dinner with jack inspired

Dinner with Sham

A couple 

go scuba diving and by accident,

get left behind in the water. The boat roars off.

And there they float, in full gear and disbelief,

tanks low on air, stranded in a seamless blue,

deciding if they can survive until the next day, which,

of course, they cannot, because the average person

can only tread four hours without a life jacket.

The couple bicker: Why did we go on this vacation?

Why did you choose this company? Why did I choose you?

And even when it’s too late, with fatigue building

in their arms and waves buoying their bodies

like a whipped dessert, they make their case of a soulmate

gone wrong. Because a real love story would never end like this.

Eventually, the couple must choose their deaths.

One removes their suit and slips into hypothermic sleep,

and the other cuts and spills blood to entice a shark.

Both choices tell us something about our protagonists,

who are maybe not even our protagonists since

they are so bitter one cannot fully root for them.

See, the logic of a couple is like a Beckett play.

Facing the end, you don’t want someone with you

for comfort. You want someone with you to blame.

Jesus, I reply, and cut my steak like a heart.

stories 4

The stories we tell ourselves 

Not lies

but lifelines 

so we do not drown

How else could we bear the weight 

that drags the heart to the foot, 

manacles it with iron ball and chain? 

When our lovebird flew away, 

we told the story of how a bird must fly, 

It came to rest, it became well 

then it flew, how it flew,

it even came back to say farewell 

before it flew right away, 

so we did not lose it,

rather it wanted to be free.

When the blood cells in my mother-in-law's brain burst

we told her story of how she wanted to pass,

quickly, without pain or trouble to us,

(but how could her passing ever not trouble us?) 

When she was on breathing tubes for five days 

we told of how she lingered just long enough 

for us to wish her well,

for her soul to fly free.

We continue to piece together a story 

of all her moments leading to the last breath, 

to show how it was all meant to be 

for that is the end of all stories we tell 

that what came to be 

was always meant to be 

so we can cleave the ball and chain, 

feel the heart float back up 

through blood, veins, tissues

pulsate through our shuddering body,

scarred yet ready 

to churn out new stories 

for grief that is yet to come

stories 3

The stories we tell ourselves 

Not lies

but lifelines 

so we do not drown

How else could we bear the weight 

that drags the heart to the foot, 

manacles it with iron ball and chain? 

When our lovebird flew away, 

we told the story of how a bird must fly, 

It came to rest, it became well 

then it flew, how it flew,

it even came back to say farewell 

before it flew right away, 

so we did not lose it,

rather it wanted to be free.

When the blood cells in my mother-in-law's brain burst

we told her story of how she wanted to pass,

quickly, without pain or trouble to us,

(but how could her passing ever not trouble us?) 

When she was on breathing tubes for five days 

we told of how she lingered just long enough 

for us to wish her well on her journey. 

We continue to piece together a story 

of all her moments leading to the last breath, 

to show how it was all meant to be 

for that is the end of all stories we tell 

that what came to be 

was always meant to be 

so we can cleave the ball and chain, 

feel the heart float back up 

through blood, veins, tissues

pulsate through our shuddering body,

scarred yet ready 

to churn out new stories 

for grief that is yet to come 

stories 2

The stories we tell ourselves 

Not lies

but lifelines 

so we do not drown

in the grief of the moment

How else can we bear the weight 

that drags the heart to the foot, 

manacles it with iron ball and chain? 

When our lovebird flew away, 

we told the story of how a bird must fly, 

It came to rest, it became well 

then it flew, how it flew,

it even came back to say farewell 

before it flew right away, 

so we did not lose it

rather it wanted to be free.

When the blood cells in my mother-in-law's brain burst

we told her story 

of how she had said she wanted to pass,

quick, without trouble to us,

(but how could her passing ever not trouble us?) 

When she was on breathing tubes for five days 

we told of how she lingered just long enough 

for us to wish her well on her journey 

We continue to piece together a story 

of all her moments leading to the last breath, 

to show how it was all meant to be 

for that is the end of all stories we tell 

that what came to be 

was always meant to be 

so we can splinter the ball and chain, 

feel the heart float back up 

through blood, veins, muscles, 

pulsate through our shuddering body,

ready to churn out new stories 

for grief that is yet to come 

----

The stories we tell ourselves 

sustain us through grief 

whats a good weekend

Some baking

Some reading of poetry 

Some free writing 

Some tea and cake with a friend

Pray at the Temple

Immerse oneself in a dance performance

Some yoga

Some walking in forests 

we must do better

Children dying from gun wounds

From hunger 

Thirst 

We must do better

stories we tell ourselves

The stories we tell ourselves 

Are not lies

But lifelines 

so we do not drown

in the grief of the moment 

for how else can we bear the weight 

that drags the heart to the foot, 

manacles it with iron ball and chain? 

like after our lovebird flew away, 

when we told the story of how a bird must fly, 

it came to rest, it became well 

and it flew, how it flew 

it even came to say farewell 

before it flew right away 

so we did not lose it 

rather it wanted to be free 

or how when blood cells in my mother in law's brain burst

we told the story of how she herself had said she wanted to pass 

quick, without trouble to us, 

(but how could her passing ever not trouble us?) 

and when she was on breathing tubes for 5 days 

we told of how she lingered just long enough 

for us to wish her well on her journey 

We continue to piece together a story 

of all her moments leading to the last breath, 

to show how it was all meant to be 

for that is the end of all stories we tell 

that what came to be 

was always meant to be 

so we can splinter the ball and chain 

feel the heart float back up 

through blood veins 

to its place deep inside 

the pulsating wall of the body 

ready to churn out new stories 

for grief that is yet to come 

----

The stories we tell ourselves 

sustain us through grief 

the us plan

They have no plan

But maybe this is the plan

Sow discord among middle east

Then waltz in for oil

But what have they done

They took out their holy leader in a holy month matyring him

Iran is attacking all the countries around them to attack US and UK bases there. But other buildings also getting hit

Saudi has been hit

The influencers descended upon them have been warned not to take videos and post negative content 

How soon things can crumble

Facade of safety can crack

Exposing us to explosions

Bombs missiles 

Fires flames 

the us plan

They have no plan

But maybe this is the plan

Sow discord among middle east

Then waltz in for oil

But what have they done

They took out their holy leader in a holy month matyring him

Iran is attacking all the countries around them to attack US and UK bases there. But other buildings also getting hit

Saudi has been hit

The influencers descended upon them have been warned not to take videos and post negative content 

How soon things can crumble

Facade of safety can crack

Exposing us to explosions

Bombs missiles 

Fires flames 

when there are no rules

When there are no rules

you can sit down to pretend peace talks

then rain bombs on your conversation partner the next day 

You can kill school girls in a primary school,  and then two more, and move on

You can bomb a defenceless ship,  guests in another country, 

watch them drown 

and broadcast it on big screens with beaming smiles

You say only the US can do this, 

you say it with pride,

 

We say it with horror

that only the US could be so morally bankrupt,

to sink an invited guest 

in another's home in international waters,

and boast of it as a victory, 

not the act of a spineless cowardly bully

When there are no rules

you can start a world war

because you are bored

or to make more money

or to distract voters from your fraud,

the fact you supported a man who sold children for sex 

or for no reason at all

We hold the American public responsible

For trump has never been false 

He proclaimed who he was

through words, through actions.

You thought a man 

boasting of grabbing pussy 

wouldn't be different in other contexts?

And you vote him in not once but twice 

even after his thugs rioted in the capitol? 

You are responsible America

You who supposedly saved the world in world war two

are now leading us bright into world war three

together with your best buddy in blood, Israel

So the chief heroes and chief victims of WWII gang up to become the chief villains in WWIII

And this cycle

will only spiral to the inevitable

when we blow up the one planet in this galaxy 

that supports life as we know it, 

laugh in glee as we drown our selves, our bodies, our souls, our homes, 

our gift 

in self-destructive fumes

 

aging wellness

No life story 

Let's put up an exhibition 

Intergenrational 

Trying to make a life in singapore

We need a space for an exhibition 

Acwp

Processes 

Tiny things! 

Tabla player. 

Make music set poem to music 

Yst? 

Mark Cheong dramaneducators 

Sound. Decibels 

Om . Sound scape

Fluxes 

Sound. 

Tiny things as poems in public or in businesses 

Google doc.  All of us keen 

Jarly has poems. After song for song from little things big things grow and 

And a response to runi

Akanksha's dad

Each person in charge of providing or leading inspiration 

Like bring canvases 

And take us on a nature walk

And me? Books? 

No holds barred

Everything is Tiny if you stand far enough

Sound waves are tiny 

Star light is Tiny 

tiny things 5

I shall write of tiny things

like the conch that fits in my palm, 

into which the ocean longs to leap

like the flame at the end of a match,

the second before it swallows a forest 

like the pollen of a sunflower,

powdery dust that blossoms into a field

like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint,

along an endless shoreline 

like the snowflake at the end of a branch, 

gathering courage to melt into the river

like this tear drop in the corner of my eye

that holds the weight of your passing. 

-------

Little things that hold big things

Little things that are part of big things 

tiny things zoomed in

I shall write of tiny things

Like the conch that fits in my palm, into which the ocean leaps,

waves painting whorls on the shell

Like the flame at the end of a match illuminating the world in its glow  

the second before it swallows a forest 

Like the pollen grain of a sunflower 

powdery dust that blossoms into a field

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint

along an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

gathering courage to melt into the river

Like this tear drop in the corner of my eye

that holds the weight of your passing

-------

Little things that hold big things

Little things that are part of big things 

Like the first stroke of the pen

In a letter to you

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint 

on an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

that melts into the river below

Like the rock shot from a black hole 

colliding, merging to solidify into Earth 

Like the primoridal rock shot from a black hole 

Colliding, merging to solidify into Earth 

 

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint 

on an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

that melts into the river below

tiny things 3

I shall write of tiny things

Like the conch shell that fits in my palm into which the ocean leaps

Like the flame at the end of a match 

the second before it swallows a forest  

Like the pollen grain of a sunflower 

That blooms into a field

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint 

on an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

that melts into the river below

Like this tear drop in the corner of my eye

That holds the weight of your passing

-------

Little things that hold big things

Little things that are part of big things 

Like the first stroke of the pen

In a letter to you

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint 

on an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

that melts into the river below

Like the rock shot from a black hole 

colliding, merging to solidify into Earth 

Like the primoridal rock shot from a black hole 

Colliding, merging to solidify into Earth 

 

world at war

Another day another bomb

People's lives mean so little 

Book boom bash

And its all gone in smoke 

tinynthings 2

I shall write of tiny things

Like the conch shell that fits in my palm into which the ocean leaps

Like the flame at the end of a match 

the second before it swallows a forest 

Like a grain of sand pressed into a footprint 

on an endless shoreline 

Like the snowflake at the end of a pine branch 

that melts into the river below 

Like the pollen grain of a sunflower 

That blooms into a field

Like this tear drop in the corner of my eye

That holds the weight of your passing

-------

Little things that hold big things

Little things that are part of big things 

Like the first stroke of the pen

In a letter to you

Like the rock shot from a black hole 

colliding, merging to solidify into Earth 

Like the primoridal rock shot from a black hole 

Colliding, merging to solidify into Earth