Spark Knowledge
He loves to the stars
Calls me his instrument
Playing on my body
Claiming for life spent
And as each day brings more
I gently fall in love
Loosing self in eyes
Spark knowledge from above
Hour Seventeen
Shall I mourn the loss of time?
It took away all my dimes.
Shall I mourn the loss of time?
It made me prime.
(Couplets)
(#17/24): “Obliteration”
They were my tomes from childhood.
A retreat from the drudgery of schoolwork,
That I would escape to at every opportunity.
They were my books.
What followed was a wanton calamity
Akin to the destruction of the Library of Alexandria.
A catastrophe that could have been prevented,
Had I not neglected to peruse them all this time.
This annihilation was years in the making.
A combination of relentless monsoon rain,
A gradual erosion of soil,
And weak wooden walls in the subterranean.
Those damned termites grew in hordes.
Remorselessly eating their way into my home.
Munching through every page cover to cover,
Turning all my precious volumes into cellulose pulp.
Realisation came belatedly.
The exterminators were too late.
Everything was absolutely destroyed.
I am bereft at this devastating loss.
© 2017 S Phua
Poem 22
She was a horrible driver
Taking her cues only from the other cars
A clear street
She drove 80 and if there was a car
She would slow to about four below
The speed limit
If there was a lot of traffic she would pull to the side of the road
And just wait patiently for the other cars to flow
Past her going to their places
She would wait and call them
Distract them from their driving
Nobody ever told her she needed to get home
No it wasn’t the reason for her driving
She hadn’t been really given a reason for her driving
Or she had, and just hadn’t known
Making way for other drivers is the worst way to get from point A
To point B
Her driving and her direction are her own responsibility
And making up for lost time by pounding the wheel and laying on the gas
Was horrible for her interior and transmission
Driving with precision begins in choosing the destination
Pulling over is necessary for detailing and engine checking
You don’t need to call your friends when you are free to leave the car
Free to leave the car
Free to leave the car
Hour 20 Nature
I can walk around indoors,
I can tread on the treadmill,
I can tangle through jumping ropes,
But I would miss the breeze brushing my face,
When the earth beneath and cushioned feet,
Jostles me to take another step,
To run past leaving everything behind.
When the giant moving tree in the distant horizon,
Is envisioned as a milestone.
When the blossomed lotus,
Leaves behind reminiscence of all things positive.
(#16/24): “Parity”
This growing divide between rich and poor,
That disparity between obscene wealth and abject poverty,
A gap which grows only larger, not narrower,
Fills me with great anger.
Would I to take up my bow and arrows as Robin of the Hood,
A pair of pistols as the Highwayman Dick Turpin,
Or rapier of justice as Zorro rides once more,
And roaming the high seas as did Black Bart.
I would love to redress this grave balance.
Relieving the bourgeoisie of their affluence,
And redistributing to the proletariat.
A Holy Terror to the Ungodly.
© 2017 S Phua
HOUR23
Seeking love
Where will I find my love?
In a museum or in a concert hall?
At the market or on a bus tour?
Why can’t I guess the right location
for our very first encounter?
Magic would make all much easier!
The Garden Out My Window (prompt 24)
Through the blinds I used to see a tall Norwegian maple
with leaves the color of tanned leather
bigger than my outspread hand.
It had a scar along the trunk, a long vertical burn
where lightning struck one afternoon
without rain or storm.
We liked the yard a little wild.
The tall, straight nut trees of ancient age
blocked the sunlight from the gardens
so the undergrowth was straggly,
except for the honeysuckle that grew
in wild abundance, trying to dominate
much stronger plants, and the thick moss
that grew instead of grass.
One spring we planted a thousand bulbs.
Two hundred daffodils along the stone wall
behind the maple, and three hundred tulips
around the maple’s base and over toward
the steps by the steep driveway.
They were splendid when they bloomed.
Violent, bright colors against winter browns.
The rest were crocus, and we tucked them away
in every place we could dig a hole in the front.
They bloom first, and we wanted the joy widespread.
Unfortunately, the grey squirrels wanted food.
The crocuses were a treasure hunt they never tired of.
So we planted ground cover that liked the deep shade
and let the wild life come and go as it would.
Sometimes there were deer. One day a mother turkey
and six babies. Another time rabbits.
Occasionally a ground hog or a fox.
And when the snow was over for sure, we had
nests of red chipmunks in the stones,
with their little flirty tails twitching and shrill barks.
They drove the dog crazy.
But it was the birds I loved. We had more than I could name.
Cardinals, bluejays, finches, nuthatches, sparrows, woodpeckers,
owls, hawks, and wrens, mockingbirds and nightingales to trill in glory.
Peace lived there, among nature’s bounty and beauty,
in the rhythm of life and the seasons.
A time of joy and blessing,
a time of true contentment.
Hour Sixteen
From Lolita
My body has just ripened
let me bear the fruits with you
the diamonds in your eyes
reflect the light in mine
the lollipop of desire
is my favourite candy
Humbert, I’ve forgotten Charlie,
let me hum your tune
Persona poem.
( Character- Lolita from Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov)
(#15/24): “Longing”
Along the Wei River,
My train meanders its way through Shaanxi.
Even as the Loess Plateau degrades,
Apple trees can still bloom in spring.
I recall steaming bowls of hot soup
Generously ladled out by mother.
I whet my lips in anticipation.
In my mind, I am already home.
© 2017 S Phua