31 December 2012

Here, in pouring rain, the night is kicking in;

in the rear, making an effort to enjoy the glass of cold Stout,

right elbow swollen, maybe by

the morning effect of too many chords of E,A, B,

about as much as the keyboard can manage in near retirement.



Here, in pouring rain, peering through the mosquito netting,

a frog comes to wish me a happy new year, a two leg kissing,

I thank her; maybe, she just wants mosquito cuisine

Ai Hwa is out, the norm, Henry, Rhiannon in Subang Jaya.

I phoned to remind them to go quiet in the night



Here, in abating rain, I hear dog, neighbour bark

then quiet comes back; or maybe no;

before the rain, thinking it retired at the wrong time,

making an attempt to arrange the rhythm of the oncoming new year, here

Cher Yen, Jia En, Chiao Yee

25/10/2012

They came to me this morning

the three binti of warm enthusiasm, innocence

9 30 am

Jia En, Cher Yen, Chiao Yee

plonking in contentment on the new rattan sofa here

in t shirt of picture, half jeans, leg bare

of pretty thirteen year elegance

we talked about the weekend, what they did, where they went

complete book 9b

I told them about employment, employer, employee,

retirement, part of the PMR book, 10/10 question correct

their car here not on time,

they wait on the sofa now,

chatting in quiet, inconsequential way;

Jia En,

before walking one hundred meter to home,

to practice piano, here squatting, examining,

analyzing a potted group of plant

Cher Yen,

off to Kuala Lumpur,

told to keep eye open, take in the technology,

geography of the trip

Chiao Yee,

epitome of enjoyment of jelly, cup cake,

came back from car

informing me her brother won’t come tomorrow

bye to them, a trio happy,

clean, polite, interesting,  

a teenage female image of the Debussy string quartet

pity there are three of them…

rain coming on, with mega-power 22 30, bringing a memory back

Poem of 2 / poem of zero / E m p t y p o e m

I type here, a poem of 2

We two

can go to

the Tuareg bazaar

in Timbuktu

to buy a cockatoo or two

you two can come, too

You, too, are a bloody moron, Richard Hugh

Poem of Zero

08/10/2012

11 59 am

Hi

I want to write about zero

I begin here; I finish here

there you are, you have it

poem of  zero

empty

not a thing

nothing

z

e

r

o

Bye

22 49 12/11/2012

E M P T Y

M        T

P      P

T M

Y T P M E 


Empty, there you are

Raw cicak yuk

back there, I get a cold beer

plonk on worktop, baby cicak there

I brush, in caring way, with cinnamon jar

off he/she went

the fan whirring

non-stop dog barking in the lane

Rhiannon on the phone in bedroom,

cicak chattering

the rear garden lit in the light

bamboo, banana clear

insect talk to me but no comprehension

back there,

baby cicak back again

addiction to the aroma of beer

I’m concerned that

he/she won’t climb the glass, fall in,

me ingest; it might put me off eating...

 ‘What did you have for dinner tonight?’

‘Oh, almonds, beer, a cicak, raw.’

‘How ethnic; your degree, in Anthropology?’
‘Um, part of it, yep; got an A.’

‘How disgusting; why don’t we go for dinner of GM carrot, pea,
cabbage, with a wad of force-fed goose pâté, irradiated battery chicken?’

‘How excellent; oh, imagine that, a filthy bugger, cicak and beer, yuk.’

PJK 11 October, 2012 / 1433

going to the palace in Kuala Terengganu

to get her PJK,

a big moment for her in life, in a brief minute

the baju kurung of a pale brown,

elegant golden brooch

a scarf across shoulder, new shoe complimenting,

complementing the garb

her name, three pace,

hands together, raising

bowing before a golden King

but the clasp malfunctioning…

he asking her to bring hands in front

then placing the ribbon, medal in her palm

raising her hands above her head, a bow,

‘Junjung kasih, Tuanku’

he shook her hand, not the norm

then backward walking

to her place

in the ornate auditorium

Technonology

9 December 2007 2230

here, no internet tonight

intermittent connection

playing the fool, conspiring;

winking in gratuitous imbecility,

unable to participate in inspiring

a half-wit technology;

there was no rain to make an excuse

for flooded terrain, inept wiring;

one lazy modem, fed-up with work,

contemplating retiring

to be part of geology;

here, no internet, up tight

Monsoon here, hear

21/9/2012

Here,

in the garden, with the wind, with rain

rotting the roots of the papaya tree

I hear battering rhythm of pellet, here

the rain, unceasing to me, comes back,

then goes away, then back

I hear watery rhythm of breaker, here

the rain, tiring after the afternoon workout

thinking to take a break

I hear quiet rhythm of nothing, here

by the back, the pepper plant, cut  by amah,

bamboo, flowering bunga raya,

I hear perfume rhythm of aroma, here

the rain beginning to fade away

the wet air remaining, to heat one maybe

I hear molecular rhythm of heat, here

the sun on its western way home

night insect begin to play in the tree

I hear night-time rhythm of wing rubbing, here

I am in the night, just me

they are out, or away far from the place

I hear whirring rhythm of the fan breeze, here

I ask a question.

Why, in the night, there might be a rainstorm again

I hear the atom rhythm of an empty brain, here

 I wait, but for what I might ask

in a night of nothing here for me

I hear the talking rhythm of me talking to me, again and again, here

I hear nothing here  

1 pm Terengganu garden

21/9/2012

By the rear, in the heat of Matahari, teaching through,

I’m watching one butterfly explore in a small flower ballet,

by a four prong purple leaf, crouching by the earth

a bee buzzes through the hot air

the stem of many a fluffy top wander in the breeze

that will scatter the seeds through the half-overgrown garden

By night, they will be gone;

the Malay grass-cutting chap is going to wage war…

a pity; I quite enjoy it that way;

it is beginning to clouding, a thunderstorm

on the horizon of descending temperature

Malay haiku

21/9/2012

1

Burung, anggerik

makan angin, menyanyi,

berhampiran ku…

2

Ku mahu tahu

kenapa cinta kini

ku tak mencari?

3

Tengok bintang jauh;

mereka menonton ku

kini di Bumi...

memory prison

Y2K

the breeze blows soft along the beach
and makes me think about the sea
palm branches sway, at least they’re free
I wonder what went wrong for me
I cannot think now, I cannot reach

Y2K minus 3

on Dungun beach, my children play
young Ming and Ying, our little two
I think they might know what I once knew
it’s not the shellfish they want to chew
when waves crash heavy in the bay

Y2K minus 25

it seemed so easy, years ago
my bag, a ticket, then explore
Berber market or Red Sea shore
Nubian desert wadi floor
the Nile banks where date palms grow

hot naked road, glinting air
Friday fried fish breakfast meeting
shoulder patting, market greeting
outside tap, infection cheating
tomato, lettuce washed with care

umbrella peanut women urge
you buy a simple paper cone
weary floodlit football moan
cinema where few actors known
the points where north and coast track merge

railway workshop of broken train
cheap kettle boil, charcoal power
squash court recoil, wild swing cower
cycle oil, night dust hour
for hubbly-bubbly coffee grain

Y2K minus 20

high mountain Taif, mist escarpment
old golden souk with Arab men
the letter writers with their pen
money changer,get your cheque, then
perfume walk to bare apartment

post-buffet pool cue chat, or might
watch Pepsi films on in-house screen
my censored business magazine
the Crown Prince in his limousine
new Jeddah airport, Thursday flight

Cairo, Frankfurt, the Fenlands’ edge
Cheop’s Giza building feat
warm May Rhine house, garden neat
a picnic in the Suffolk wheat
patio buffet, acorn hedge

Johannesburg, gold Kruger mint
to rain soaked Durban passing through
a wet Transkei, a dry Karroo
with coloured sky of diamond hue
new Stellenbosch umbrella tint

Nairobi, jacaranda tree
Jacintha seamstress curtain cut
Nkubu track of dusting rut
grass roof, bent stick, round mud wall hut
Mombasa train to Tiwi sea

Y2k minus 15

the purple mountain, the High Plateaux
wind break pines where picnics sing
baguette, hot tea, roast chicken wing
soft desert breeze that warm skies bring
the scorpion that made us go

carrot couscous, Mecheria
the Douanes et Gendarmerie
cigar smoke, coffee, sweet mint tea
cold drought hit flat, floor number three
rationing was frequent here

Ain Sefra, Taghit, far Adrar
Saharan Atlas, harsh terrain
here summer wind beats up the grain
in sandstorm plays that ground the plane
good memories seem not so far

Y2K plus 200 0800 –0830 hour

my wife was warm this Friday morning
enjoying, as I touch her thigh
caressing, listening to her cry
a long time since we reached a high
my new time thinking out in awning

Y2K plus 202 0545 hour

but I know well it will not last
what will happen in a day or two
the moans, complaints, they’re nothing new
it is a place that we’ve been through
the few good times were of the past

Y2K plus 199 1750 hour

after work, when I come home
watch them going on their bike
play badminton, or chess game hike
read science book, eat ice cream mike
then in the bath, play with the foam

Y2K plus 199 2043 hour

I know she thinks that she takes care
at times, she is most kind to me
the children too, they would agree;
when she’s at work though, that’s when we’re free
of that I know she’s well aware

Y2K plus 199 2045 hour

the Proton brake, the padlocked door
but now we’re in computer cell
something clicks, and all seems well
listen to Johann Pachelbel
happy peace in memory store

Y2K ? 0230 hour

the breeze whips strong with thunder rain
the lightning makes the circuit blow
the candle, gentle yellow glow
harsh dark wet noise, no insects go
thoughts of escape come back again