After Auschwitz
history black as Auschwitz
is a juicy beef, not necessary
a burnt, over roasted turkey
if you know how to ride the time
the heart of the audience
turn the camera and flood
their adrenalin with as much
of the real things again
assigning them to those who have
the penchant to act them out
a passion to portray, almost
with the sadist streak of the nazis
albeit for another cause
because every line on the face
can be arched to bring out the pain
because every tinge of the voice
can be modulated to bring out the cry
because every line can be written to
steal the hearts of the floor
take them to a tempest dance
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Song of the River
after the rain
the swollen river
so much to pamper
the ears and sights.
the fishes splash,
the river rushes,
the cold breeze
plays with the willows
only those who long
to know more of god
emphatises with the sound
of the denial they belt out
a breakaway waterlily
sits on a slide to a new habitat
an empty corked plastic bottle float down
effortless a ballet dancer,
a patch of watercresses swarm along
bidding each other goodbye
with some caught by fallen branches.
nearby a group of boys in jovial mood
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Poem about Poetry - The Real Poets
poets are birds
birds are poets
and the latter
are the truest poets
singing - from dawn till night and night till dawn
crowning the world
with their exuberant,
health giving and never ending poetry slam
first to flag off
the daily slam
would be the cockerels
sending our heart reeling
with the precision of
their poetic clock
they crow until the sun
has no choice but
to rise to the occasion
and then a thousand
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Time My Companion
nature hands in a child marriage
and willy nilly we become companion
a suspense holds us like two hands of the clock
we go round and round with an exactness sometimes
we long for that misstep to fall behind each other
like ballet dancers we let the world twirl round us
sometimes we wonder how long we can go on like this
but yes, depending on your station you will be
happy, wealthy, joyful or are bound to a plodding
outing you wish you could call it quit in no time
like lovers we are tied in for strange adventures
the most awesome comes knocking in the dead of night
when time would be his mischievous self, stealing out,
taking me in his hands on a stroll through fantasy gardens
throwing me head over heel with his Harry Potter witcheries
i could fly, i could sing, i could be another person,
i could meet with angels, jesus, late grandma
in the flesh and blood that one can go gaga
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Those winter sundays
a single's sunday
bachelor's sunday
lonely as the sun
bright, warm
yet cold as ever
echoes of deserted morn park
reverberated
in lonely hearts
winter's sunday
a bachelor's sunday
the lonely walk
between the skyscrapers
that hid the sun
making the day drowsier
more melancholy
the heart, slayed
bobs up and down
in an ocean of wish
too big for this little frame
the mind tries cheering itself up
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Autumn Alma Mater
feels like lonely chilly autumn
leaves thrown asunder
ruffling the calm of lake
falling, scattering
all over your feet
each pace that you take
grasses dance feverishly
while sparing birds' songs
work an echo in a soul
still looking for a place
in his alma mater
the old brass bell that long ago
held our hearts and mind,
fervently accompanied us through
every minute of school still hangs -
a solid air of authority -
a no nonsense master
recognising nothing
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Poem about Poetry - let my poem
let my poem
be like the abrupt rain
that strikes you with its cold
chills you to the bone
let my poem
be like the intermittent rain
that comes down in all manners
from that slight drizzle
to the persistent drops
that ache the skin
and the thunderstorm
lightings, bolts of thunder and all
in all intensities
war of the gods
sighs, roars and ra tat tat
the rain....
light, heavy, slanted,
straight
trailing the north wind
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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I was Looking A Long While
for too long i have been bruised
seeing democracy a wondrous diamond
crushed - by whatever means they could -
dented, and if they could, bend to their whims
under their heavy cloak of religion
plundering, killing, raping, in the name of an open world
the rights of which they draw their own lines
for too long i have been bruised
seeing democracy a wondrous first rate horse
kicked, beaten, cut out to serve the greediest of despots
for too long democracy has become
the most convenient way to lay abuse
when you have a country, power, greed
and a legion of devils who die to share your cake
democracy automatically becomes a dirty word
I was Looking A Long While
I WAS looking a long while for a clue to the history of the past for
myself, and for these chants-and now I have found it;
It is not in those paged fables in the libraries, (them I neither
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Those layered Cakes
yesterday i passed by
my childhood stall by the road;
what an experience it was!
that woman in her 30s i used to see,
now only her creased forehead and face
to add another dimension between us.
how sweet her layered little squarish
suntan cakes still tasted;
those layers that i peeled off
piece by piece to savour their charms.
and as i peeled the women gave me
that more mature and
deeply heartstirring smile
that tore through the distance
between us as if each layer i had peeled carried a story of her own life.
those years of experiences
now seen in phases,
like the layers of her cake.
the child in me leapt up again.
i left behind what
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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First Love
lucky age
at least
now it leaves
a space
to remember
first love
for romantic verses
this age
young girls
and boys
senses triumph
over love
the old days
it took months
for that first letter
to be written
today, the bedroom
for courting
is just days away
from that first meet
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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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