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The Coat of Weariness /
Beckoning to me is the shining coat
Bedecked with diamonds, shimmer and sparkle.
Soft to the touch, yet heavy it was
Draped round my shoulders, swirled round my legs,
Such was the Coat of Weariness.
I walked a few miles, and it wore me down
I rested a few hours, but it pushed me on.
Painful was the sight of sand tainting my coat
so go on I did, and did again, because of
the Coat of Weariness.
What did I see...? What did I hear...?
All I saw was my beautiful coat
Protecting me from the sand, but weighing me down.
Glistening in the sun, an object to be revered.
Heard its whisperings did I -
Soft mumblings, gentle wisps of speech in ear,
Mantra-like, but hypnotizing me...
A fervor! Pushing me on, while all I heard was
the Coat of Weariness.
I am weary, but not weary enough to die,
I am happy, but not happy enough to soar that high,
I am sad, but not sad enough to cry -
My beloved coat was enough?
For I had gone greedier since my journey with
the Coat of Weariness.
Stopped under a blazing sky
Robbed and left to die
Bade farewell to my coat for one last time.
Last thing I saw with my one good eye
was the Bandit, struggling with
My Coat of Weariness.
Ivan Lim
back
Release /
Time is ending.
There is no more road ahead.
The street lights flicker erratically
Into abandoned obscurity.
My fuel gauge meanders
Toward “Empty” but
There is little more to go.
The engine is moaning like a tortured soul but
Its job is almost done.
Outside there is no more sun
Ahead of me there is no more road
Inside me there is no more pain,
Only the breeze whistling through the shattered windows
And the release of my shattered soul.
Tan Xue Yang
The Dogs of Madness /
I am chased by the dogs of madness.
I stumble through the cruel forest
Hearing their grunts.
They are almost upon my footsteps
Claws outstretched to claim me
They are always ready to pounce
Ready to put an end to this
The forest is a cold place
There are always twisted branches
Clawing at you hatefully
Tearing at you spitefully
There is no warmth
Only the cold, the bitter cold
And the horror
Tired at last, I turn
And it seems the dogs of madness
Aren’t so ugly after all
No, they’re far from ugly—
Their red eyes glow
Their hooked fangs gleam—
The most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen.
Tan Xue Yang
Superman /
He is flying.
Superman’s his favourite superhero
He can fly anywhere, high or low
Superman saves pretty ladies and battles crime
Every kid watches him on TV at cartoon time.
He is flying.
He used to have Superman posters on the wall
Bullets bouncing off his chest, so handsome and tall
Till Daddy tore them off and burnt them away
Mamma told him he’d had a bad day.
He is flying.
His friend gave him a comic on his birthday
It was a Superman comic, the Special Edition in May
When Daddy found out he nearly drowned him in the tub
Then he took out his lighter and made him burn it.
He is flying.
There came a day when he was sick of Daddy’s yelling
Tired of Mamma’s screaming and crying
He pasted an “S” on his chest with Mamma’s red tape
Then wore a red blanket, like Superman’s cape.
He is flying.
He knew where Daddy kept his big black gun
He once said if he touched it he’d throw him into the sun
He took it out, aimed and fired it
And Daddy’s head was nothing but a shower of red bits.
He is flying.
It was a miracle—just overnight,
He’d changed into Superman, the Bringer of Light!
But his vision was blurring, were those tears in his eyes?
No, Superman doesn’t cry—he flies!
Mamma’s screams filling the air, he jumped out the window
One arm outstretched, toward the ground below
Some part of him was dead, he knew he wasn’t Superman
But he was also a hero, and he’d be brave to the end.
Tan Xue Yang
back
The
Sound of Nothing /
A
faceless speaker
A
nameless soul
Not
no thing not nothing
Blank
A
cloak a mask
A
shirt
Vocabulary,
foreign numbers
A
truth for the simple
A
point with no point
A
ship without a sail
What
Wouldst
it matter to one like me
Who
runs through the fields
Sings
of something to be
Bensen
Koh
My
Favourite Place: Hidden /
In
a once empty room
A
dark of no shadow
A
light of no revelation
Shrouded
To
contemplate
Ease
pain rid bitterness
Heal
heart and love
Where
none are to judge
Who
I am, but I
To
laugh for joy
And
smile just because
To
have a friend, or more
A
love to care, mine
To
share my secrets and treasures
Once
hidden
Bensen
Koh
back
Death by Homework /
Four walls before me, I am trapped
Beneath the cell of the classroom
Likening to the hard stone-walled prison
Criminals live
I am restricted, tied up, chained
Mercilessly to the prison bed, on which
Torture is brought forth, exerted with pressure,
One person, all sides
The whip, square, white, undoubtedly fearful
Is flung down at my face, scarring my
Innocence, Take away
My sole possession
Freedom
I wince, turn and scream, but a
Hit on the head has nothing
More deadly than a chainsaw on a tree
Depression I feel, then I rot slowly
Moment by moment, I feel
Engulfed, whirlpool of stress,
Ever so strong, ever so mighty,
Fatal
When I die
Newspapers screaming
Death by Homework
Jonathan Chng
Digging the Grave /
Digging the grave of destruction
A pit that ends without cries or pleas
For deeper he goes
The inability for construction
Through horrors he wouldn’t want perceive
Digging the grave hard
To fit a couple thousand trees
For harder he digs
The building of a greater shard
Of which will pierce like a deadly breeze
Digging the grave wide
As vast as the seven seas
For the more expanse he digs
More numerous the earthly mites
To devour him with fire and with freeze
Digging a grave long
Further than a billion fleas
For more depth he digs
The shortened soil more stable and strong
Bury him fast, with the strongest of grease
A height of no hope
Not even period of a lease
For there was a return
To throw to the ledge a powerful rope
Climb with conviction and will, like ants and bees
For the best is not to fall
But the better to return
From the grasp of sin
Jonathan Chng
Complacency /
Red was the mark, Drawing
Clear lines between the black of my response,
Unclear, but
Earning me disappointment of
Complacency
The gist of my answer?
Contrasting the words of the teacher,
Vague, but
My heart knew I could do
Better
Frowns on other faces, classmates alike myself,
Long, thin, condescending,
Depressed, because
I was not the worst, though
Disgrace
Why, I thought, rang the
Question through my
Mind, but
After all the effort I had used,
Deficiency
Things took a turn,
They always do,
Cheer, with
Thoughts of a rising action
Incoming
All I lost,
As a result of this, loss of
Spirit, but
A strengthen in motivation
Complacency is a price
Jonathan Chng
back
The Muse /
The Muse
tickles the back of my neck
with her goose-feathered quill.
As I turn to grasp it,
she's gone.
Shipped away into nothingness.
Again I return,
only to find that tickle,
that trickle of teasing thought.
But as you can see,
the poem lies unfinished,
the paper unblemished,
For I
have not been kissed by
the muse
Terence Lee
There must be /
There must be a name,
for the exquisite agony,
when you wish to say something,
but can't
There must be a face
for the torturer
that is language
There must be a place,
somewhere,
where words come like rain.
Terence Lee
Dancing Shadows /
Shadows flit across the room,
Danse Macabre - the dance of doom.
Leaping round, from wall to wall,
Ghostly dancers fill the hall.
Daylight crept up, slowly, softly,
and murdered the night.
Terence Lee
Half-Asleep /
Pen on paper,
Tongue in cheek,
Wrote this poem,
Half-Asleep.
Terence Lee
Life's slumber
We spend life asleep,
and wake when we die.
Terence Lee
back
Le
Pet de Poésie /
A
poem is not a manufactured thing
For
it comes from the heart
A
poem beautifully takes wing
Alive
right from the start
A
poem, like fire, sears through you
It
dances before your eyes
Fills
you with with loneliness yet still
Brings
hope and peace and joy
A
poem brings the past to bear
To
heal the wounds that linger
It
brings with the future eternal fear
Of
Death's unknown harbinger
A
poem is like the night sky
Vast
and utterly free
A
poem that can make you cry
Has
a poet better than me
A
poem should be like a map
Of
all that is remote
It
should never be full of crap
Like
the one that I just wrote
Ryan
D. Lim
Tieru
/
A
path of gravel, spectre-grey
Beneath
a deadened sky
Sodden
with rain from clouds above
And
split with but a cry
That
rips the wretched scene apart
And
intensifies the rain
A
cry of anguish from the heart
And
memories of pain
But
the headless sky remains
As
dismal as before
Despite
the clotted crimson stains
That
tarnish heaven's wall
I
trudge upon that gravel road
Drops
sep into my skin
But
never reach the dark abode
Of
demons trapped within
But
this path chose I for myself
And
this path I shall take
Until
I reach the world's end shelf
Where
memories awake
Recollections
of what was
And
of hat could have been
The
choice you chose, the path of yours
That
I have never seen
It's
always sunny where you are
Your
days are filled with light
And
words more beautiful by far
Than
poetry I write
We
chose these paths so long ago
And
I gave mine to you
You
took the plains of light and so
It's
there where you walk still
But
the sun's not shining here
And
I should let you go
Cause
daylight is a taste of that
Which
I will never know
Your
path and mine have long diverged
And
yours is that of day
So
I will end these lonely words
And
I'll be on my way
Someday,
somewhere away from here
Perhaps
we'll meet again
And
I will walk the plains of light
And
you the path of rain
Ryan
D. Lim
back
Do not let fall that wasted poem
/
Do
not let fall that wasted poem Flaming
marks should burn and rage nearing the exam Rage,
rage, grab the papers and throw 'em. Though
quotations from Shakespeare you used to know 'em You
forgot them and died like a sacrificed lamb But
do not let fall that wasted poem. Imagery
and rhyming, as you watch the writer grow cold 'em, They
slipped through your grasp and you scoured worse than Sam Rage,
rage, grab the papers and throw 'em. As
the allusions to Galvin gave it an air noticeably solemn You
butted them aside like a thick skulled ram. Yet
do not let fall that wasted poem. A
mindless unthinking being is golem A
servant to will is not what I am. Rage,
rage, grab the papers and throw 'em. Do
the classmates say that you'll only slow 'em? That
you'll never reach as high as they can? You
must not let fall that wasted poem. Assignments
and tests you never fail... to blow 'em Throw
don the textbook and make a slam. Rage,
rage, grab the papers and throw 'em. Yell
out loud and say that you'll show 'em Before
the day, rush and cram. Never
let fall that wasted poem. Prove
to the teacher's that you're not below 'em Fight
for every minischule gram. Do
not let fall that wasted poem Rage,
rage, grab the papers and throw 'em. Solomon
Sia This
Poem Was Never Written / This
poem was never written B
a writer in a troubled time With
any reason or rhyme This
poem was never written To
give any insight Or
shed any light. This
poem was never written To
tell anyone about anything Or
to make one's heart sing This
poem was never written To
speak of any woe Or
of Poseph being slow. This
poem was never written For
the sake of being read After
the poet was dead. This
poem was never written. What
do you really expect to miss By
not reading this? Solomon
Sia
back
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