Category: Original

An Absence

I have been away for so long! I’ve been busy ever since I started full-time work in 2021. My first few orders of business this weekend will be to update my blog to include SingPoWriMo 2020, 2021 and 2022. I should also start writing again and try and submit more regularly. I’ve been writing for […]


Jericho Brown once said every metaphor is a vehicle and a tenor,bringing you somewhere you did not know to go. Looking out the window down sun-dressed boulevards, the radio a soft purras the sand comes into view,I find myself out there in the light. Here, I imagine building a home by my hands, plank by […]


i don’t want to read anything in the news / i don’t want to care about another crisis is a nearby country / i don’t want to hear about the latest and greatest / i don’t want to be told, wow, we have it good don’t we / i don’t want a sermon on my […]


These thoughts whisk themselves in the bowl of my skull: a quiet righteousness, pacing restless in its room, its hands grabbing ontonothing; how my tongue is slowlycurling backwards onto itself; my voice falling into the pit of my throat. There is so much I can do little about that I wish I were God. I […]


Imagine the head as a puzzlebox, thoughts like silver bearings running througha suspended maze, translucent walls of varying colours, rotating in the hands of some unseen child. Imagine – silver, dripping slow, hot down the canal of a prisoner’s ear,imagine being lead by the hand to a field of flowers before finding the gallows in […]


justice sits in the tennis court / tennis a sport of reciprocity /returning a salvo barrage / the broad side of a warship /sent into a murky water / one drop of ink dilutes / the hazy milk of memory / a fog lifted to be worn / cloaked in the night I leave / […]


I am at the weigh-in / the men carry my pound of flesh / hungjury sitting in the rafters / eyeslike pigeons / their faces like pigeons / the going rate for excision is silence / the cost of living is silence / the last hot-blooded rebel had his arms pulled off at the hinges […]


No mercy for the zealots, no mercy for those with their eyes shut and their hands over their ears rocking in their chairs over and over, no mercy for those who pray but do not practice, no mercy for false lovers and those who decide based on convenience, no mercy for those who engage in […]


I am writing this poem without having seen the end of it, without thinking of what can emerge from this process or not, much like hatching an egg, a child in the incubator of the womb, because all creation is birth and all death is anti-birth; I am a schemer in a room of humans, […]