silt-eyes
As sparrows laugh in delight.

The green-crowned kings turn
A blind eye to bloodless murder,
Afraid of dethronement in sky's

Golden touch as warm handed
Breeze rolls baked grey dust
To itch exposed slow wheels

Of bones and flesh not waiting
For an ink-pouring sky to sink
The long heavy road home.

Sometimes, Life is Just a Game...

2011-08-17T22:19:00.000-07:00

You win some, you lose some. But in eventuality, we are all losers. This is the picture I've not lost focus of. Nothing makes sense, really. But all we do, and it's the only decent thing to do, is to go along with the tide. Take the coming Presidential Election - it's just a farce, a spit on democracy's face.

Sometimes, life is just a game...

To Revere

2011-08-14T02:13:00.000-07:00

Can we be love
Unfrustrated, untied,

Back to beginning, no
Words too removed

To revere your emotion,
Your smile, my touch,

My hurt, your pain,
Our hearts.

Harbour Lady

2011-08-10T01:14:00.000-07:00

Over the ledge a lady in shades
And heel-kiss, a teacup's arm.
Face lit alive like an island afloat
In the green placid water wide.
Len-man unseen; patience seen.

A shipped smile, wind-chasing
Hair of smoke, silent snap,
A piece of her left behind.

P.S.: Was reading at "Page One". I've finally come to terms with the truth that my poems are at best, mediocre.

Thursday's Ramble

2011-08-04T23:13:00.000-07:00

So, it is the nature of the crime that determines the sentence: http://www.channelnewsasia.com/stories/singaporelocalnews/view/1144942/1/.html

But seriously, two years for two dollars?

Say, anyone interested in betting against Tony Tan becoming the next President?

Admittedly, Arsenal needs Joey Barton, though he is not the perfect match.

There are days when I feel I am no poet.

Too tired nowadays to read much after work, and I rather watch "Moonlight Resonance". I know, I know, it's an old drama series.

Been running regularly - that's a good thing.

Thinking of buying a Singapore soccer team jersey. That is the best thing next to playing for my country, and I feel the need for the young generation to be proud of our national soccer team, so who else but myself to take the lead.

Lost then Found

2011-07-26T22:55:00.000-07:00

I want to be lost
then found, happy

at last not unlike
those fairy tales,

but not happy ever
after, and after

lost then found we
will know how hard

it is to be found
then lost.

Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things

2011-07-19T23:31:00.000-07:00

In many ways, Arundhati Roy's first and only book to date reminded me of Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird". There seemed to be a bomb of raw energy bundled between the pages. A wave of emotions flowed through. I enjoyed the way the bricks of the story are put together piece by piece in the life of one vividly-drawn character to another, all intricately intertwined. The setting being in India makes this a difficult read. Not least India is a complicated, diversified country, with all the caste system, political instability, and the legacy of colonisation, namely Christianity. It's interesting reading how modernisation and new political ideas such as Marxist's communism gel with the general conservative minds of Hinduism.

The conclusion came later that only a true-bred Indian would be able to truly understand the book. The terrible sufferings in life can only be experienced, not taught or read about. As for the victims of this dark time in humans history, nothing can be more painful. Everything else pales in comparison; everything becomes numbed.

Swimming Pool

2011-07-17T13:45:00.000-07:00

I hear thousand wings flapping to lift
me among blue heaven bubble-filled.
Saltless sea, white shore to shore
shimmering reachable, tsunami
unreachable. Calm expands more than
a state of mind, the malleable blue your
body cuts through and envelops you.
You think for a moment that you are
a fish twisting through your vast house,
freedom taken for granted.

Short Note: Talking About "Mother Water"

2011-07-10T00:02:00.000-07:00

The opening film for this year's Japanese Film Festival. Light-hearted. One feels blessed with the humdrum of everyday, ordinary life. Our lives, like the river running through the little sleepy town in Kyoto, flow as if unchangingly. Yet, our lives are most interesting, as each of us evolves drop by drop. It's a blessing to be alive, really. Make your happiness today.

Totally fall in love with the opening few minutes: three ladies from different locations perform three related, ordinary tasks in sequence, yet the links between the tasks make each task beautiful despite its simplicity.

Shadow

2011-07-05T23:51:00.000-07:00

in day I would be your shadow
and you are reasons for my naked walk
in a sun held high like your head

till shy even leaves bow to ground
ears withdrawn to touch heart-drum
a sigh drops from you to spill frowns

in wind I feel not see or hear your scent
a warmth for all seasons ungrateful
for more to brim the drowned eyes

P.S.: Been writing rather obsessively for the past few evening. Now, this comes easily to me.

Untitled

2011-06-30T23:52:00.000-07:00

Recently, it has sunk in more readily. At different point in time. How I don't have all the answers. How life is a compromise. Do I really know how to live? How eventually we will all fade into obscurity. And that is about the only perfection. Perfection in leaving this place quietly. The grace of being forgotten gradually.

I thought I knew what is important to me. What I want out of life. Yet, on the edge of my conscious, there are always some doubts. How another world could be out there (another dimension, out in the vast universe?). The beauty of possibility in life. Or how this world could be so much better.

At times, I rather wrap myself in a web of lies. At times, I have looked to the sky for meaning. At times, as I watch my fellow residents go about their lives as if in a trance, caught in the rat race, I actually feel lost and wonder about the purpose of it all.

Conviction

2011-06-26T12:07:00.000-07:00

Your voice rides
the raucous beat of my heart
made all the more necessary
by the sudden desire
to remember how we are
together apart.

But we are done
here, you say, calm
amid chaos waves,
feel the hardened
conviction slip between
the lips.

P.S.: After watching "Revolutionary Road" on DVD.

The movie, based on a novel by Richard Yates, has some of the best narratives:

April Wheeler: So now I'm crazy because I don't love you, right? Is that the point?

Frank Wheeler: No! Wrong! You're not crazy, and you do love me. That's the point, April.

April Wheeler: But I don't. I hate you. You were just some boy who made me laugh at a party once, and now I loathe the sight of you. In fact, if you come any closer, if you touch me or anything, I think I'll scream.

Frank Wheeler: Frank: Oh, come on, stop this April.
[He touches her for an instant and she screams at the top of her lungs before walking away. He chases after her]

Frank Wheeler: Fuck you, April! Fuck you and all your hateful, goddamn -
[He breaks a chair against a wall]

April Wheeler: What are you going to do now? Are you going to hit me? To show me how much you love me?

Frank Wheeler: Don't worry, I can't be bothered! You're not worth the trouble it would take to hit you! You're not worth the powder it would take to blow you up. You are an empty, empty, hollow shell of a woman. I mean, what the hell are you doing in my house if you hate me so much? Why the hell are you married to me? What the hell are you doing carrying my child? I mean, why didn't you just get rid of it when you had the chance? Because listen to me, listen to me, I got news for you - I wish to God that you had!

Kate Winslet is April Wheeler, and Leonardo DiCaprio is Frank Wheeler.

Last words: Love, being human emotion, has no rationale, really.

Post-dated: See You Later

2011-06-11T00:45:00.000-07:00

Could mean a little
while later or more,

after forever, never again,
god knows when

if there is god,
but one always, for sure,

walks away thinking:
soon, hopefully soon.

Now hope is the sought
treasure of not knowing.

I Hear

2011-06-08T22:49:00.000-07:00

I hear the rush of rain outside my window. Weird weather we have here: flood on Sunday, a bright, humid sun for the past two days, then this. At least we are not PRC, not so dependent on the work of nature, though the Indonesian boy's death is a tragedy totally avoidable. More like the political situation here, considering the cemented solidarity of the past few years in the iron hand of LKY. One wouldn't have seen this coming a few months back. The same applies to Mr Tan Kin Lian confirming his candidacy in the Presidential Election. Or maybe not. If his presence as a speaker at an opposition's rally is any indication of things to come. I hope he plays his cards right. I'll keep in mind the role of a President when considering my vote. To perform a check, he would preferably be someone independent of any political party's linkage. Though, I have other concerns.

The Election is now like a distant dream. I still have my doubt if the 6 opposition MP will have any impact in Parliament, but one thing for sure: The ruling party is afraid. Very afraid. You have the Transport Minister taking bus and MRT, and the Minister for the Environment and Water Resources outlining his flood-prevention plan. Or am I reading too much into things?

Some of my colleagues under the Aljunied GRC are "whispering" how they are suffering for the good of the rest in Singapore. Funnily, it has nothing to do with the Opposition party, for problems like uncleared rubbish, as one colleague candidly admitted, are long-existing.

Now, I have my own inner life to live...and I hear it calling.

Lonely

2011-05-30T23:57:00.000-07:00

If time has a name
it will be Lonely,
lonely as a river draws
my eyes seeking its end
disappearing into last sun
a deep orange flame
where day and night melt.

Oh, My...

2011-05-21T11:40:00.000-07:00

I actually enjoyed reading my old poems: Silence Bridge / Tied Knot. Talk about narcissism.

P.S.: It's raining outside. Hoping that it will stop soon for my big run this evening.

Another Disappointment...

2011-05-08T22:58:00.000-07:00

http://www.channelnewsasia.com/stories/singaporelocalnews/view/1127545/1/.html
"But at this stage, looking at her action, in three years time, she would be a different Tin Pei Ling".

I think SM Goh completely missed the point here, and admitted - straight in the faces of the same voters who voted his team in - that TPL is not ready, but note that he did not once admit his flawed judgement of TPL up to this day. I understand and agree that the GRC system is intended to ensure representation in the Parliament for a wide spectrum of citizens, but bringing TPL in to engage the younger generation - which was obviously the original intention - despite her youth and inexperience, is just a lame excuse. No doubt some of the things said about TPL on the web were completely biased, her youth is not an issue. Of course, it's not TPL's fault in wanting to be an MP! Never was!

I think I got carried away in my earlier post. I apologise.

This is the last I would write on this matter, or at least I hope.

Afterthoughts on the Election Results 2011

2011-05-08T13:45:00.000-07:00

All in all, there are more positives than negatives for Singaporeans, no doubt. I still believe, and I will say this again and again, that the Parliament needs a alternative voice for balance and check. The results show that Singaporeans are more than willing to vote in any credible party (I despise the term "opposition") despite the thinly-veiled threats and fear factors conducted by LKY himself. For that, I admire your courage, Aljunied voters!

The results show that Singaporeans are more informed than ever, not falling easily for rhetoric and baseless statements (right, as if the property price in Aljunied would drop!). A mixture of strong parties would only but benefit Singapore, providing alternative solutions to matters, diluting party's interest via country's interest. In this instance, I am also heartened by SDP's improved performance (close to 40% for the Bukit Timah-Holland GRC I belong) and their effort to be more constructive. As Mr Tan Jee Say has expressed that this is a government "that has lost its way and moral compass" (in my mind, I see SM Goh having started running the country like a corporation with Ministers', or so-called "CEOs", pay tagged to the country's economic performance), this election would hopefully serve as a wake-up call to the ruling party. One wonders if the people's wish would be heard, and the GRC system would be scraped - I know, this is kind of naive of me. SM Goh's defensive words and actions on the before-mentioned issue and TPL's inclusion haunt me still and I suspect, even more for the next election.

It was kind of sad to see what was probably the last of Chiam See Tong in the political arena, but the man really loves his country - my kudos to him, for having served his people for the best part of 30 years.

Indeed, as Mr Low said, "Your votes tell us that Singapore is not just an economic success...but (also) your home."

Not Found

2011-05-07T01:03:00.000-07:00

A hollow walking bottle
wind-bowing moon-searching
cuts its path in sea-like crowd
warm with hissing breaths
angry sounds craving for relief
of silence not found.

P.S.: This has been hiding in me for some time now, hence it was a relief more than anything getting it out.

Politic is Dirty - Now I've Said it

2011-05-02T10:54:00.000-07:00

Mr Goh, you should be so ashamed of yourself, taking in Tin Pei Ling to exploit the GRC system against the people's interest - the biggest irony is that Tin Pei Ling will most probably be voted in on your tail-coat. And Dr Vivian, you are not much better either, taking that way below the belt blow on Dr Vincent. And LKY, enough of your threats! Singaporeans are more informed, and we know all your tricks - you got to try something new! These are all just part of politic - dirty, dirty, dirty.

On the Sidelines

2011-04-29T23:27:00.000-07:00

Dear fellow-voters of Singapore General Election 2011,

My utmost concern goes out to you during this stressful period of time. Of course, you would not need any reminder that on 7 May, your tiny piece of paper (I am hoping the Poll Card is not too big; imagine the trees killed.) will carry the weight of the next five years. At times, I've found the onslaught of the media – suddenly the “News at 5” has no world news worthy of report - and the Internet – now, this is to me, a most untrustworthy medium, or is it ? - overwhelming. Other times, I was nauseating over Pierre Png's on-the-hour solemn television appearances showcasing his acting chops gathered from Channel 8 drama series. Finally, after days of torment, I have to let my hair down. And sprouting jokes about the election becomes the order of the day at the office for me – though some of my colleagues wouldn't agree, having been sucked into a hellish what-if-the-ruling-party-lost apocalyptic mood. So, my heart goes out to you voters, especially those from the hotly contested Aljunied GRC – really, no political party with the people's interest at heart should put you through this, and the ruling party is not absolved from blame either. So much so that I have decided to come out with something for the voters from Aljunied on polling day: a box of coins. Yes, you read me right the first time: I will be at the polling station with a box of coins. Call it head to vote for PAP; call it tail to vote for WP. Or vice versa. Whichever. You flick the coin, you decide. And you even get to keep it.

I am preparing for a full-scale heart-attack, or a mild stroke at least on 7 May 2011. Good luck and rest well!

Regards
mrdes

----

Extras:

One count:

Friend A: “So, have you decided who to vote?”

Friend B: “Of course...Nicole Seah! Only one problem...I am not from Marine Parade Constituency leh.”

Friend A scratches head.

P.S.: Don't tell me you don't know who is Nicole Seah - especially if you already know Tin Pei Ling.

Two count:

My favourite punch line: “...if you look at Hougang yourself, Hougang is not a slum.", by WP secretary-general Low Thia Khian, the driver-slapping co-driver.

Imagine if - and I'm just saying it hypothetically - he wins at Aljunied, he would, with teary eyes, shout to his supporters: "Hougang is not a slum! Hougang is not a slum!" And the crowd would go wild.

Now, if you haven't, at any point of time, laughed while reading this post, I think you should see your doctor for voter-stress. Go now. Save yourself. Before 7 May.

Enough is enough.

Distance

2011-04-24T11:59:00.000-07:00

Distance
for a young friend

I might even pick a sky
when you say your words

of fantasy urging cracks
of laughter eggs to permeate

my tongue, eager to free the air
of two prisoners in invisible cages

of emotional steel tugging
your distance longer than

eyes could see, when even
a sky would not seem so far.

Sleeping Early

2011-04-24T00:50:00.000-07:00

I've long predicted that my late-sleeping habit would eventually take its toil on my health, and to which, I've also attributed my slow recovery from my recent illiness. So, I am switching to early nights: 11 PM on weekdays and Sundays, and nothing more than 1 AM on Fridays and Saturdays. To bed. Now.

Mad Rush Saturday: To the pool, the library (newly opened at Clementi Mail, what a crowd!), to Orchard to catch "Security Police", then to Central Library.

Depression

2011-04-21T23:52:00.000-07:00

Months back, was thinking how things were going smoothly at work, and for my health in general. Even then, the thought that a low would always follow a high, was not far. Then it hit me...

First, I caught my right leg under my left stretching for a soccer ball skittering across my running path. The result is a fortunate one really, considering the pain that shot through my knee that first night, and my GP's initial diagnosis that I might have torn my knee ligament. I was staring at months out from the game, not to mention, running. Imagine my relief when the specialist found only my ligament stretched. I even managed to run close to 10 KM the week after. Now, the pain has come back in a smaller degree. So I am listening to my body: must get more rest.

Soon after that run, I was caught again. This time, with viral infection, some unclean food I ate which I have no idea what exactly - but not Japanese food, definitely. It had me down for five days, till Tuesday. Now, though back on my feet, I feel weak most of the time, unable to even read for long hours, and slowing down at work. In the midst, depression set in, thinking I may never run again, never kick a ball; or worst, never be able again to work, or read regularly. Life has no absolute assurance, if you think about it.

The Hyena's Laugh

2011-04-06T23:36:00.000-07:00

In the animal world, even the ferocious warriors of the vast grassland of Africa, the lions, fall victims to the psychological warfare of the hyena's laugh. Frightened or confused into giving up the buffalo's carcass, they would only stroll away, almost too quietly, as the hyena yap away and dig their blood-thirsty teeth into their meal...

The same applies in writing or poetry, for all the "noise" unfurling in my mind...

In Mother's Eyes

2011-03-27T13:01:00.000-07:00

In mother's eyes

When I was little and in the form of devil
Defiance shaped me in my glare back,
A pot of boiling anger spilling over.
Now I know how mother must have felt,
How hard her life was and I was to raise.
Now I know how I am the fruit of her
Sacrifices and sufferings I'd never overcome,
Following like shadows even after sundown.
Yet I can only be grateful to accept this miracle
Of a life I try to live fully each and every single day:
To be happy is the greatest payback and compliment
In mother's eyes.

I remember

2011-03-27T01:11:00.000-07:00

I remember

how the tree leaves trembling
in the wind shaped my heart,
set my mind flying, not searching
anything to grow further from the truth,
to lose words for a simple grace.

P.S.: Now, there is a sudden desire to write for the freedom of words, to romanticise with words.

A Brief Update

2011-03-23T23:46:00.000-07:00

I think this must be one of the most underrated song by a local singer.

Fact: I haven't been writing much poetry, being out of inspiration. Words don't dance for me any more; they just lay dead in my D drive. One of my earlier poem:

Break

The worst break comes from within.
A hole opens up to suck me in,

Never to be filled as there are no words
For desires, or as a matter of fact,

Words are only puppets for a heart
Whenever called for, or uncalled,

But nothing can be worst when
The puppet strings break.

------

Just finished reading an old book from my shelf: Hermann Hesse's "The Prodigy". Next up, Arundhati Roy's "The God of Small Things"

Been running and swimming regularly, which I am pleased and means I am mentally and physically well. Preparing for my next 10 KM mass run in April.

Understand...Loving it!

2011-03-08T23:04:00.000-08:00

It suddenly occurred to me today that it does no good to be bitter about how this world has turned up, how old values (or at least what's left of my earlier time) have eroded, how decadence has set in. We are but part of this fall, if anything, simply by association of the same race. Sometimes, to change something, akin to conquering a fear, the gradual thing to do is to understand it. And how best to understand something? By simply loving it!

P.S.: Funny how there is a positive spin to this post, even catching me by surprise.

Silence Bridge / Tied Knot

2011-03-06T12:15:00.000-08:00

Silence is a bridge more
Than words could build,

Not a breath and I hear
Your heart's little flaps.

And its path alone I follow
As two hearts lean closer.

A window opens to let the sun
In, as you have let me in.

Yet I don't see and only feel
You like a knot tied inside me,

And I hide this knot like it is
Silence too deep to bridge,

Where nothing changes as
All is calm and you're tied.

P.S.: Haven't been writing much these days. Back to my read.

L. van Beethoven - Piano Concerto No. 1 - 2nd movement (Part 1)

2011-02-27T21:55:00.000-08:00

Finally found this: one of the haunting piece played by KJ when he was a boy of 11 years.

Post-dated: The Answers

2011-02-20T13:25:00.000-08:00

The Answers
After Mark Strand and Stephen Dunn

Why don't you talk?

Silence, really, is a gentle language.

Why don't you talk?

It's all in the timing. Sometimes, words spoken are best
forgotten, only to be recalled when the hours are right.

Why don't you talk?

Not that my words are sealed.
Only that my mind is locked.

Why don't you talk?

Because I see the beauty of the empty air.

Why don't you talk?

Because only you could have known
how words pass through your mind
before they pass through my lips.

- Des, 18 Feb 2011

P.S.: Wrote this on a MRT journey after reading Stephen Dunn's "The Answers". If you sense a "formal element", it's from Mark Strand.

About Fertility Rate

2011-02-20T02:04:00.000-08:00

Mr Goh said:

"Those who can't afford to have children never had problems over affordability. They just have more children. And those who can afford, in fact, do not have more than one or two or so. So there's that contradiction over there, which suggests that having children in fact is a rather complex issue."

Source

Mr Goh hits the nail on the head, don't you think?

Only that it's actually not that complicated, I think. Some of my co-workers and I used to think aloud: how come our mothers and grandmothers can have so many children - my grandmother has eight - yet never complain about affordability? The answer is obvious: With the change of time, most people simply have a change of priority, with more focus on career, and I think more importantly, a higher expectation of lifestyle - those annual overseas family holidays, condominium, car and maid - no wonder we are facing falling birth rate. Apart, perhaps, from the fact that people in those days were not so well informed about contraception, and there was the defunct belief that having as many children as possible was a sign of a blessed marriage. Having said that, the solution, if any, is by no means an easy one, which is perhaps what Mr Goh is implying.

Short Note: Love This Post...

2011-02-20T00:23:00.000-08:00

Love this post, absolutely: http://blogs.nlb.gov.sg/highbrowseonline/general/fiction-alert-in-love-with-oscars/

W.S. Merwin's The Shadow of Sirius

2011-02-18T00:23:00.000-08:00

Like the saying, "old is gold", indeed W.S. Merwin's old head (New York City, September 30, 1927) contains some of the most delicate imageries and wisdom. It made me study his every unpunctuated line over simple words, to come away enlightened, on the edge of knowing fully his thoughts, and never gratified, always wanting more. Some of its best poems trapped me in each tiny capsule of emotions, before bursting into inexpressible light. The more I read, the more I think that the magic in each poem, or what makes them click, should remain as it is: unreachable, a secret.

A Slate of Doubt

2011-02-17T23:07:00.000-08:00

On such days, from inside, vulnerability exposed to strangers' eyes, has no place to hide, lid lifted like flying curtain. An internal bridge blown. Opposite bank unreachable. Falling. Without safety net. Bottomless crevice.

The Rite

2011-02-13T23:03:00.000-08:00

Firstly, I think this would be a rather strange movie for a non-Catholic to go to. Except, of course, if you are a fan of Anthony Hopkins, which incidentally, I proclaimed myself as, after watching his performance in "The Remains of the Day" (all thanks to Esplanade Library for the DVD!).

So, how was the movie, you asked? "Balanced" is my word. To a lesser extent, "average". I think the Swedish director, Mikael Hafstrom, tried too hard to please the mainstream audiences, given its scare tactic, the dramatic soundtrack especially, and a few bows to pop culture. I would much rather that he plays it "as it is", to give it more realism, given the intriguing "even-the-Vatican-thinks-there-is-devil-or-possession-you-know" theme.

Prior to watching the movie, I was boosted by the press interview with the director, revealing how its focus is on the internal struggle of a priest - rather than the gore of exorcisms, which explains the NC-16 rating - as "Batman Begins" came to mind, "putting the flesh back" into Batman, not just a two-dimensional graphic hero, if you know what I mean. So I thought there would be potentially mind-boggling questions raised about God, possession and its relation to religion - like throw a few spanners into the work of logic. In this aspect, "The Rite" fails miserably. And no, not even the great Anthony Hopkins could save the day, neither could the excellent works of the make-up artist(s).

P.S.: Now, talking about "Batman Begins", my money is on Christian Bale (in case you forgot, he was the man behind the mask) winning the Oscars for his top-of-the-drawer supporting performance in "The Fighter". But then there is Geoffrey Rush - another of my favourite after watching him in "Shine". Watching "The King's Speech" soon, I hope.

Once

2011-02-07T23:35:00.000-08:00

Once, a time, a place, a face
close, warm, linger.

Once, never knew precious things
would be lost. When, where, who
walk in, out of life.

Once, it comes back for a while,
a heart breeze and it's gone.

Once, maybe endless
after today, tomorrow.

Once, colours of season washed,
heart freezes and it's gone.

Once, forgetting once,
no longer I am
who I was.

Leaving

2011-02-02T22:00:00.000-08:00

Fall out of hope a leaf
aimless before reaching
ground a new seed an answer
before questions cross the sky
in birds carrying winged eyes
to climb stone hills ribbon rivers
leave old self an empty shell
face pride as wind reasons
as sail over unknown seas
palm map tells nothing
only more unknown things
hidden for discovery.

P.S.: No, not that I am going away in person. But in spirit, I have been here and there, reading.

Happy CNY in advance to all! As of now, the holidays are looking more like a movie marathon.

Amateur Runner at the Gym

2011-01-27T00:19:00.000-08:00

So, due to persistent rain, I was forced indoor for my maiden run on a treadmill. And I experienced first hand something like the endless rush of a hamster on a wheel - rather unspontaneous, as if you are forced by the ground to keep yourself from slipping off the black track - where you go no where despite your best effort. Yet, what is great about treadmill is that, for one, it allows you to easily run at a constant pace and rhythm. The satisfaction is immediate too, as you get to view the finishing time, and distance covered - two things important to an amateur runner like myself. And then, the $2.50-per-entry gym places the treadmills close to each other, so I can observe my neighbours' speed indicator, or up close, their legs' swiftness. In this way, I find it motivating. Especially if the guy beside seemed to be thundering away. Either that or I can opt to stride for my own pleasure. Coupled with some cycling, one and a half hour passed rather fast in the gym. Some pocket money well spent, I say!

Dark

2011-01-26T00:00:00.000-08:00

Dark embellishes my body
with stillness, a pen not writing,
a bird not knowing day or light,
land or sky, last trembling feather
sinks fast, not forever or fear.

Post-dated: Deeper

2011-01-18T22:18:00.000-08:00

Take my hands my eyes
walk me lead me into
forests of your heart
silenced by every echo of its beat
yet feel ever alive in the warmth
of your mind's rivers carrying
my thoughts not longer mine deeper
deeper

- des, 17 Jan 2011

Edited on 31 Jan 2011, Monday, 2322 hrs

I Ask Myself...

2011-01-16T21:37:00.000-08:00

Today, the first time I remember asking myself: "Am I living happily?" And the answer that came to me was "No, at least not always". But then, "Am I living out my dream?" And the answer is a resounding "Yes!". It seems I can only be as happy as I can imagine; the rest is beyond my reach. And I am contented with that, considering the flaws I have and the life challenges I face.

The Name of the Game

2011-01-15T22:25:00.000-08:00

I'm fortunate, really, having winged legs to gift me the freedom of the field to glaze...

When a flimsy light clang to the bedroom curtain, I was up and kicking - or rather, ready to kick. A soccer ball, that is. And what a ball of a time I had!

At 9 am, I had manoeuvred myself through the cold, silent tunnels of Boon Keng MRT station, before witnessing sunlight pouring on green field. I once contemplated that "dreams are built on fields" - no matter how muddy the fields are! The deluge on the day before didn't help.

Soon enough, the rest of the lads arrived in their own vehicles: cars, motorbike. And most of them had our last year's team jersey on. Only then did it sink in that this could be the first of our team's training for this year's inter-SBU competition. No more are we going to just show our faces for the tournament, it seems we are going to stand our ground and roar like lions!

Now, for the reality: We are just a branch of men with a passion. One of the guys said it best when he quipped to a new player's question on how good the other teams were last year: Not really good. But we were lousier.

Eventually, we split up to play a four against five game of two halves, and I thought I mistimed my tackle a few times, and put a few misplaced passes into the the opponent's feet. And within ten minutes, we were all panting hard. The rust showed - it must have been six months since my last game. But I felt myself growing in confidence and sharpness. By the second half, I was myself again, and sure enough, was putting my shots into net.

Certainly, the lads were surprised at my potency in front of goal, as I have always claimed myself as a defensive player for my diminutiveness and penchant for tigerish - or I like to think so - tackles. To such an extent, they even considered putting me as their chief striker upfront. I could only laugh it off. Seriously, me as a striker? Fittness considered, or in physical size, I haven't got it, I know. Then again, we were in the game for fun. And yes, the game today was played in the name of fun.

Untitled

2011-01-12T00:12:00.000-08:00

Untitled

So I walk with my shadow
my only company and look at
the sun straight in the eye.

So I hear the sweet call
of birds in the morning sky
that my shoes ring in sync to.

So we'll be together riding the cloud
looking down at this land of towns
where I live only to be with you
one day when I am done.

So we'll be together watching the stars
looking forward to eternity held tight
in our hands where love stays
one day when I am done.

So you'll be waiting, I'm sure.
You'll be waiting...

P.S.: Wrote this after singing to Johnny Hates Jazz's 80's hit on youtube - a failed attempt at lyrics-writing...

expressway & bared

2011-01-09T23:43:00.000-08:00

expressway

cold air black air accompany steel birds
climbing in yellow wingtips tracing

a short path flying to distant home
now like a cave ready to swallow bone

and fabric in whole if the mind
takes a trip to nowhere exactly

the way such a last journey
should be and ends maybe.

P.S.: I think this is really unlike my previous works.

bared

no reason not to believe unless
not wanting to, this deed
like a flip of leaf in the wind
shredding the sun for a moment,
quick but blind peeling
at a heart ripe for your picking:
you have bared it all.

P.S.: This one reveals my persisting issue: There is no link between some of the lines.

J. M. Coetzee's Disgrace

2011-01-05T23:03:00.000-08:00

Read Disgrace within weeks, and thoroughly enjoyed J. M. Coetzee's lucid use of language. I think J. M. Coetzee is able to explain the complexity of matters in simple terms, and that is the hallmark of a great novelist.

It came to me that reading a novel set in another country, especially one still warped in its atrocious past, doesn't mean that I would be able to understand its people - I could only sympathise with them. This is, of course, not a statement on the Nobel Prize winner's prowess, neither does it debase the Booker Prize winning novel. Perhaps, what's important about J.M. Coetzee's novels - another I read being the unforgettable "Life & Times of Michael K" - is that it brings his birth land's plight to the readers' attention, and as a result blessings are counted. On another hand, knowing we are all not so different, despite our skin colours and dwellings, knowing that some of us have suffered because of these, yet doing nothing, stabbed some guilt into this quivering heart.

Disgrace's South Africa is portrayed through the eyes of David Lurie, a fifty-two of years South African professor of English. He escapes to his daughter's farm in disgrace from a lecturer-student's relation's scandal, of its consequences he obstinately refuses to protect himself from. And it is during this self-imposed exile, through the humility of rural life, community work, and the lowest form of disgrace in having his daughter raped by a black gang, that he slowly begins to let go. This world, after all, is too complicated for any single man to fully comprehend, to pass judgement on, let alone, to tell another how to live.

I believe, and sense J.M. Coetzee believes too, that a man shall be broken apart, descended to the lowest point of his life, before he can reconstruct to become a better self.

Top 10 Favourite Poems - 2010

2011-01-04T00:39:00.000-08:00

Now, I've got to admit I have been lazy - make that very lazy - in my reading. Lacking discipline, I bounced from book to book, half-finished each, before returning again; at other times, they disappeared to hide in my shelf. There were plenty of poetry collections though. So this year, for a change, I will just introduce some of my favourite poems in 2010, in no particular order:

1) "Mirror" by Sylvia Plath
2) "Accompaniment" by W.S. Merwin
3) "Pearls" by Lee Ann Roripaugh
4) "Wind and Window Flowers" by Robert Frost
5) "Song of the Last Meeting" by Anna Akhmatova
6) "Love After Love" by Derek Walcott
7) "Waterlights" by Teng Qian Xi
8) "Swans" by Mary Oliver
9) "This be the Verse" by Philip Larkin
10) "The Tunnel" by Mark Strand

Enjoy!

Rain

2010-12-20T01:19:00.000-08:00

Rain

I

If love can freely fall like rain
it will lose none of its miracles, only
problems are everybody will know how
it works, how it ends, how it will come again.
Still I wish deeply for this day.

II

Images of love surface in watery mind
where old rivers overrun, each drop of rain
tells me what is gone returns eventually
to meet for warmth before everything
becomes familiar to calm soundlessly.

III

When the rain stops, leaving the leaves
radiant under the sun or street lights,
leaving my mind the same, but it's never
the same waiting for the next rain, looking
to the sky adoring gray.

Running: Looking Back / Looking Forward

2010-12-14T23:07:00.000-08:00

Was thinking about how there are more and more marathons nowadays. And so have the registration fees for some runs climbed. Then, it struck me: I might as well just give up two 10 KM runs that I had went for the past two years, to pay for one half-marathon. So, for 2011, I may run the Sundown Marathon in May 2011 - half-marathon at $50 - in place of Mount Faber Run (same route, same timing, but carrying a flu this year) and Tiong Bahru Challenge (the stairs are really, really tiring but one of its kind): $35 + $15, if you are a passion card holder. But there is a problem: Sundown will likely be held one week after Passion Run, going by this year calendar. I can't resist thinking of going for the 25 KM for Passion Run ($42, if you are a passion card holder) next year and really like its late-afternoon flag-off, although East Coast Park's narrow running lane somehow still haunt me from my 10 KM's experience this year. No way am I able to run 25 KM and a 21 KM in that short time.

Some marathons to look forward to in 2011:

1) SAFRA Half-marathon (I say, I am definitely not done with it yet!) - Sep 2011
2) New Balance REAL Run (I enjoyed the 15 KM so much this year that I am definitely going next year!) - Oct 2011
3) Yellow Ribbon Run (Despite the common hiccups and low attendance, there is just something different about its atmosphere, even if it's just one week before SAFRA Half-marathon.) - Sep 2011
4) North East Run (At $30.40 with transport provided at a cheap extra $3, cool! Though I still remember the overhead bridges!) - Mar 2011
5) Standard Chartered Marathon Singapore 2011 (I actually missed it this year due to my flu. First and only time I missed a run due to illness! Enough said.) - Dec 2011

Sundown or Passion, what do you think?

David's Fear

2010-12-12T23:10:00.000-08:00

I must have written somewhere, at one time or another, how reading prompts one to write. Now, my novel at hand, J.M. Coetzee's "Disgrace", has my head crawling all over with written words. The main character, David, a professor who was a womaniser in his prime, after two divorces, is forced to resign from the university for having an affair with his twenty years old student. What intrigues me, credit to J.M Coetzee's in-depth writing, is how remorseless he feels for his deed. Deep down, all he is doing is clinging to some precious things he fears lost: time, passion. It's like he is a young man at heart, not ready to age in the heart, unable to watch his passion, his appetite for love goes to waste. It doesn't matter much that he is caught, condemned by the whole community, and the victim-student is the one who launches the complaint, he still believe she is pushed, cornered - not a shred of blame on her. He is not too old to change his ways or habits, to "reform", unlike what he proudly states. Though, he is just too young, or still young, to see or accept the stage of life he is in. We all have moments of weakness, yes, but it takes real maturity and strength of character, to admit our flaws, our fears.

Short Note

2010-12-09T22:30:00.000-08:00

Untitled

Calm water of sea mind flaps
Like little wings against the wind
Of humdrum day searching
Boundaries, sanding time away
At its edge, yet not tailing off
As dark approaches, only the sea
Becomes clouded.

Some invincible flu virus I had for the past few days. My short sleeping hours being culpable, no doubt, together with the drizzle I caught last Thursday on my way to dinner. Now, to bed.

Plastic Bottle

2010-12-05T13:56:00.000-08:00

A plastic bottle set sail perhaps by an accidental hand,
Or one stirred by mischief, a muse. Now it lands,
The tide playing yo-yo as it sun-polishes for its next owner -
An innocent hand perhaps, or one whose handler
Believes in the beauty of all things.

The beach deserves its home, and owes nothing to nobody,
Especially not anything to a plastic bottle: it does not belong
Where it provides no rent, no food, no love. Oh wait,
Or maybe it does, in the shape of the man who
Believes in the beauty of all things.

P.S.: Part of this was written last Sunday sitting down at a bench at Pasir Ris Park, as the tide engaged in its gentle caresses against the sand, while a chinese couple on the next bench entangled themselves in an invisible web of passion.

In Complacency

2010-12-04T10:35:00.000-08:00

What do you want from, or in life? Nothing. A blank. Even happiness is a want, I realised. What does life want from, or in me? Even if I am just existing, not living. I am just another ant - I do no harm, no good to anybody, to myself. I am just a passing. A breeze. Light-footed. Weightless. I am me. I am in complacency, thinking I am without want.

If only for those who love me, and I love. My life holds meaning. I realised, and should have known. Thank you all, for my existence beyond existing. My happiness in complacency.

P.S.: Resting, in complacency, while trying to recover from a slight running nose and flu, before the big run tomorrow. I had recently been reminded there should not be any condition or want attached to happiness. Now, I am having second thought.

I Wish...

2010-11-26T22:57:00.000-08:00

I can't read minds, each a shapeless, soundless language of a fresh universe. Sometimes I think I am just perceiving what I want to see, feel or hear. I don't speak my mind all the time, neither do I follow my heart. If only the moon shines to my touch, the stars to my gaze. When I run, the whole world runs with me, while smiling - this place would be a happier one. Everybody read, everybody write; there is nothing to hide.

I am

2010-11-18T23:17:00.000-08:00

I am these years
Of loss or hope,
Of beginning and forgiving,
Of renewing or holding on
To old self, of not having
To forget one day
All the years will be gone.

Sift

2010-11-09T23:43:00.000-08:00

Lips flow, words bounce
Against wall of ears, but I
Don't sift; they become meaningless
Sounds, like roar of rocks falling,
Only to patter my inside with guilt
After, Or hiss of warm sea, gentle
Advice goes awry.

Insomnia

2010-11-01T03:32:00.000-07:00

Night is a beautiful lady indeed,
who I'd fall in love with easily.
She is alluring, strong-willed, calming,
and all that a man would need.

As I lie down in bed, and think
of what to say, she only smiles her
furtive smile, reiterates her desire
for me to stop rambling with a finger
on my lips.

Indistinct words sail in her dark elegance,
exhausted they may be, like the furniture
in my bedroom, I refuse to give up,
wanting to give something of meaning
to equal this eternal lady.

Then gracefully she closes her fingers
right over my eyes, blacking out what remain
of the bedroom and my thoughts, whispering
nothingness in prayer to wind down
the mind to a close, passing me as dead.

Days, Nights

2010-10-31T02:32:00.000-07:00

Days are long, long
As your passing shadow, or my

Sulking counting the moments
Without you – I grow intimate with numbers.

Nights are more, more
Little things we remember:

A smile, a sigh, adding to hours
Listening for morning's footsteps.

Everything to Say and Nothing to Say

2010-10-24T14:40:00.000-07:00

You reach a point where you have everything to say and nothing to say. It's raining outside - hoping that it will stop before the day passes. Locked up in my room writing, while listening to the "Classic" album, an ERA's adaptation of the likes of Vivaldi and Bach - Vivaldi's "Spring" of his Four Seasons is especially good. Mingled with classical music since a few months back perhaps, and think it takes a lot of work to find out more, apart from listening to FM 92.4 - "Good life, good music" with the occasional popular pieces, otherwise all gibberish to me. The fare largely started with KJ:Music and Life, and I have since harboured a damn-should-have-listened-to-this-stuff-earlier kind of feeling.

I ran a fair bit last week, and I think doing interval training (fast-slow-fast) in a stadium does help with timing. Totally exalted with my New Balance REAL Run's 15 KM timing this year, especially for the first 10 KM, totally kicked ass.

On the bookish side of me, I am reading local poet, Grace Chua's "The Stamp Collector's Wife". The funny thing sometimes about relishing local poetry is that you are reminded that the writer is a Chinese. It's difficult to specify the reason, perhaps it is the imagery that reflects this heritage, or the usage of language? It's at times like you're reading lyrics of some Chinese pop song. In this aspect, I found Teng Qian Xi's "They hear salt crystallising" to be so un-Chinese, thus making the poet a rare breed. Of course, most poems are to me like little puzzles to be disassembled, only to be put together word by word. Like I said before, I can't possibly understand all the poetry. Still, it bugs me sometimes not to know. And anyway, they are all subjected to interpretation, I realised, discussions of which the world wide web provides aplenty. Totally enjoy Sylvia Plath's "Mirror":

Mirror

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful-
The eye of the little god, four cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

- Sylvia Plath

-------

I think that when Sylvia Plath started about the mirror being a lake, she is actually referring to her heart, or rather when "a woman" looks into the mirror, it reflects her own heart or thought. In effect, the mirror (or the heart) is the greatest liar, not the candles, or the moon. And that is truly tragic. Age is all in the mind, I say.

Two noteworthy points: 1) I think it's rather Chinese to refer to the heart as a lake, don't you agree? 2) Again, poetry is subjected to interpretation, and this is only my own, no less important, though by analysing, or stripping the piece down, it seems to take the magic away, not unlike that of a magician.

P.S.: I once read from a book on poetry writing, that it helps in your own writing to think critically about poems.

The Ageing Faculty

2010-10-19T22:16:00.000-07:00

I thought I was prepared for my pending golden years. A little too young perhaps for such concern, on reflection. I've always counted my blessings, loving life with a deep curiosity, finding joy in its little miracles. My bad memory helps too, letting bygones be bygones and crucifying the sin, not the sinner. The second point selectively. Still, life can be overwhelming: with age, comes experience and perspectives, and with experience and perspectives, bitterness follows. You think you have seen it all, and see things so clearly. So cock sure, so transparent. Yet, totally unexpected, the bitterness. Totally.

Letter I Sent

2010-10-17T23:57:00.000-07:00

Dearest,

It won't hurt, this bit
Missing, cutting you off.
The doctor didn't tell me,
And I go on living.

No required medication,
Just feed attention
To the heart:
Stand close to your feelings,
Breathe in.

A little pain will pass;
A heart broken will mend,
Though scar-lines may remain
In this letter I sent.

P.S.: Sometimes, I just enjoy writing....

life

2010-10-14T23:45:00.000-07:00

passing wind
light, unnoticed
changes nothing
from nowhere
back to nowhere

P.S.: It has been weeks that I've been struggling with Teng Qian Xi's poetry volume "They hear salt crystallising".

Peter Lim Bid Again!

2010-10-12T21:51:00.000-07:00

He is a Singaporean. He is attempting to buy a football club with pure cash. And mind you, not just any club! Say, Peter, if you're reading this: buy Michael Owen back, please!

At East Coast Park

2010-10-10T23:57:00.000-07:00

Had a great run at East Coast. The sea wind was strong, blowing straight into my face, crawling away the sweat to leave me cool. Because of the New Balance REAL run next Sunday, I only ran for an hour. The beach was crowded, and the track was filled with runners, which gave me an extra push. The clear sky was ornamented with colourful kites and a model ship with fluttering multiple sails especially caught my eyes.

Then I did something I have not done for years: cycle. And it showed, as after turning out of the bicycle kiosk, I found myself wobbling and clasping wildly for the brakes facing the incoming traffic. But then, it all came back and I was soon soaring like a bird.

Found a small setup to have salmon with rice on hot plate before making my long way home on bus. The only regret was not having a book in hand.

heaven

2010-10-03T22:42:00.000-07:00

heaven isn't far
this woman this heart
every breath apart
even the brightest star

over the dark sea night
pales compared to your eyes
searching into my mind's eye
to heaven the heart's flight

Antenna

2010-09-26T23:06:00.000-07:00

The sky bright, clear
of birds, only wisps
of cloud brighter.
Then there are bony,
black intercrossing lines
out of place,
in their now familiar place
atop the red bricks of the
block outside my window
alone, always alone.

P.S.: Sitting in front of my notebook, reading and waiting for time to pass on a quiet Sunday afternoon before going for a run.

Pearls

2010-09-26T13:29:00.000-07:00

Mother eats seaweed and plum pickles,
and when the Mormons come knocking
she does bird-talk. I've never seen
an ocean, but I'd swim one to look
for secrets. She has a big pearl
from my oji-san, says it will be mine
when she's dead. It's in a drawer
hidden with silver dollars. I hope
she doesn't buy a ticket, go back
to her sisters and leave me.

With stinging strokes, she brushes
my hair, pulls it into pigtails
that stretch my face flat. I walk
to school across sagebrush while
she watches from her bedroom window.
Once I found a prairie dog curled
sleeping on the ground and I brushed
away ants on his eyes. Mother
saw me dilly-dally, told me not
to touch dead things.

I have a red box in my desk
with a dragon lid that screws on
and off. It smells sweet from face
cream and I keep a kokeishi doll
inside for good luck. Wishing
for more colors in my crayon pail,
I make up stories about mermaids
and want a gold crayon to draw hair,
silver for their tails. But
we can't afford lots of kid junk.
I have piano lessons. She says
I'll be a doctor someday
but I think I'd like to be a fireman
or maybe a roller derby queen.

One day when I was walking home
some boys on bikes flew down
around me like noisy crows.
They kept yelling Kill the Jap!
I ran fast as I could but fell
in the dirt, got up and fell.
My mother came running to me.
She carried me home, picked out
the gravel, washed off blood,
tucked me into her bed and let
me wear the ring for awhile.

I wish I had long, white skinny
fingers, gold hair and a silver
tail. I'd gather baskets
of pearls. But my hair is black,
my fingers stubby. Mother
tells me they're not found just
floating underwater. She says
oysters make them, when there's
sand or gravel under their shells.
It hurts. And the more it hurts,
the bigger the pearl.

- Lee Ann Roripaugh, from "Beyond Heart Mountain"

P.S.: I was completely mesmerised and it caused a stir inside me when I read it at the library book sales earlier this year. To me, it effectively demonstrated what poetry is about: the emotion beyond or behind the words. "...the more it hurts, the bigger the pearl."

Answer

2010-09-19T12:21:00.000-07:00

Knocking,
Keep knocking
On closed doors.
No answer.

Knocking,
Keep knocking
On closed doors.
No answer.

Finally,
A long silence

Replies:
No answer is an answer.

P.S.: Seriously, I keep knocking, yet nothing good comes out of it.

Beethoven 5th Piano Concerto "Emperor" 2nd Mvmt.

2010-09-12T21:17:00.000-07:00

If you listen with just a little more attention than usual, you will surely find 'Beethoven 5th Piano Concerto "Emperor" 2nd Mvmt' to be serene and majestic. Like the surface of a swan lake, where a light breeze carries a gentle ripple.

my way back home

2010-09-06T00:03:00.000-07:00

even the trees whisper “grace”
as the setting sun dressed
in her best shimmering gown
commemorates the day's end
on my way back home.

and the evening breeze slows its run
to caress golden leaves in a dance,
sweeps their feet off into unknown
places, a single breath utters
on my way back home.

P.S.: A single breath uttered, then at peace with this world...or at least I hope.

Random Rambling: Weaker...

2010-09-03T00:07:00.000-07:00

I like the idea of having to labour for the fruit. With smut on the arms, grit under the nails, sweat dribbling down the back and boiling on my forehead, I have both hands on a spade, chest heaving to lift, trembling upon hitting the hard soil. But modern life has changed everything. Manual work seems suited for the brainless, the less gifted outcasts of society. Nobody really knows what is hard work, nor is it appreciated. Some blame it on technology advancement for our reliance. The same mentality slips over to love at times. Now, I have no idea how I arrived at this point. But anyway, humans are raised to realise the importance of speed and efficiency, more than the process or development of things, to cut out rework, hence the "easy come, easy go" of love, and the failure to accept minor setbacks as the spirit or resilience grows weaker.

To Bed in Five Minutes

2010-08-31T00:28:00.000-07:00

The Japanese Film Festival 2010 is over. Almost too soon. I've not been reading much; too much time spent in movie theatre and on DVD. A hush has settled after the storm. Now, to bed in five minutes.

Sleep

2010-08-25T00:13:00.000-07:00

Sleep

A tail slithers off last night bed,
As the ancient rays hunt its escape,
In a primitive play of hide-and-seek,
Into shadow and light of its ashen cage.

P.S.: Have been neglecting my blog. Far too busy preparing for SAFRA Half-Marathon, and am currently engaged in a marathon of another sort: Japanese Film Festival 2010. "Sleep" is a slightly redrafted version of an earlier work "Awake".