love terrorists

 

the dried
thistle in
my room

shudders brittle
beautiful like the
winter’s night

on that bridge—
our bridge a moment
frozen

where we made
ticking time bombs
of memories

I feared the
countdown like a
shit terrorist

but it imploded into
a core of
frozen breaths and

midnight kisses
and made me feel
beauty

between the
real and the
unreal

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fingers

so here we are again
staring at the
Nothing

blowing misty dragons
through our flaring
nostrils

frolicking in the air
clumsy and passionate
like two virgins

fumbling steam
disappears
and our fingers

remain apart
still
The Blobbing Fish.

a ghost came to visit II

a ghost came again–
bolder this time
like it knows it can

pop in
in a manganese
breeze without being

seen this time
i was nice and
didn’t fool around

with chocolates and
omelettes, asked
‘why are you here’

i saw a diamond like
tear
floating in the air

‘sorry but
why
you’d want to be here’
it cried no more
‘look
the only complain

i could make
is my ice cold
bed’

then it started
to talk using
my voice in

my head it didn’t stop for
eternity
and we talked

about one lost
glove two
too-soon grown

teens waltzing
alone in the
bomb-ruins of their

home three freshly
freed prisoners
thinking

they’re free
(Fou-
cault must be laughing)

and i realized
tears tearing
through time

my cold silence in
everywhere where
change was frozen

and time didn’t
know how to
run

the ghost left
and i just wanted someone there
to warm my fucking bed

The Blobbing Fish.
Scroll down to see the previous part of the poem! 🙂 

a ghost came to visit

 

a ghost came
to visit
the other day

it came in
an opaque mist like
the northern lights

 

didn’t have a face
so I waited
to make sure– it stayed 

a mass of colours
the poor thing so
out of place

 in my b&w room
didn’t want to be rude
so went to get

black chocolate and tea
and started making
omelette but it

sort of swirled around
so i asked if it
didn’t like it runny

in retrospect
that might have
pissed it off

poor thing
must have wanted
to be solid

because it
burned like magnesium
and left

me standing alone
bony and monochrome
listening to the

tick tick tick
and
drip drip drip

and i don’t blame
the flurry of colours
for leaving this world of ours

The Blobbing Fish

it smells like its about to snow

its hard to write back

when it smells

like its about to snow

 

the scent of our could haves

and would haves heavy

like tea fumes in your room

 

masking post it notes

your memory mosaic

that we slept below

 

i’m afraid

to let the ink flow

beacuse tears would follow

 

i guess

 

i just want you to smell

the snow

beautiful and cold

 

The Blobbing Fish.

falling (for)

falling (for)

falling is like

dying
do it once and
it’s a reason to cry
do it a thousand times and its Fine
Art

I
have fallen
like the shower of autumn leaves
singing as they
paint their mosaic
of scattered shadows

The Blobbing Fish.

Midnight Prayer

when I close my eyes
to pretend to sleep I see

(I think)

my teak wood table
scuttle and weep
‘free, free, to the forest!’
and it would amble
(with a bit of rust)
amongst the trees and
whisper with the rustling leaves

my books would join in on the fun
covers flapping—a flock of swallows

the moonlight, bored of being pale
(or s’ennuyer, as it would say)
flooded back into the sun
and was welcomed as a son

the coffee complained that it was stale
and amoebaed its way out of the mug
leaving a brown and sluggish trail
on the poor old woolen rug
who, tendrils quivering, curled itself up
muttering things that didn’t matter much
and my soul;

fleeted
to praying priests
(‘they might be pretending’)

orchestras
(‘the players are faking’)

parents
(‘their divorce you regret
mending’)

CDs
(‘autotune’)


back to the room

emptiness

grinding the parched sound
drying
my throat;

and I wake up
run to the fridge
and drink old blood-
red wine
sour cold smooth
and oh so fucking good.

Elegy for a Lamy (fountain pen)

People will chide and whisper
‘it’s just a pen, he can do better’

 

just a pen that
wrote and unwrote
two love stories breathing
life into its letters
histories and
bad poetry

freezed with me in a
foreign park your dark blood
weaving warm words

your magic fountain traced
truths (I hope) and
lies (sometimes)

and now I hold
your broken frame your
blood black like lack of all
colour

and I guess this is the end
of our stories and the one’s
you’ve written; writing

with the next pen feels like
rebound sex but I guess
sooner or later I’ll learn to love
this goddamn Parker

The Blobbing Fish.
A Lamy fountain pen that I had for quite some time died today and I wrote this straight afterwards with a replacement Parker. Weird, but hopefully interesting. 

 

scabs

 

 

I scratch the scabs

crack them open

once twice thrice

to remind myself

how great it hurts

 

there’s no drought—

beneath the dull cracked earth

a red river runs

 

I learnt to like

the lavish rouge so alike

your crimson lips

on a Friday night

 

I learnt to love

the budding rose that grows

slowly from the deathly white

 

I smell it at full bloom

like a wine taster

sniffing swirling

the crude ironic stench of my

aliveness

 

but the glass will never be half full

for the bastard sitting alone at a table for two

 

The Blobbing Fish.

Currently trying to put together a short story collection, which is why the blog’s been so inactive recently. hopefully this will make up for it 🙂 

I hope this is truth

 

 

I hope this is truth

Today very good day. Today I finish map.

Map hang on my wall in my bedroom. Above bed I sleep. Dei to make me look sophisticated. Sophisticated is word that is sophisticated. I found sophisticated in book about vocabulary. Dei to also remind me of past.

I am dik si driver. Read dik si. It is how we name taxi.

I like dei to. Dei to how we name map, I have mine for 10 years. I am dik si driver for 16, from 1997.

Today I take 3 people in my dik si, they help me finish map.

I wait at Admiralty for people every day, usually lot of people at Admiralty. In afternoon 3 people come into my dik si.

Out of 3 people 2 have golden hair. We call golden hair people gwai lo. The third person look local.

I ask them “where do you want to go?” I always ask passenger before they tell me where they want to go. People think I polite, but I do it because if I ask them first, taking them to destination is me do them favour, but if they tell me with me no ask then they order me, which I don’t like.

In past I no take order from anyone. In past I am stock trader have lots of money but eat hang seng zi so, DOW and other stock for breakfast. But everything lost in 1997. Wife, building, money, go away. My parents found me new wife, but I don’t think my lo po really like me. Everything else never come back. Aiya suen la no talk about it. Talk about it make me sad.

In past I travel everywhere. New York, London, Milan, Cape Town, Berlin, Paris, Morocco. But no proof. Never buy anything because working when travel.

This is why I drive dik si, and why I have dei to above bed. I meet many gwai lo when driving dik si and they help me finish map.

Today the local tell me they go to Ocean Park. Maybe he help take gwai lo around.

I ask them “where you two leng nui from?” leng nui mean ‘beautiful girl’, but we use it for stranger too.

“Italy!”

“Montana, USA!”

I was so happy I nearly jump.

“I been to Italy! Florence, Rome, Venezia, Bella bella! Food so good! Pisa tower! O SOLE MIO! Long time ago!”

The gwai lo smiled. They believe easily. But I think what I said is truth.

The local smile as well but in different way. “Hai geh, hai geh”. It mean ‘ok, ok’ but in way that make me think he don’t believe.

But I think what I said is truth. I want them to believe, so I say “I been to Montana too! Many mountains! But no sea like Hong Kong!”

The gwai lo smile again. The meter beep and I sad. It remind me of what this is really about.

“Here is some Post-it note and a pen! Please write something and sign where you are from!”

I hand them Post-it note and pen, and they look surprised, but they write on it. The local looks out of window.

We nearly arrive at Ocean Park. I ask them “Do you like Hong Kong? Like travel?”

“Yes! I really like travelling! I think Hong Kong is a beautiful place!” The gwai lo nod too much. I drive faster.

The meter beep again. We are there. I tell them “Have a nice day” and they smile. I think I said truth.

They leave, they smile too much. I want to tell them I think I said truth, I want to thank them, but they leave and leave me with silent meter.

I drive back home. I could find more passenger and make money but dei to more important.

I come back to my small flat. No need for big flat because only me and my lo po live here. My lo po ask me “Why so early ah lo gong?” I tell her “Today great day I finish map!” She look at me like I am too happy. She follow me to my room as I put Post-its onto dei to. There is already Post-it on Italy but no Post-it on Montana.

Now there is Post-it on everywhere I was in before. Now I have proof and I can believe myself.

My lo po look and say “Aiya sor lo it no matter lah” and hug me. I hope hug is as true as Post-its on dei to.

This is the first time I’ve tried writing like this– hope you like it. Hopefully the chinglish doesn’t get in the way.