Growing Up

Growing Up

Growing up is too short a phase, zooming out and gone. 

Found myself playing dress-up in clothes too big for 

my body (read: thrust with responsibility)

and a thinking cap mature from experience.

Curly hair poked out from the nether regions.

Things "swelled", others got deeper.

Innocence no longer bred fascination in a fireworks display.

I could not relive my fear of clowns. (evil laugh)

Skin color held new meaning,

Neighbors had ulterior motives in chance meetings.

(I could swear they were plotting against me)

Thought thrice before doing something spontaneous,

Like singing a song or lamenting my fate (in dramatic fashion).

Despised the shallow veneer of the world,

Its obsession with celebrities and surface perfection.

Cared about how I looked (for once in my life).

Evidence: Changed outfits like a desktop wallpaper.

Arranged each loose hair strand like ikebana in an art gallery.

Then tried to undo adolescence.

Wished I could believe again.

In Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, and other merry characters.

That life was one big fairytale with happily ever afters.

Happiness was one more toy away.

And a pet dog.

And a candy bar.

And a frolic in the playground.

And a play session with fire.

And pushing a girl into mud.

Oh no! Here comes mummy with the cane.

No point running. Let's hope she misses.

Who am I kidding? Growing up is great.

Forget it. FLEE!

Pressure

I felt the need to write about pressure since I was feeling it and I hope you relate to it.

Pressure
Will you be so kind as to
freeze--
Cryogenically freeze--
a melting rubber band?
Look at its quirky folds and
compare it to the pressure grooves
on my face.

pressure
pressure
BUILDING
UP
WELLING UP
CAN'T STOP!

Or subsequently experiment
shaking--
excessively shaking--
the tipsy contents of a coke can?
Feel its pressure 'gainst your skin,
Experience what I am feeling
RIGHT NOW!

News FLASH (flash, FLASH, flash):
Volcano erupting, evacuate!

pressure
pressure
BUILDING
UP
WELLING UP
CAN'T STOP!

NOT NOW
GET AWAY
LET ME BE
YOU WILL PAY!

Trapped by pressure
Stumped by fear
Pressure relieve
or DISSIPATE!!

My First "Epic" Poem

Originally intended as a short story, it evolved into my longest poem. Very detail-centric, it's not about gardens though. It's up to you to decide what the garden of wilted roses symbolises.

Garden of Wilted Roses

There you stood,

standing there behind the deli’s revolving doors,

behind your bespectacled thin frame,

fingers resting on glass, breath

exhaling slowly in an icy mist.

Staring, staring across the curtain of rain,

the magical slow-motioned frame-by-frame

winding of each drop as it ricocheted

from the heavens.

Your mind, no doubt fooling you. It couldn't be me.
Or was it me, motionless across the street where

the cars ploughed, in a swirl of h2o, although I

should have been miles away somewhere in a

garden of oaks, writing this? You turn away in denial.

I can already imagine you rolling your eyes in self-pity,

collapsing in a heap onto the stool as you almost fall

over the manager tending to a complaint. The manager

has that typical New York gruffness to him but in it

you can only see mine staring back.

The cracks on the walls suddenly have outlines

of my face etched into them and the laughter of

two adults having a conversation brings back

memories of our cafe escapades long past.

Maybe you can't help feeling lonely, being that far

away from friends, alone in a four-seater table

reading Nora Roberts, but it’s likely to be

MORE than just that.

Perhaps the hope that you will meet

me at the next street corner even though

I won't be there.

You rush out the door as a customer walks in

soggy converse meets muddy puddles of

asphalt and grime.
It was a hallucination, a mirage.

You stand there in the rain as water dribbles down

your face in silent defeat, vocal chords straining against

the sound of crackling thunder and crow calls. People

look at you like "she's an embarrassment to America"

but you don't seem to care.

Your arms flailing and tearing at your hair,

frustrated

beyond

all

reckoning.

But then again, you've probably moved on,

having fun with your new catch somewhere,

probably Hawaii (I got your postcard, thank you very much),

while I sit in a garden of wilted roses writing this.

Angel and Devil

This poem is less about religion than it is about the moral dilemmas of right and wrong. In reality, the boundaries of good and evil are blurred. Nothing is as clear-cut as it initially seems.
It is also about how societal views have focused more on the ideas of angels and demons being of good and evil respectively as is clear in pop culture than on their religious significance. Something to think about...

angel and devil
heaven
hell

halos encircling
tritons commanded
bright lights
red aura

heavenly choirs
damning crying

majestic wings
scouring horns
good deeds
temptation irresistable
cherubim divinity

happiness
eternal guilt lake of fire

mere ideologies of good
and evil? Religious or
conceptual? Which qualities
of angels,which of the other?

Or both?

Misunderstood Love

Love is complex. Love is funny. Love can be misunderstood easily. And we DON'T need another sitcom or chick flick to tell us that. Instead, here's an "anthology" of two poems that does exactly that. :)

ode to a stubborn ex
Keep telling me you are sorry,
Then say you want me back.
But didn't anyone tell you?
With my X-ray vision, saw through
Your lies, who would've thought that?

After all this time gone past,
Words don't mean a thing anymore
cold-stoned heart, only
Beating from your mind,
Not your heart.

Calling my home, texting my
phone, visiting my school. Pause,
stop, reflect. Forcing your love on me
even though cold shoulder turned to you?

Ring, ring. Phone goes off and it's you
but I reject your love, let me do as I want.
Let me do as I please! No reply.
"Please record your message after the tone. "
Let this be my only
Only, ode of love to you.

"Beep..."

phone call to a foolish boy from a self-proclaimed psycho
Pick up the phone, i feel you there
Don't try to pretend you're not at home.
I know that we have broken up,
our love has died from time's past. But
if you fail to answer this,
I'll just have to tell you this.

Well, I have got your wallet here,
left it when you came over for "movie night".
In all the static undressing onscreen, perhaps
you got a little carried away emulating. Changed
plans and altered the hour's affair to sleepover.

Look, I understand what you may think, but
misunderstood you did. Deflate your ego,
come at once, 95th on Broadway by the
lamppost we first met. Or maybe, else maybe
you'll just find pictures of your chubby I.D self
circulating the net.

Regards, evil-genius-of-a-me-who-just-wants-to-return-your-wallet.

The Lost Poems

This is a collection of totally unrelated poems that aren't as polished and satisfactory and failed to get their own posts.This first one I didn't like due to its "been there, done that" quality. It's sappy and boring. Second one felt forced and contrived and last one's just...well, exactly. It's just too ordinary. But maybe blog readers like yourself enjoy the cliche, read it to believe it.

Love+Happiness
Like the fizziness of a light champagne,
The warmth of a golden mane.
The aroma of a french cologne,
It's how I feel when not alone.

This feeling inside I can't describe,
Only occurs when you're beside.
When you are here nothing else matters,
I only see you, my sadness you shatter.

And perhaps we could all agree,
All of us have one destiny,
To be loved by a beloved till the end of time,
And equate love and happiness as one and
The same.

Bowling for the Uninitiated
Hollow roar of predator hunting down

prey echoes, reverberates down lanes of wood,

Gluttonous owner grinning,

Reeking breath appealing.

Rolling, accelerating towards the pack of ten.

Veers off course taking long route, camouflage then

hooks back, eventually feasting in a raucous scramble,

no time to react.

Knockout! A strike- Body count ten,

none survive the cruel and vicious attack.

Hunting dog returns to owner with catch,

And sets out on its hunt again.

Consider This
Consider this:

The first snowflakes tumble daintily

Amidst oblivious city-goers,

Fuzzy evanescence on a tranquil sunday.

Beauty lost in the bustle of life.

Harsh winds crimp famined rose petals

As they cripple bent the rose stem.

Sighing inaudible breaths of loss.

Magnificent pale magenta unnoticed by

animals in a rainforest.

Child gives street beggar ice-cream cone,

Creased face lights up in a toothy grin.

In return fished penny placed kindly in

child's palm. Crowds that pass unable to notice

this unexpected act of compassion.

Consider these, then realise

Life is a speeding bullet train of which we are

passengers-Too tired to appreciate the landscapes

rolling by, yet thrilled enough just to feel the wind

rushing past our faces, comforted by the thought

Of heading someplace.

Poetry Convo

You know the inspiration well's run dry when you resort to bizarre poems about msn conversations regarding poems. You get what i mean...

Poetry Convo

Chat, talk, talking.

Digital words spoken by jpeg emoticons.

Is this poem about love <3<3<3?

Perhaps, expressionless : .

Yelp, talk, yakkity yak.

R u bored? Why not rite a poem?

Biting lip. Shudder, shrug, not for me.

Poems are way underr8d!

Fun? You mean fun-draining.

LOL, "backspace".

ROFL, "delete".

Chat, tense, shouting @#$%^!

Index fingers typing furiously-Rat-tat-tat.

Not joking, you could go places with this stuff!

o.O,Publishers only seal deals for prose.

Poems are an excuse to use singlish,

Make up words like yugch and qwertyuiop

(finger swipes keyboard)...

Get lost poetry freak, echo echo echo.

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Fountain pen of pixels a-leaking.

Red cross clicked.