The Arabian Princess

Amidst days,
of humid balmy nature,
and nights cooled,
by gentle calming breeze,
a perfectly poised,
and subtle creature,
seductive wily,
in essence complete.

Clothed in finest satin,
wrapped with best of silk
eyes beckons inviting,
hints of smiles all veiled
curves fully rounded,
delicious swaying sighs
lips coyly puckered,
sibilant sultry voice.

Heart wildly spirited,
intellect quiet and keen,
beautiful lovely gentle,
more than what is seen,
graceful sweet and kindly,
ruling both hearts and minds,
in dreams dancing nightly,
an angel in disguise.

The Green

Green is your colour,
"green" is your name,
green are the eyes,
which beheld your fame.

Rectangular pieces,
cut-out paper,
all soiled with ink,
and the stink of sin.

Yet, we seek you out,
yes, and even I,
these weightless tokens,
that weighs more than gold!

We don't eat you,
we don't drink you,
We certainly do not breathe you,
and yet we crave you more than life itself.

We fight for you,
struggle with you,
wish for you,
kill and die for you.

Why? An oft asked question,
an enigma to many minds,
the cause and claimant,
to many deaths and of many lives.

What secret,
behind you textured surface lies,
of diagrammed designs,
and sinister gleams.

I can only ask,
and beg your answer,
for you as always,
would and shall remain... cold, frail, indifferent.

Immune to censure,
inured to blame,
silent to the ears,
but torrential to the heart.

Perhaps I should ask,
the great John Maynard Keynes,
or the market voices,
to whom thou art tied and weaned.

But I should as well,
give birth to golden eggs,
for the answer would and always be,
take more than you would need.

You are the "fragrant grease",
"the stuff of life",
both the God and Children of men,
the big GREEN, hallelujah the G-R-E-E-N!

No matter!
I am just gonna go and get me some...
and more and more.

To Steal From You A Kiss Redux

I have a tale to tell, this story of a man,
obtuse obese, slightly awkward rather shy,
a fashion victim, whose shoes match not his belt,
walking tired alone, unnoticed in each step.

Not me mind you, this guy I knew from work,
who mainly use his time, watching screen typing keyboard,
shares his day with mountain dew, cherry coke mars snickers bars,
accompanied by books, movies computer games sad songs.

He spends his days mourning, dead ideals long lost dreams,
constantly probing, might and could have beens,
lost adrift he was, on a landscape ripe for the picking,
waiting for a ship, long ago has set a sailing.

Until "She" came breaking through all his shields,
leaving him bereft, yearning perturbed incomplete,
for I... no... he have found the lady, that made his heart to beat,
a thundering tempo, that did a thousand times repeat.

But there he was, mute and without sound,
his arms leaden weights unable to wave a hi,
his feet forever rooted, nailed upon the spot,
despite his ardent wish, to chase and walk beside.

His voice once booming, would silence to a whisper,
his gestures once large, now can't even be found,
his eyes would roam and roam, but never ever at her,
his tongue tied-up, when she is next to him and near.

And so his brain did churn, with this brilliant plan,
pay me his friend, to write this poem and rhyme,
I stand here today, ambassador to his heart,
to this lady sweet, this love of mine... no... his be sent.

And now in his words, not mine... shall I pour this raw foundation,
to build upon and paint, this view of his ambition,
where there was one alone, momentary discarded,
now there is another, the promise that hope has plotted.

I shall let him speak, leaving you and "Her" to judge,
if this love of his, does hold a grain of dust,
I am very well paid, already quite satisfied,
in the currency of hope, dreams and love's respite.

In his words...

"all I see is your hair, that the wind so carelessly blew
I wish it were my fingers, in your tresses dancing through
all I see are your eyes, doing that thing that they do
as they dance that special tango, with that special light of you

all I see is your smile, from those lovely lovely lips
for which I would die, to feel the brush of each
all I hear is your voice, which holds me to your sway
such tender melodies, once only angels play

But I stopped at hello, stammered my goodbyes
the lovely lady that was you, always left me tongue-tied
I wish it were now, you are here hearing this
my heart still do yearn, to steal from you a kiss."

Thus goes this little poem, to the lady of his heart,
What now don't know... I leave it to you and "Her" to judge...

Our Voice!

Today I had, a rude awakening,
in the ivory towers, of Selangor Dredging,
I was shell shocked, struck dumb... and left unmoving,
Like a wildly flailing puppet, suddenly... without its string.

Here was this man, this seasoned poet king,
with dictioned hoof, witty horns and entailed chiding,
exploding white hot, with brimstone... thunder... and lightning,
flashing wicked eyes, sinister smile and a terrible... terrible warning.

"To thee who blindly follow,
and ape the poets of yore,
By God! Shall I strike thee down,
and severely crush... thy bollocks!"

Not in actual words of course, nor absolute in its telling,
but perhaps with a little bit, of my own... paraphrasing,
I do beg your pardon, all those... attending,
do excuse me my practice, of poetic... licensing.

But from his sacred gaping maw, that strophe did sound,
In a voice that lilts, with a pleasingly British accent,
though it starts with a "lovely, lovely", with a pall... it ends,
The blackest of clouds , upon which my parade... did rain.

You must always speak he says, with a voice that is all your own,
and bring to deeper depths, in a voice that seeks your audience,
why do you seek the sun? Which in the twilight has fallen,
when you have a clear blue sky, to shine... enrich and enliven.

Thus so he said, with that aptly... mocking smile,
as I to the mattresses did, sound... the warning bell,
with Smith & Wesson, Winchester and Tommy Gun,
I prepared an oration, with wit and curdled pun.

Then "Bam!" I stopped, as reason came flooding in,
"whoosh" it sounded, calm... gentle... reassuring,
sweeping through the room, like some prodigal son returning,
replacing flaming anger, with calm thoughts and logical thinking,

For even the great Shakespeare, in the plays if not poetry of his time,
used only the language, and prose of the common man,
maybe I should borrow, and ape this aptly stance,
and start to talk and speak, in the language of this... land.

By God! Damn it! Manglish is a real language,
a much used and practiced, Malaysian English,
with all the "alamak", "ayoyo" and "haiya",
and greatest of all, the all encompassing "lah".

along with the occasional "I say" and "Jolly good",
gutten tag and danke schor, au revoir and mon cherie,
and the starving poet's, "Ohhh...more food"
"arigato" "shigata nai", "marhaban" and "ya habibi"

So stand we tall, with cries of "Malaysia boleh",
Straddling this world, like KLCC's towers of Petronas,
shout out loud, clear and well defiined,
We are Malaysian, and this our voice!

Before The Mountain And The Sky

Before the mountain and the sky
one of earth the other air
a perfect picture lullaby
solidified by fate's dare

brought together by words
spoken and performed
heart to heart it lurks
this tale that sprung and bloomed

but the world does not deliberate
upon such things it frowns
instead it seeks to separate
skies are white and mountains brown

I see a beauty
that we seem tragically to waste
two hearts freely beating
across different race and faiths

in a painted frame they shine
side by side entwined
under the gaze of the One
the Constant and most Divine

before the mountain and the sky
beyond thunder and rain
a painted rainbow that I
wish would bridge their skein.

The Gumshoe Poet

Swaggering, slow deliberate
lounging grand piano, muted jazzy quartet
head cocked, fedora swept back
wing tip unpolished, suit rumpled trench-coated

Swirling music, smoking tobacco wisps
stylish cigars, sharp witted cigarettes
face rugged, youthful smooth proper-correct
soulful deep, profound nonchalant relaxed

uncorked whiskey, beer pints liquor bottled
bottom's up, derelict memory picture stifled
scars fresh, gouging wounded cynical
heart heavy, worldly morose and hurt

about town, dames birds skirts
constant party, gin joints drink houses
eyes shining, smile charming alert
voice boyish, engaging friendly honest

revolver six-shot, rapid fire bullets
shouldered holster, notebook pen packet
poetry spoken, word quiet passionate
contours hidden, glasses black mirrored

Sunday Morning!

Woke up at 10
major hangover
pounding heart
last night's echoes,
drunken swagger
word wine
adrenaline liquor
poetry booze,
eyes crusted
spinning head
ringing ears
verse and prose,
arms tired
stanza rhyme
tercet triolet
and sthrope,
legs wobbly
knees weak
mashed together words,
under sunlight
Jacob BC workshop
DRAM image blur,
moonlight SLAM
Mooney Han
loft at Zouk.

Poetic Popinjay

Lo! and behold! man
Mighty Jah Jay
the long foretold
poetic popinjay

loud and lewd, man
cajolingly indecent
brazen and bold
inviting conflagration

strut he about, man
larger than life
prancingly pouts
pragmatically rife

"over here!" he shout
full of life and zest
that's what he about, man
the power of jest

clap you hand sirs
gather around
hide you daughters
listen to the sound

wipe your tears away
turn up that frown
Mighty Jah Jay!
coming to town.

The Voice of Ages

She stands tall
strong, powerful, resolute

a voice for all
both the loud and mute

reverberating echoes
of love and hate

dedicating the credos
of society's dictate

strumming words
laying down the music

truth that spurts
consummating its magic

a voice that speaks
a heart that constantly seek

gentle... poetic...
and living within the beats.

The Sacred Nymph

there is a voice that sings
of nature and its beginnings

a creature of, for and whom
spawned to life, from Gaia's bosom

with a dance that flit and flutter
celebrating the gifts of Gaia's platter

a sensuously sinewy sibilant shrew
seducing laughter and hilarious dues

you can catch her now and then
dancing sweetly to the pipes of Pan

in a blaze of furor and a sea of smiles
this erstwhile daughter of Gaia's wiles

An Ode To Desire

It did simmer
and then to boil,
a torrid downpour
of un-platonic wiles.

A constant whisper
of thoughts that endlessly toil.

A brazenly dapper
harbinger of un-imaginable joys.

Touches that linger...
looks that shy...
thoughts that hover...
and words that sigh...

a jaunty parade
of un-innocent wants
perusing delicious assets
in hidden pantomime.

The Long Road

We'll walk this road,
a million times.
Through storms and shoals,
that never ends.

Through thick and thin,
on rough and smooth.
A million dreams,
by sun and moon.

A thousand sighs,
a hundred cries.
A thousand tears,
from a hundred eyes.

Days and years,
that saunter by.
Nights of sleepless,

Where have we,
have got to go.
What have we,
have got to hold.

An emptied heart,
a hollowed soul.
torn apart,
by hopes untold.

But for a tear drop,
and a smile.
look for the moment
at every mile.

For God still love you,
all through this while.
His faith within you,
Would never die.

Dear friends that stood,
through rain and shine,
with hands that reach,
and hearts that sing.

Then Shed a tear drop,
for His benevolance.
and birth a smile,
for friendship's persistence.
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