Jem Stones: April 2021

Friday, April 30, 2021

poem about something that might backfire

a plan that could backfire..

like say a travel bubble

it's name is ominous

for bubbles can only burst

perhaps we should call it a travel capsule

It may be easier to swallow

or a travel

Thursday, April 29, 2021

on a walk

what happens when I go for a walk

I think, I hear, I see

different things

and today I heard the guttural sounds

of dialect spoken by 2 gentlemen

I took a quick look to confirm what I guessed

they were older men, the other side of 60.and that got me thinking

in a matter of years say 10 to 20,

we may no longer hear these dialects

Cantonese, Teo chew, Hokkien

that's how long it take to kill a dialect

why should I care

it's not my language but I do

for language shapes identity

and when we kill a language or a dialext

we kill a way of living thinking being.

but not matter how low I get

when I see a flock of green parrots take to the sky

my spirits lift up with them

that's why I walk

Wednesday, April 28, 2021

the secret

We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.

what do you suppose this poem means?

read each of the following statements and indicate with tick if you think it is true or false

this poem has a secret meaning

this poem like every other poem has a secret meaning

the poet know what this secret is

the reader knows the secret

there is no secret

this poem is about a dance

this poem is inspired by the nursery rhyme Ring a round a Roses

the secret is an animal

the secret likes having everyone dance around it

the secret wishes it could be told

the secret wishes never to be told

everyone enjoys dancing around the secret

everyone feels each knows the secret and they dance in the glee of knowing

this is about a satanic ritual in the forest

there is no secret. everybody knows

everybody has a secret

everybody likes having a secret

everybody is allowed to have a secret

you should trust someone who days they don't have a secret

you don't want to know your husband's/wife's/ son's/daughter's secret

cancel that

you want to know your children's secrets but not your spouse's.

you don't want to know your parent's secrets

Tuesday, April 27, 2021

contract

contract between Ram and Sita

I will slay monsters for you

you will come to the forest with me

I will decimate Lanka for you

you will walk in fire for me

I will make you my queen

Monday, April 26, 2021

books poems 3

i agree with Meihan Boey

that books never yell at you

Poems don't either.

they just draw you in and

soothe you so

Here is my personal dispensary,

Try it out and see

For a headache, read Howl

For heartbreak, read [you fit into me]

For one of those days

read Men are like Bloody Buses

For when you are homesick,

read La Mian in Melbourne

For love's steady heartbeat,

read Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day

For inspiration in dark moments

read If

For when you are grieving,

read Stop All The Clocks

For when you mourn a hero,

read Oh Captain My Captain

For a dose of shock and awe,

read Lady Lazarus

When you are sick of homework,

read Homework Machine

When you are tired of Literature read Introduction to Poetry

When you are bored in a meeting read Celia Celia

For a laugh any time of the day, read Brian Bilston

For when you are sick of fairy tales read Roahl dahl's revolting rhymes

For when you want your mind blown away,

Read The Brain - is Wider than the Sky-

and

When you feel overwhelmed by this world

read The Peace of Wild Things

---‐-------

For when you are feeling rather pensive,

read Daffodils by Wordsworth

When you need to defend libraries libraries or reading read Don't go into Libraries by Alberto Rios

For when you are lost

Read The Road Not Taken

I agree wholeheartedly that books never yell at yothey are always there, waiting for you

For a cold read

For a headache read

For a heartbreak read

For dealing with loss read

poems to reference

because I could not stop for death

stop all the clocks

homework machine

if by Rudyard kipling

Wendy cope

for a laugh, read the future kok wei Liang

for homesickness read boey Kim Cheng noodles

for quiet in a mad world read all we want is people to be nice ...

for love read my mistress eyes are not like the sun

to lift up gloom read nature's first gold is green

for wonder and awe read Lady Lazarus

futility of war

the news

for when a hero dies oh captain myn

.c1

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/312103-bloody-men-are-like-bloody-buses-you-wait-for#:~:text=You%20wait%20for%20about%20a,Two%20or%20three%20others%20appear.

men are like bloody buses

books poems

i agree with Meihan Boey

that books never yell at you

Poems don't either.

they just draw you in and

soothe you so

Here is my personal dispensary,

Try it out and see

For a headache, read Howl by Allen Ginsburg

For a heartbreak, read

For one of those days read Men are like Bloody Buses by Wendy Cope

For when you are homesick,

read La Mian in Melbourne by Boey Kim Cheng

For when you are grieving,

read Stop All The Clocks By Auden

For when you mourn a hero,

read Oh Captain My Captain

For a dose of shock and awe, read Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath

When you are sick of homework read Homework Machine by Shel Silverstein

When you are tired of Literature read Introduction to Poetry

When you are bored in a meeting read Celia Celia by Adrian Mitchell

When you are overwhelmed by the troubles of the world read The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry

For a laugh any time of the day, read Brian Bilston

When you need to defend libraries libraries or reading read Don't go into Libraries by Alberto Rios

For when you are lost read Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

For when you are sick of fairy tales read Roahl dahl's revolting rhymes

For love's steady heartbeat read Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day by Shakespeare

For when you are feeling rather pensive,

read Daffodils by Wordsworth

I agree wholeheartedly that books never yell at yothey are always there, waiting for you

For a cold read

For a headache read

For a heartbreak read

For dealing with loss read

poems to reference

because I could not stop for death

stop all the clocks

homework machine

if by Rudyard kipling

Wendy cope

for a laugh, read the future kok wei Liang

for homesickness read boey Kim Cheng noodles

for quiet in a mad world read all we want is people to be nice ...

for love read my mistress eyes are not like the sun

to lift up gloom read nature's first gold is green

for wonder and awe read Lady Lazarus

futility of war

the news

for when a hero dies oh captain myn

.c1

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/312103-bloody-men-are-like-bloody-buses-you-wait-for#:~:text=You%20wait%20for%20about%20a,Two%20or%20three%20others%20appear.

men are like bloody buses

books for every season

A prescription

I agree wholeheartedly that books never yell at yothey are always there, waiting for you

here is my personal dispensary,

try it or share yours!

For a cold read

For a headache read

For a heartbreak read

For dealing with loss read

poems to reference

because I could not stop for death

stop all the clocks

homework machine

if by Rudyard kipling

Wendy cope

for a laugh, read the future kok wei Liang

for homesickness read boey Kim Cheng noodles

for quiet in a mad world read all we want is people to be nice ...

for love read my mistress eyes are not like the sun

to lift up gloom read nature's first gold is green

for wonder and awe read Lady Lazarus

futility of war

the news

for when a hero dies oh captain myn

.c1

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/312103-bloody-men-are-like-bloody-buses-you-wait-for#:~:text=You%20wait%20for%20about%20a,Two%20or%20three%20others%20appear.

men are like bloody buses

bivalve

what helps me filter out negative thoughts

Jane austen!

when the world gets me down

I go to a book

Sunday, April 25, 2021

advert for Ram

if you dig heroes, I'm your man

The number of demons I've

slayed, countless.

the number of hearts I've broken?.

Well, just one. maybe two.

I'm a one woman kind of guy

but I put that one woman thru a lot

so you best be prepared ..

i promise you q4 years of rustic living

with a third wheel to protect us on our journeys

but before that, let me list some of my deeds

you can judge if you want to marry me

I stepped on a stone once and freed a woman

Robin Hood could never take me,

I shoot arrows clean through 7 trees to hit my mark

I picked up a bow that weighed the earth and broke it like a toothpick

shall I say more?

but first perhaps

day 25 grandmother biography

My grandmother is like this tree.

spreading her branches out and upwards, supporting life, lending shade.

She is sustenance.

Today I feel them -

Stop All The Clocks by Auden

and Because I Could Not Stop for Death by Emily Dickenson.

Life doesn't stop thougj, does it?

I wish to be drenched in rain now,

drenched in the rain that is my grandmothers love.

She was not a sensible grandmother.

No. She was a fun-loving

life-embracing grandmother,

who relished chocolate ice-cream, pepper chicken, and chilli crab.

Her fried fish, so thin so crisp,

I can see it, and yearn to taste it,

though I've been vegetarian for 5 years now.

She would spend above her means and

borrow to buy gifts

for all whom her love touched,

Her love extended like the rays of the sun.

She would order podi for me and thattai for my son and

karivadagam for my husband.

She knew each of us and our favourites,

her children's and their families,

her grandchildren's and their families.

The lines on her face a map of her life's journey:

As a young child, pampered till the age of 14,

her father sending her treasures from Singapore, earned from their properties along Market Street and in Burma;

Then as a young bride at 15,

married to a man ruled by his family

and their unending greed for her wealth;

A young mother at 17,

tending to her baby and the family,

and bearing with verbal, physical and psychological abuse

even as she bore baby after baby, nine in all:

A fiercely independent woman

who left home at 40 with all 9 children,

fearing for her life

and the safely of her children:

Pawning her jewellery to get her daughters married off,

Living with guilt

after her daughter-in-law hung herself

and paying for this guilt for the rest of her life,

supporting her eldest son and his son till the end of her days.

She was no saint,

sometimes playing one kid off another.

Her children vied for her attention, and she, ever the matriarch,

wove a tight tapestry

Her love for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren

was like a diamond, pure and blinding

All of us turned to her pray for us at evey hour of need

from a fear of a miscarriage

to blessings for PSLE exams.

She had a direct line to God, and we went through her, our telephone exchange with Heaven.

She would arrange for a donation to Jesus Calls,

Tulabaram at Guruvayur temple

a coconut offering at Mupathamman temple,

and we'd feel reassured,

for what could go wrong when our dearest Aaya had prayed for us?

She was our anchor

and now we feel adrift.

Still, I remind myself,

her blood runs in me

like an unbroken thread

from her mother to my daughter,

five generations of first daughters.

I see her face in my mother's and daughter's.

We feel her strength in every tree,

her caress in the wind

and we know,

we are so loved.

Saturday, April 24, 2021

Peiyachi

yesterday I was humbled

I had walked past this goddess in the temple and have hardly ever dared look at her

she looked monstrous to me, canine teeth protruding eyes bloodshot, a heavy woman, and worst of all, pulling out the innards like so many sausages on a string

I always walked past quickly somewhat reviled

but I am humbled today

for the feminine need not always be shapely, kind kind benevolent..

the feminine can also be ferocious and worthy of respect and reverwnce even then

submission plans

1. Jan. shot glass journal. 3 out of 4 accepted

2. Feb. Tiger Moth Review. 2 out of.3 accepted

3. Mar. Best Asian poetry. pending

4. Apr. poetry writing month

5. May. community poem. didn't win a prize

6. June. friends and friendship. 2 out of 3 accepted

7. July. submitted to epigram. pending

other ideas

1. do next children's pic book. copy kitten or the girl who fixed the moon

2. submit to qrls.

3. collect anndput together manuscript for poetry anthology.

a. 11 accepted poems.

b. 9 unaccepted /not heard from yet poems..

c. remaining poems

sections

musings

on parenting

on nature

done. by end May.. on community for national poetry -1 poem

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=134057322053423&id=100063474672812&sfnsn=mo

by end June on friendship to the poet -up to 6 poems

https://www.thepoetmagazine.org/contribute?fbclid=IwAR3nvoUnJyFe1UeoOhEbElkAJWAAwTPn3aIMVyHt9nmja1rED8LobchdICQ

what is friendship but

friends like pearls

birds at dusk

in progress- maybe 1??

by end May and June also at least 2 children's books simultaneously as the poetry submissions

tamil

Like a river the fence goes on forever.

Two little girls, refugees, stand on either side,

identical in their tattered dresses, braided hair and innocent smiles.

One finds an abandoned plank,

and slips one end through a gap in the fence.

The other grasps it and pulls it towards herself.

With a rock carefully placed, she creates a sense of balance for themselves in this topsy-turvy turvy world.

Now they fly up to touch the sky in turn weightlessly matching the other at each end

and joyfully slide down to the middle of that fence,

their laughter gurgling like a stream in the dismal space.

As they went up and down

and up and down

on either side of that fence

so did their sea saw wing with them

like the scales on Lady Justice's hands.

நதி மூலம் போல

வேலியின் முடிவுகள்

பாவாடை சட்டையும்

ஒற்றைப் பின்னலும்

அசட்டுச் சிரிப்பும் அணிந்திருந்த

இரண்டு அகதிக் கன்றுக்குட்டிகள்

ஒரு கன்றுக்குட்டி

எங்கோ கண்டுபிடித்த செவ்வக அட்டைக் கோத்தாவை

கீழ் துவாரம் வழியே சொருக

மறு குட்டி

அதன் மறுபக்கத்தை

லாகவமாகப் பிடித்துக்கொண்டது.

பக்கத்தில் கிடந்த பாறைத்துண்டை

நடுக்கல்லாகப் பொருத்தி

அட்டைக் கோத்தாவை

அதன் மேலே அமர்த்தி

சீ-சா கட்டிக்கொண்டன.

ஒன்றன் பின் ஒன்றாக,

இல்லாத எடை கொண்டு

சீ-சாவில் ஒரு பொழுது ஊனவும்

மறு பொழுதே

அந்தர சிகரத்தைத் தொட

தாவிய பின் சரிந்தும்,

இதயங்கள் துள்ளத் துள்ள விளையாடின.

சீ-சாவும் அவற்றுடன்

சாய்ந்து சாய்ந்து விளையாடியது.

நீதித் தராசின் சாயல் தெரிந்தது.

dark

dark deep brown

like that of tree trunks after the rain

Friday, April 23, 2021

malay poem : and then he flew

You.

I thought you were the moon but you are a star

I thought to fly to you,

if not on a broomstick then with borrowed wings.

Every feather I picked, from pigeons, and albatross alike,

I wove together

like the threads of my life.

I have no regrets, my love.

To get to you, I gave myself wings

and I flew

A dream like none other

I first skimmed the tops of the waves

before I rose higher to meet you

My heart flew ahead of me

I don't think you knew

I burn for you,

And now I have come as close as I can

You let me down kindly

by looking past me

and I fell

like a falling star into the churning ocean

when I dived high

now I dived deep

and found myself.

____________

Epilogue:

Icarus is not the warning

to not fly too high

Icarus is proof that one can live

before they die

All dreams have to end one day

Sometimes with a splash that breaks a father's heart

blade runner

Andys seem attractive

why wouldn't we want one

All he ever loved was knowing

she was his, and that she was pretty. A statue served his needs better and he took it and is praised for it.

Having kids would be an issue though. Rama wisely banished Sita only after impregnating her, not just with one kid but with twins, the other as insurance.

So what do we do?

Then our Andy could perhaps keep it warm, let it grow, or maybe we'd have an oven for this purpose, also at the Creation Bank.

And life would be good, with each of us with our custom made partner and kids and no troubles in the world.

The future looks mechanical and bright.

news

Reading the news these days is more terrifying than any horror film or book.

Today I was gripped for a moment by this thought: What if the last time i saw them was the last time I saw them?

The hopes for this pandemic to pass and for norms to return seem rapidly fading.

India seems to be a dystopian world onto itself... with the kumba mela and election rallies on one side, not to mention holi celebrations with people neck to neck in colours to symbolise the exuberance of the joy,

and hospitals and morgues on the other, wringing their hands in despair as there is no room to hold people in them anymore. No oxygen. No medicine. And now no flights out of India. No escape to Singapore, to London. to Philippines.

Like a city with plague, it is forced to close borders and contain death on its own, contain it by dying on its own.

My heart contracts with dread.

When will I see my in laws in person, they who live in singara Chennai?

When I will hold my best friend's son in my arms, who was born in Switzerland a full year ago? I yearn to squeeze him tight, to absorb through osmosis, all the life and hope he represents now in such bleak dark times.

I'm afraid.

Reading the news these days is more terrifying than any horror film or book.

today I was gripped for a moment by this thought...

What if I never see some of my friends again?.

What if the last time i saw them

was the last time I saw them?

Rhe hopes for this pandemic to pass

and for norms to return

seem rapidly fading.

and hospitals and morgues wringing their symbolic hands in despair as there is no room to hold people in them anymore.

No oxygen. No medicine. And now flights from India ar3 closed off.

no escape to Singapore, to London. to Philippines.

Like a city with plague, it is forced to close borders and contain death on its own, contain it by dying on its own.

My heart contracts with dread.

Qhen will I see my in laws in person, they who live in Singara Chennai?

Qhen I will hold my best friend's son in my arms, who was born in Switzerland a full year ago.

I yearn to squeeze him tight, to absorb through osmosis, all the life and hope he represents now in such bleak dark times.

I'm afraid.

Thursday, April 22, 2021

birdbirds

" The bird slept for 12 hours and decided to live well."

1. The bird got up and looked around

Under the overcast sky, the forest was glowing green and yellow, and the trees cast black shadows that criss-crossed the forest floor.

The bird studied its place, lost in thought. Was it to just sit motionless in place for people to appreciate the turn of its tail, the red of its breast,

quietly play its part in this watercolour by Nature?

The cockerel crowed, and the bird remembered that today was day the other bird had died.

It picked out a bouquet of wildflowers, lavender, daisies, and daffodils for life, and flew to lay it by the window pane, where other had bumped its head and fallen dead.

The light in the house was still on,

they have a moon inside, or maybe it's the sun. It seems that the bird forgot again. Today the bird is in no hurry.

It notices, that when it's bright outside, the sun inside doesn't work.

It hears the drip drip drip.

The toilet is still dripping with water. It's not the bird that forgot to turn it off, it's just the residue after the shower.

If she stays long enough, will the.sun dry up the rain?

2. Blood is not a cool rose color, she is unable to respond with an eager heart.

The bird looks coldly at the endless chicken wings on the IKEA plate on the kitchen table. Those legs. Is that what her own bones looked like?

It expected to feel hungry.

But now it only saw the bouquet like a wreath, for these chickens and its friend. Fear seized her heart. Maybe one day the wreath would adorn her instead.

That bird hasn't thought about it for some time.

When the leaves rushed in with the like the tide, the bird disappeared into the grass.

1. The bird slept for 12 hours and decided to live well."

The bird got up and looked at the forest.

The forest was glowing green and yellow, under the overcast sky, casting black shadows on the forest .

The bird looked carefully and was lost in thought. The bird is selflessly motionless in its place. The alarm clock rang, and the bird remembered that today was another bird's memorial day. After picking up the bunch of flowers, I hurried out. The light in the house is still on, so it seems that the bird forgot again. No wonder the bird in a hurry. Then blame the daytime, so that the indoor lights can't work. The toilet is still dripping with water. It's not the bird that forgot to turn it off, it's just the residue after the shower. Stay with the lights, the water will stop naturally.

Two For the cool rose color, Is unable to respond with eager heart. The bird looked coldly at the endless chicken wings on the IKEA plate. Originally, I expected solar energy to share some hunger. But let the wreath adorning the coffin seize the heart. That bird hasn't thought about it for some time. When the tide came, the bird disappeared into the grass.

jasmine

Free to use

Universal

Often get empty. Just plant some jasmine flowers in the garden Touch the soft soil Because of touch Thought there was no root Eyes are floating in the air Jasmine fragrance is light The mist attached to the whites of the eyes Thought there would be chairs in the garden Let you sit and rest for a while After a long journey There is still a shaking desert in my eyes A disdainful look of an unclassified person Think you are the flag Only with the wind Never ask questions why Water the flowers in the garden every time My eyes began to cry

shale

Shale on the seabed I can't remember my own story I'm tired of watching fish It also tastes the mainland in the imaginary deep sea memories to weakness I have also counted the salt and algae on my body many times -I'm a Stone, I'm history! I am still the precipitation of the world Social enrichment The ashes of all things Light color is conceited Dark is inferiority complex It's like overlapping two books page by page and never getting involved again Press out history, precipitate, concentrate and ash with countless times Water knows how I jumped down and turned into a shale Water knows how I gnash my teeth on the shore Water knows what kind of melee I was killed in— Aiming at the reflection and facing each other with his fists, thinking at one end is just a broken head Water doesn't know that this is the torture of salvation and punishment, which pierces me in all my weaknesses Perforation makes me have to choose cavity, cavity, crack and crack This is a draw that has been suspended forever Until the ashes of all things again go round and begin again

you

You have no business dying

not even 50, while watching tv.

Just like that your show ended

and you didn't even come out for a curtain call.

Did you hear her, your beloved wife,

saying you were her favourite person in the world, distraught and broken?

And did you see your 14-year old,

the one who wants to be just like you,

sitting shell shocked for half the day, then standing by you, over your coffin the other half,

whispering to you

all that she doesn't have time to say?

What about your 4-year old, the one who hangs around your neck all the time?

She was playing on the grass patch outside while everyone else mourned inside. She knew something sad was happening, that it involved appa but that's it.

As you pulled out in your truck, songs of shiva in the air,

she only asked, 'is appa in there?"

and then "I want to go home."

And what about your eldest, shouldering the burden of the world, your world, at just 19? She was forced to stand stoic, as her mother sobbed inconsolable, and her sisters mute in sorrow.

Will you look down on them and cry too?

Their love for you was not enough to hold you

and you left.

Wednesday, April 21, 2021

the end

how might the end come

over a cup of tea, while watching TV

should it come with time.e for farewells or just a si please khattam shud

is there a plan and do you evere us know

what do daughters do without their papa

how do we grieve

no words for it

no set rule book

just this

some wipe a quiet tear

others wail their hearts out

some whisper to their beloved

others play on the greens especially when they are just 4 and are still babbling

the rest of us

we just stand around

wondering at the ways of the Lord

cannibalism poem

Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! for the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.

hey babe. it's just you and me

the world sucks.

bloody covid everywhere

we can't get away anywhere

though we have coptors flying to Mars,

Maybe soon up there we'll have cars

we now recycle our piss in underground vats,

in India hospital beds and oxygen are both scarce

in Mynmmar the junta is back

in America, you could be shot for

being Black

you and me, we better hold on

coz everyday someone is s dropping off

could be war the virus the vaccine or sometimes just being on the back of a truck can be fatal

you and I, we

either of war or virus or in some cases vaccines.

and there isn't enough oxygen

perhaps soon we will learn to recycle our daily breathing gas too

being Black.

and Aung San Su Kyi is back under house arrest

Myanmar junta runn

and people are dying every minute

dropping like flies

ps

like that he didn't shy away from the hard stuff

gender dysphoria

fatal high ropes

pdl and privacy

but... his closing comments.

. that we could have supported the school better. how about the students better?

don't rush to cement your identity. but he was 18. not rushing anymore surely. let her decide. and her family.

chill

Reading the papers yesterday gave me the chills

esp after reading enders game and do android sheep have electric dreams

page 1. huge underground plant to recycle water

page 4-8. virus wreaking havoc all over the world. no hospital beds. no oxygen. World on the verge of despair

page 14. successful robot helicoptor flight to Mars. Next destination... Venus

in other news, let's tap on AI and deep learning and machine learning for everything.

at the office, let's get AI to write children's stories with specific vocabulary words

look into the crystal ball and what do I see

the virus makes earth quite inhabitable.

we set off to Mars to set up home

all we need is enough water that can forever be recycled, and that amazing underground water treatment plant.

just waiting for us to come up with a way to recycle oxygen, and we may be set. for friendship we take ai, who can read us bed time stories, read our minds to give us just the dreams we wants, soothe us, tickle us, even fight us to get that adrenaline flowing but stop just in time before we hurt it or ourselves

let's set ourselves up on Mars

put it all together

celia

Celia Celia

When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope has gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on

when

Tuesday, April 20, 2021

face

What has changed?

Only the increased

compartmentalisation of the face.

I wait for the moment my colleagues take a sip of water, for then that mask must come down, and I get a sense of who they really are.

As much pleasure as I derive from studying the shape of one's eyes, the arch of their eyebrows even the crow's feet fanning out of the corner of their eyes, I've come to realise a person's nose and mouth contribute much to one's face.

Since not all smiles have to reach the eyes,

beneath this mask I need not re-arrange my lips.

It's an art, to divorce one from the other

in saying what we want to say,

one I have hopes of mastering every day.

#spwm21 #spwm21day13 #jemstones #changeprompt #plscrit

What has changed?

Only the increased

compartmentalisation of the face.

I wait for the moment my colleagues take a sip of water, for then that mask must come down, and I get a sense of who they really are.

Since not all smiles have to reach the eyes,

beneath this mask I need not re-arrange my lips.

It's an art, to divorce one from the other

in saying what we want to say,

one I have hopes of mastering every day.

#spwm21 #spwm21day13 #jemstones #changeprompt #plscrit

What has changed?

Only the increased

compartmentalisation of the face.

I wait for the moment my colleagues take a sip of water, for then that mask must come down, and I get a sense of who they really are.

Since not all smiles have to reach the eyes,

beneath this mask I need not re-arrange my lips.

It's an art, to divorce one from the other

in saying what we want to say,

one I have hopes of mastering every day.

#spwm21 #spwm21day13 #jemstones #changeprompt #plscrit

old man

since I already wrote one poem in singlish, I've decided to translate thst into the queen's English

Dear most distinguished hiker of the woods

I understand that you chanced upon a secret garden in the centre of a forest in the middle of a city during one of your irregular hikes and that your sensibilities were so offended that someone had dared to create a space of beauty unsanctioned, that

instead of marvelling at this oasis of peace in an urban jungle

you saw fit to report the matter to the powers that be.

you are

and that

buttefly love

I saw two butterflies chasing each other

when I walked back to work from lunch today.

The flutter of early love, I supposed.

They sense April is here, and seem caught

in a rush of affection,

a ‘can’t get enough of each other’ attraction,

in and out of bushes,

round and round the treetops,

first approaching, then dancing away,

now together, at last, on a leaf,

delicately balanced,

each holding the other.

Is this love I wonder,

the almost but not quite there

kisses that brush the ears

that tease, invite, and

torment until release,

the act of love sealing love,

heedless of the sun, the rain –

the butterfly chase.

or is it in the everyday,

the way you hold the cold compress to my arm

after my date with Moderna,

and pay our bills on time every month,

the way you buy the best carrots and potatoes

at the wet market,

and check the routes on google map

for me, before I set out,

the way you wake up in the middle of the night

in a thunderstorm,

to close all the windows?.

Yours is a love to hold us together

from April through to March

and then again,

one that lasts even after

the imprint of butterfly kisses

fade away.

singlish to English to tamil

The Letter I Really Want to Pen

Dear Enthusiastic Hiker

it has come to my attention

thst you have been needlessly

poking your nose into

other people's businesses.

A septuagenerian has been planting

tubers herbs oots and some leafy greens in a sheltered spot in the middle of a forest, off the main road (but right along your jogging route appatently)..

and you, so taken with the audacity

of an old man who dares to break a rule, have promptly gone to tell on him.

I hope you are pleased,

he now has to take down his dream

of 10 years, with his own hands

uproot his saplings

the great, brilliant actor Rajini kanth once said, or at least his script writer said

edukirutha kastham? podratha kashgar

In this case pudungurtha kastham? valakuruthu thaan kashtam. .

bananas, mangoes, papayas and even some herbs," he

just planted seeds for new herbs and want them to grow before I leave the place," he added.

tubers

Why you so liddat?

Old man grow vegtables

in the middle of nowhere,

you go complain...

for what?

You jog, just jog round lah.

Got medal ah to tell tales?

You tell oredi, what can they do?

Gahmen must act mah.

You lah!

Primary school habit right?

"Cher! That boy make me,"

"Cher! That girl take my rubber,"

Now, it's "Cher that unker grow papaya"

Now that poor old unker

has to tear down his dream,

with his own hands, somemore.

All he wan is a quiet place to retire.

A secret garden, he do for 10 years you know!

An actual garden in this garden city

but no permit...

Buay tahan

Again I ask,

why you so liddat?

Monday, April 19, 2021

love

love is in the everyday

the way you press the ice compress on my arm after moderna

v2

At one and a half,

toddling with baby fat

spilling out in Michellin tyres,

noo noo was noodles,

lala was rice, and

jigijiga meant you were happy.

As a pre-schooler,

your baby fat already melting away

with your insistence on ohnwearinf long pants always,

when you dug your toes

hard into me in the middle of the night

it meant you were cold,

I covered you with a blanket

and you stopped.

Now you are all limbs sticking out every which way and sometimes you scream

or tears well in your eyes

at what seem like

insignificant things to me,

but to you they matter.

I wish I could translate better.

#spwm21 #spwm21day19 #culturalexchangeprompt #plscrit #workinprogress #jemstones

I wish I could translate better.

#spwm21 #spwm21day19 #culturalexchangeprompt #plscrit #workinprogress #jemstones

At one and a half,

toddling around in your diapers,

noo noo was noodles,

lala was rice, and

jigijiga meant you were happy.

As a pre-schooler,

when you dug your toes

hard into me in the middle of the night

it meant you were cold,

I covered you with a blanket

and you stopped.

Now sometimes you scream

or tears well in your eyes

at what seem like

insignificant things to me,

but to you they matter.

I wish I could translate better.

#spwm21 #spwm21day19 #culturalexchangeprompt #plscrit #workinprogress #jemstones

blade runner

at first reading blade runner seems more interesting but also harder to unpack

I hate covid

my best friends son is taking his first steps and I have yet to see him

I miss them so much it hurts.

day 19 again

time traveller-explain something from the past to the present or present to the future or present to the past

et. explain something about humanity

hilarious poem by adrienne rich

When I am sad and weary
When I think all hope has gone
When I walk along High Holborn
I think of you with nothing on.

Celia Celia by Adrian Mitchell

day 19

At one and a half,

as a chubby toddler

noo noo was noodles

lala was rice

jigijiga meant you were happy.

As a pre-schooler,

when you dug your toes hard into me in the middle of the night

it meant you were cold,

I covered you with a blanket

and you stopped.

Now sometimes you scream

or tears well in your eyes

at what seem small

or insignificant things to me,

but to you they matter.

I wish I could translate better.

Sunday, April 18, 2021

day 18 I wanna be

When my son was three, he asked me

what I wanted to be when I grow up.

The possibilities lit up,

at the thought I could still still be..

Like a second chance at life

I said I'd like to be

a pianist, an artist, a writer,

but now I wonder,

could I be a tree maybe?

A seraya if so,

I'd live for a hundred and fifty years,

striking straight for the stars

before I branch out,

my ribs that run down me in parallel

an invitation to climb up to the sky.

I'd be so broad, and solid,

yet you'd never call me fat.

Yes, I'll be a mighty giant

to stand the test of time.

Or perhaps...I'll be the sea,

writing and revising shorelines forever.

I'd have lived to see dinosaurs roam

and mosasauraus dive deep,

the trilobite turning to stone on my bed.

I'll ebb and flow right through time, from yestersag till tomorrow when human beings have come and gone, and the next Kings of the land are here.

Yes, I'll be the sea, washing over the sins of the past into the future.

Have I a tree in me? or the sea?

I definitely have birds in me.

Maybe I'll be a bird, the drongo with its two tail feathers following far behind me. I'll fly from tree to tree but make the seraya my home,

Or I'll be the nondescript plover, small and brown, you won't notice me till I'm gone over the sea, to far flung lands, on the other side of the globe.

One thing I know, is that after all this, I'll still always want to be

the mother to this child,

who, with his questions, set me free.

this covid will be over and the new norms wilcarrying boats

ever ready to wash away this germ now and new worlds to come

so broad , yet I'd never be called fat

I'll strike straight for the stars

and then branch out

the ribs running down my trunk

am invitation and a challenge

Saturday, April 17, 2021

day 14 the letter

The Letter I Really Wanna Write

Why you so liddat?

Old man grow vegtables

in the middle of nowhere,

you go complain...

for what?

You jog just jog round lah.

Got medal ah to tell tales?

You tell oredi what can they do?

Gahmen must act mah.

You lah!

Primary school habit right?

"Cher! That boy make me,"

"Cher! That girl take my rubber,"

Now, it's "Cher that unker grow papaya"

Now that poor old unker

has to tear down his dream,

with his own hands, somemore

All he wan is a quiet place to retire.

a secret garden, he do for 10 years you know!

an actual garden in this garden city

but no permit...

buay tahan

again I ask,

why you so liddat?

Now that poor old uncle

has to tear down his dream

with his own hands,

a dream of retiring in a space of his own,

a secret garden he has nurtured for 10 years

where he troubled no one but himself.

an actual garden in this garden city

but without a permit...

Friday, April 16, 2021

day 17

the thread which holds us is so fragile

a single word misspoken sets us back

the joy, laughter and play

all.our the window

how strong was our bond if just a few words can set us adrift

in the car facing outwards

nothing more to say to the other

have we just gone out of practice? not having gone out much we have forgotten how to fight and make up

day 16

in my mind I see a fish fall from the sky,

straight into the ocean,

a streak of silver diving deep

its flight path brightens the ocean depths,

other creatures flee its unearthly light in undulating waves.

undeterred, it heads downward still

till it lights up the ocean floor.

black rocks glitter at the base of an underwater volcano

As the fish nears the lips, the under sea mountain heaves then bubbles,

seething and spewing hot ash into the cold sea. The fish rides high at the top of the thick ash mushrooming from beneath

it rises and rises, a manic glint in its eye, in a tidal wave that unfurls on shore

the fish at the head, its maw wide open

it swallows trees then buildings, rears its head and then spits them back far inland

the sea retreats, having dumped its unholy guest. now it lies like a beached whale, belly turned, stinking to the sky, Those who are left, approach it with bile rising, asking only... why..

the ocean floor, littered with black stones that glitter

an arc of light inthe pitch darkness

an underwater volcano bubbles, seething and spewing hot ash into the cold sea

review of enders game

very imaginative and well ahead of its time

nets, different personalities, idea of influences, personal you create for your self

desks you carry around

super prescient

concerns

1. dense. needs a great degree of visualisation to understand what is going on... like floating and fighting in non gravity spaces

2. the psychological elements. the fairy tale. the brother in the mirror. the sister as serpent

3. violence. not as graphic as hunger games but present. children hurting each other very badly. biting off a ear. kicking in the groin.

4. sadistic torture of squirrel

5. he could walk between my legs without touching my balls. in the context of bullying newbies .

6. brief mentions of religions. not really a concern I think

7. multi layered narrative. kids could get confused with the Russia Netherlands narrative on earth. needs unpacking. the idea being that the threat of inter terrestrial attack is keeping the people united but otherwise they would just tear at one a others throats . Warsaw pact. quite some reference to cold war I think

8. a number of historical allusions must see if teachers are comfortable with these, also to discuss if students do.need to know these and to what extent to better appreciate the text

Cold War (Russia & Warsaw Pact v. America & League of Nations) -- Think about the similar alliances and various military and governing groups that Card uses. How do the historical alliances help us better understand the fictional ones?
Catholic, Mormon, and Muslim Religious Beliefs -- You don't have to know everything about these, but since there are believers who speak and act in a way that is motivated by their faith, look into what these actions mean to the people of these faiths.
Napoleon/Wellington, Caesar/Brutus, Alexander the Great -- Ender tries to learn from these ancient leaders. We need to know something about them to understand what he finds valuable and to see what he does that emulates them.
Locke, Demosthenes -- Peter chooses these names for himself and Valentine's personas. Why does he choose them? What associations do they have that match how the Wiggin children write and act?
Hitler, various genocides – We know that Ender feels conflicted about killing a species. What do we know from history about other genocides? When has this happened or been attempted and why? What is similar or different about Ender or other characters and the motives behind historical genocides?
Colonization -- What motivates people from history to move or to migrate as a 'colonist'? What are the positive and negative aspects to colonization that we might anticipate for the people in Card's fictional universe

" The Cold War in the 1980s

Ender's Game takes place in Earth's future, one in which all countries are cooperating together to save the planet from alien invasion. Nevertheless, the novel does suggest that the international conflicts of the twentieth century will not be forgotten, as an American hegemony (a group of nations dominated by one) will be pitted against a Second Warsaw Pact, led by the Russians. In this world, Russia rules Eurasia from the Netherlands to Pakistan. Peter believes that Russia is preparing for a "fundamental shift in world order." Once the bugger wars are over, the North American alliances will dissolve, and Russia will take over. This conflict may have seemed inevitable in the early and mid-1980s, when the novel was written. Since the end of World War II, the United States and the Soviet Union had engaged in a "cold war" which involved..."

Thursday, April 15, 2021

v3

This is where I come to be in times of uncertainty.

All along the river bank, life hums.

Pigeons coo from rooftops, a background score to the old lady pounding spices with a mortar and pestle in her backyard.

Further down, a kingfisher perches on the fence,

waiting and watching, before flashing blue in a lightning strike. A striated heron, the colour of rocks, meanwhile, creeps along quiet as night.

A cockerel crows in the distance, while a squirrel shimmies up a tree near me, the ground below littered with fallen jambu and green mango half pecked.

A red woodpecker trills as it climbs up a branch, just as a flock of parrots zoom towards me, green backed and red beaked, in fighter plane formation.

A bluebottle buzzes by into a clump of elephant ears standing at attention, while in the long grass, bullfrogs belt out their tuba tunes.

A swift skims the water, over a monitor lizard gliding languidly by. Radiating ripples tell of life teeming beneath even as a terrapin pokes it head out, and heads right the other way. A pair of otters in synchronous dives chase after fish in style.

The river glows double green, reflecting the trees lining the banks, showcasing a city hiding underneath.

That mesmerising sheen of green is broken by a flash of ultramarine as a blue-eared kingfisher darts among the trees. A shower of yellow leaves rain as if on cue, the curtain falling on this morning's show.

I leave for home, at peace.

This is where I come to be in times of uncertainty.

All along the river bank, life hums.

Pigeons coo from rooftops, a background score to the old lady pounding spices with a mortar and pestle in her backyard.

Further down, a kingfisher perches on the fence,

waiting and watching, before diving in a flash of blue.

A cockerel crows in the distance, while a squirrel shimmies up a tree near me, the ground below littered with fallen jambu and green mango half pecked.

A red woodpecker trills as it climbs up a branch, just as a flock of green parrots zoom towards me, green backed and red beaked, in fighter plane formation.

A bluebottle buzzes by my ear into a clump of elephant ears standing at attention, while in the long grass, bullfrogs belt out their tuba tunes.

A swift skims the water, over a monitor lizard gliding languidly by. Radiating ripples tell of life teeming beneath even as a terrapin pokes it head out, and heads right the other way.

The river water glows double green, reflecting the trees lining the banks, showcasing a city hiding underwater.

I leave for home, at peace.

#spwm21 #spwm21day15 #uncertaintyprompt #jemstones #plscrit

peace 2

this is where I come to be

in times of uncertainty

all along the river bank, life hums

pigeons coo from rooftops a background score,

to the old lady

pounding spices with a mortar and pestle in her backyard.

Further down a kingfisher perches on the fence,

waiting

and watching

A cockrel crows in the distance

while a squirrel shimmies up a tree near me,

the ground below littered with fallen jambu and green mango half eaten.

a red woodpecker trills as it climbs up a branch, before stopping to tap rat a a tat tat

a flock of green parrots suddenly zoom towards me,

all green backed and red beaked,

in fighter plane formation.

A bluebottle buzzes by my ear

into a clump of elephant ears

standing at attention,

A swift skims the water as it crosses the river

while a monitor lizard swims languidly by.

Radiating ripples tell of life teeming beneath even as

a terrapin pokes it head out, and heads the other way.

On the other side in the long grass,

bullfrogs belt out their tuba tunes.

the river water glows double green

reflecting the trees lining the banks,

showcasing an underwater city

That mesmerising sheen of green

is broken by a flash of ultramarine

as a blue-eared kingfisher darts among the trees.

A shower of yellow leaves rain as if on cue

the curtain falling on this morning's show

and I leave for home, at peace.

a heron hulking over the fence

a flash of yellow as a golden oriole swoops from branch to branch

peace

this is where I come to be

in my times of uncertainty

where the kingfisher dives for prey

and the otters splash and play

all along the river bank

life hums

mortar and pestle grounding spices

pigeons cooingom rooftops

Athens Kong Fisher waiting and watching

other birds chirping up in trees

a Cockerell crowing in the distance

woodpeckers tottering

tapping

shrill

green parrots take to the skies

in.figber plane formations

the monitor lizard swims languidly by

bullfrog croaking in the long grass

a bluebottle buses by

elephant ears stand at attention

the river water glowing double green

reflecting the trees lining the banks g

that mesmerising sheen of green

broken by a flash of ultramarine blue of of common kingfisher

a shower of yellow leaves falls as if on cue

the curtain calling or falling on this mornings show

what mysteries hide behind those green

the water rippling

hinting at life beneath

the swift swoops low across the river

Wednesday, April 14, 2021

day 14. change

What has changed?

Only the increased

compartmentalisation of the face.

I wait for the moment my colleagues take a sip of water, for then that mask must come down, and I get a sense of who they really are.

As much pleasure as I derive from studying the shape of one's eyes, the arch of their eyebrows, I've come to realise a person's nose and mouth contribute much to one's face.

For instance now, one cannot quite tell

if a comment has made someone's day or hurt them like hell.

Since not all smiles have to reach the eyes,

beneath this mask I need not re-arrange my lips.

It's an art, to divorce one from the other

in saying what we want to say,

one I have hopes of mastering every day.

What has changed?

Only the increased

compartmentalisation of the face.

I wait for the moment my colleagues take a sip of water, for then that mask must come down, and I get a sense of who they really are.

As much pleasure as I derive from studying the shape of one's eyes, the arch of their eyebrows, I've come to realise a person's nose and mouth contribute much to one's face.

Since not all smiles have to reach the eyes,

beneath this mask I need not re-arrange my lips.

It's an art, to divorce one from the other

in saying what we want to say,

one I have hopes of mastering every day.

What has changed?

Only the increased

compartmentalisation of the face.

I wait for the moment my colleagues take a sip of water, for then that mask must come down, and I get a sense of who they really are.

As much pleasure as I derive from studying the shape of one's eyes, the arch of their eyebrows, I've come to realise a person's nose and mouth contribute much to one's face.

for instance now, one cannot quite tell,

if a comment has made someone's day or hurt them like hell

since not all smiles have to reach the eyes,

I can happily frown behind that mask,

it's an art, to divorce expressions from eyes and lips

one I hope to master every day.

I'm trying to master the art of differentiating what the shape of the mouth and the flare of the nostrils and they eyes convey.

if I really wanna say I'm happy

I have to smile so wide the smile reaches the eyes.

I need not always smile

not all smiles reach the eyes

What has changed?

Only the increased

compartmentalisation of the face.

I wait for the moment my colleagues take a sip of water, for then that mask must come down, and I get a sense of who they really are.

As much pleasure as I derive from studying the shape of one's eyes, the arch of their eyebrows, I've come to realise a person's nose and mouth contribute much to one's face.

sometimes when someone walks towards me, I can't always tell who they are, just based on their eyes peering over the wall of their masks.

What has changed? the increased compartmentalisation of the face

I wait for the moment my colleagues take a sip of water,

for then that mask must come down,

and I get a sense of who they really are.

As much pleasure as I derive from studying the shape of one's eyes, the arch of their eyebrows, I've come to.realise, a person's nose and mouth contribute much to one's face.

but nowadays I have more leisure to just examine those eyes I suppose, the shapes, the arch of the eyebrows above them,

Tuesday, April 13, 2021

v 1 and 2

I read your stories.

The one about the girl

who fixes the moon.

She climbs a ladder

and paints in the missing bits;

Also copy kitten,

and baby butterfly (is that even a thing?)

and the one about the clown fish and the crab,

alliterative animals

prancing about in your head

Let them out, girl

What are you afraid of?

That they won't sound as good on paper

as they did when the words first tumbled out of you,

heedless of form or logic?

After all, your three-year old

was gonna love anything you say anyway.

Or that your kids are growing up now,

and you don't have an audience

to make up nonsense stories for?

You will never know till you try them,

so just give it a shot, Jem

I read your stories.

The one about the girl

who fixes the moon.

She climbs a ladder

and paints in the missing bits;

Also copy kitten,

the one who copies her mum

in everything

and ends up saving her life;

And the one about the baby butterfly

(is that even a thing)?

but it was thrilling,

her ride on the back of another butterfly,

swooping low to escape the hawk:

Even the one about the clown fish and the crab,

which find prehistoric hatchlings

in a treasure box at the bottom of the ocean,

and bring them up on sea weed

You should take these out of the drawer, girl.

Send those words out.

What are you afraid of?

That they won't sound as good on paper

as they did when the words first tumbled out of you,

heedless of form or logic?

After all, your three-year old

was gonna love anything you say anyway.

Or that your kids are growing up now,

and you don't have an audience

to make up nonsense stories for?

Maybe you think nobody will read them or like them?

You'll never know till you try.

Just send them out

spwm21

Day 1. On the train and Bella (facebook.feed prompt)

(!)Day 2. What is friendship but

Day 3. 6 yards of silk (towel prompt)

Day 4. as every leaf turns from green to gold (regeneration prompt)

Day 5. universal studios (queue prompt)

(!)Day 6. Mynah (forever teacher prompt)

(!)Day 7. moon beam sun beam (intoxication prompt)

Day 8. free falling into words ( predictive prompt...dear jem you are free)

(!)Day 9. snails (rebirth prompt , old piece)

Day 10. shapely legs. (anticlimax prompt)

Day 11. wolf in sheepskin. (animal communicator aesops fable prompt)

Day 12. dance to Death. flying ants. (generator prompt).

Day 13. letter to myself (me myself and I prompt)

(!)Day 14. masks. (change prompt)

(!lDay 15. river hums (uncertainty prompt)

(!)Day 16. the fish that rides the tsunami and the excel poem (sanity prompt)

Day 17. why you so liddat (the unspoken word prompt).

(!)Day 18..all I want to be a tree or the sea or a bird (I wanna be prompt)

Day 19. at one a half jigijigga. (translation prompt)

Day 20 (I saw a leaf fall in Tamil) bilingualism prompt

Day 21 Dover Beach cannibalism

Day 22 Chinese poem translation

Day 23. Malay translation

Day 24. Tamil translation. 2 refugees on a see-saw

(!)Day 25. about aaya. the biography prompt

(!lDay 26. the Poetry Dispensary. the bivalve prompt

Day 27. Ram's Contract with Sita. The binding prompt

Day 28. philosophy and literature class. true false bivalence poem

Day 29. bloody men bloody buses the bi book prompt.

Day 30. a plan that could backfire and (!)zoom meetings with camera o ..

other poems in this time

1. (!)love poem about butterflies

2. (!)you have no business dying

14 poems I like that I created in 30 days. not bad right

those that I like

1. what is friendship but

2. my grandmother is like this tree

3. all i want to be

4. picking up snails

5. compartmentalisation of the face

6. excel poem

7. the fish that rides the tsunami

8. zoom meetings with camera on

9.you have no business dying

10. I saw two butterflies

11. the Poetry Dispensary

12. the river hums

13. the mynah

14. moon beam

letter to myself

I read your stories.

The one about the girl

who fixes the moon.

She climbs a ladder

and paints in the missing bits;

Also copy kitten,

and baby butterfly (is that even a thing?)

and the one about the clown fish and the crab,

alliterative animals

prancing about in your head

Let them out, girl

What are you afraid of?

That they won't sound as good on paper

as they did when the words first tumbled out of you,

heedless of form or logic?

After all, your three-year old

was gonna love anything you say anyway.

Or that your kids are growing up now,

and you don't have an audience

to make up nonsense stories for?

you will never know till you try them,

so just give it a shot, Jem

I read your stories.

The one about the girl

who fixes the moon.

She climbs a ladder

and paints in the missing b

And the one about the baby butterfly

(is that even a thing)?

but it was thrilling,

her ride on the back of another butterfly,

swooping low to escape the hawk:

Even the one about the clown fish and the crab,

which find prehistoric hatchlings

in a treasure box at the bottom of the ocean,

and bring them up on sea weed

You should take these out of the drawer, girl.

Send those words out.

What are you afraid of?

That they won't sound as good on paper

as they did when the words first tumbled out of you,

heedless of form or logic?

After all, your three-year old

was gonna love anything you say anyway.

Or that your kids are growing up now,

and you don't have an audience

to make up nonsense stories for?

Maybe you think nobody will read them or like them?

You'll never know till you try.

Just send them out.

I read your stories.

The one about the girl

who fixes the moon.

She climbs a ladder

and paints in the missing bits;

Also copy kitten,

the one who copies her mum

in everything

and ends up saving her life;

And the one about the baby butterfly

(is that even a thing)?

but it was thrilling,

her ride on the back of another butterfly,

swooping low to escape the hawk:

Even the one about the clown fish and the crab,

which find prehistoric hatchlings

in a treasure box at the bottom of the ocean,

and bring them up on sea weed

You should take these out of the drawer, girl.

Send those words out.

What are you afraid of?

That they won't sound as good on paper

as they did when the words first tumbled out of you,

heedless of form or logic?

After all, your three-year old

was gonna love anything you say anyway.

Or that your kids are growing up now,

and you don't have an audience

to make up nonsense stories for?

Maybe you think nobody will read them or like them?

You'll never know till you try.

Just send them out.

-----'

I read your stories

The one about the girl

who fixes the moon.

She climbs a ladder

and paints in the missing bits;

Also copy kitten,

the one who copies her mum

in everything

and ends up saving her life

from the rabid dog.

And the one about the baby butterfly

(is that even a thing)?

but it was thrilling,

her ride on the back of another butterfly,

swooping low to escape the hawk:

Even the one about the clown fish and the crab,

which find prehistoric hatchlings

in a treasure box at the bottom of the ocean,

and bring them up on sea weed

You should take these out of the drawer girl.

Send those words out.

What are you afraid of?

That they won't sound as good on paper

as they did when the words first tumbled out of your mouth

Heedless of form or logic,

your three year old was gonna love anything you say anyway.

Or that your kids are growing up

now

and you don't have an audience to make up more stories for?

That no body will read them?

You'll never know till you try..

Just send them out.

suspcious dance of death 2

Suspicious Dance of Death

What could be more suspcious

than the mid-air fuck

these winged ants get up to?

Their life's purpose served

the male ants swirl back to the ground,

their gossamer wings

falling off, one by one.

This dance of love

that is in fact a dance till death...

mind-bending matter.

Is it worth it?

The queen says yes,

as she burrows underground,

where she will reign supreme

her colony expanding exponentially,

each ant in there rising from those flying ants' seeds.

The men say yes,

as they turn two rounds

to die their quiet deaths.

We are not just average elements.

#spwm21 #spwm21day12 #plscrit #jemstones #generatorprompt

1. Suspicious dance of death

2. My mind-bending matter

3. Average element

---

ti's the season of the flying ants

falalalal lalalala

suspicious dance of death

my mind bending matter

average

these winged ants

dance to their deaths

a once in a lifetime affair

midair

their nuptial flight lasts

one last (only) fling before the end

having served his purpose,

he crawls around and dies

what can be more mind bending matter than that.. to dance for love rill we die, so we can pave the way for the next

the queen after her maiden flight buries herself underground, giving birth to a grand High colony

and each of her little ones a little of him lives on

and on

suspicious dance of death

what could be more suspcious

than the mid-air fuck

these winged ants get up to?

Their life's purpose served

the male ants swirl back to the ground

their gossamer wings

falling off, one by one.

This dance of love

that is in fact a dance till death,

mind-bending matter.

is it worth it?

The queen says yes,

as she burrows underground,

where she will reign supreme

her colony expanding exponentially,

each ant in there rising from those flying ants' seeds.

The men say yes,

as they turn two rounds

to die their quiet deaths.

We are not just average elements.

Monday, April 12, 2021

parrots like fighter planes

green backed, red beaked,

fly in formation

towards my windshield

zooming upwards just in time

such grace, precision,

the air force must have learnt from them

stories I have told

1. copy kitten : 2017 nov

2. Sri Kalahasti : 2018 feb

3. prahalada : 2018 july

4. ganga : 2019 june

5. ekalaiva : 2019 nov

6. kannagi : 2020 feb

7. garuda : 2020 may

8. zoom: 2021 mar

Sunday, April 11, 2021

suspicious dance of death

suspcious dance of death

my mind- bending matter

demagogic tube or average element

Moth to a light

you know what is a suspicious dance of death?

bullfrog pasir ris Beach Park, croaking their love songs so loud, the owl knows which is the juiciest

or the ant that takes to the sky for just one night, mate and fall to their death

suspicius dance of death

the moth dances near the flame

is this the dance of love or the dance of death

flying ants

male and female queen

to mate across coloniesenlarge their gene pool and then their wings fall off

During this brief, once-in-a-lifetime mating period, a queen usually mates with several males.

Once the queen has found a suitable site, she digs herself an underground chamber and lays her first few eggs, which she rears to adulthood. She won't eat for weeks - not until her first brood of daughter workers are ready to forage for food for her.

The stock of sperm the queen received during the nuptial flight will enable her to lay fertilised eggs for the rest of her lifetime. And she has many egg-laying years ahead of her, often reproducing until a colony is thousands strong (large nests can have more than 20,000 workers).

nuptial flight

Friday, April 9, 2021

snails 3

Like the child who picks up starfish

and throws back to sea

we pick up snails,

one by one,

and place them in the grass.

Setting out to slime,

suddenly they fly,

airborne beneath fingers like claws

grasping their shells.

They curl up underneath,

as soon as they are set down.

Are they thanking their stars

that the 'birds' that caught them

were too stupid to eat them?

Where are they headed,

these sluggish beasts,

carrying their worldly possessions

on their backs,

narrowly missing that tyre,

this squeaky shoe, that pointed heel?

Do they know

what there is on the other side?

Or does their journey matter more

than their destination,

and if so,

have we helped or hurt them by moving them out of the path?

Like 3D question marks,

they move.

Their homes look so sturdy,

yet with one step of our boot

they crack

their bodies reduced to lifeless slime

mixed in with bits of shell.

Do we too appear so fragile

to those great gods above us,

who perhaps spill a cup of tea

and wash our homes away,

or step somewhat heavily

and crack the ground we tread on?

Let's pick up the snails

and put them away

when we can.

Baby and Me

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" The Cold War in the 1980s

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