Outside my window   A clothes line on which I’ve hung hurriedly my towel and my t-shirt— wrinkled   A few flower pots with seasonal flowers— all colours   A white wall with fine cracks— revealing its grey body

You did it! Congratulations! I am very impressed! You wrote 24 poems in 24 hours. This is an achievement that few poets ever accomplish. Although if you are a returning marathoner, some of you might be accomplishing it for the second or third time or…

Congratulations Second Half Marathoners! I am so happy that you have completed 12 poems in 12 hours! That is wonderful. Thank you for joining us in this madness. In the past I have personally verified that everyone who applied for a certificate was eligible and…

Bold but beautiful I miss your promises— all fake   (Hiaku)

Black velvet on your ivory skin   Hair pinned bare neck   A sideway glance from you, Senorita, lights my sullen room

Life— a small book a never ending prose an exaggerated art form

The day has been long. And on the cusp of yet another, Dawn will almost break, But not my flagging, weary muse.   Though there are only street lamps, And dark clouds marring my view Of the beloved mountains on the North Shore, I know…

A flower pot resides next to my work station   Sometimes a flower blooms with a red glistening texture its subtle fragrance all over   Sometimes a thorn pricks my conscience its consequence all over   The crimson pot— my muse stays forever.

Is this what I really long for? Not family nor even friends, But only the many delights Of the local cuisine back home.   From sock-filtered ‘Nanyang’ coffee roasted in margarine, To the carefully produced nine-layered ‘Kuih Lapis’ cake, And succulent chicken rice that’s pressure-cooked…

The lady in black, A profile of superciliousness, Her manner haughty, Turning away in disdain.   Some may think Madame Gautreau merely demure, Her manner just an artifice, Instructed in this manner and artistic pose, By Sargent, that society painter of superficiality.   And yet,…