Pomes

skim

the surface
like dragonflies
stitching together
two cities

old

and new

there
across the river
kampong ayer
stretches
on water
wooden walkways
perilously join
stilt house
to stilt house
towering
above
mazed boats
and painted
blue
and sunshine yellow

flower baskets
children's picture bright

but other edges
dark
shadows

disturb
the brittle newness
that grows
here
in the city's new heart

pusat bandar

hard streets
automobiles
shop fronts
and commerce
a different city
building
a different road
into
the future

night storm over borneo
night storm over borneo
sky flashes
the south china sea
mauve velvet
thunder
batters
fisted sound
against glass panes
rain
falls
a descending wave
striking this shore
with a startled roar
and we mouth wonderment
to each other
words swallowed in the dark
of failing electric light
and the bellowing night
that seems an animal
as black and huge
as the eye can see
wounded in her sides
light tearing
open
the night sky
over borneo
the night storm
over borneo

Hari Guru
in these days
of haze
and smoke
we are still learning
we are still teaching
though you can not see
the sky
or the horizon
behind the ash grey blanket
you can still see
your future
stretching before you
clear
and straight
an unbroken road
and know
that what you learn today
will help you tomorrow
and when you are gone
from here
and the smoke filled skies
are forgotten
you will remember
the teachers
who have shown you
how to find the road

You could lie awake at night <
you could lie
at night
in the dark
with only the moon's light
and listen to the
cicak
cicak
from the walls
white
white walls
painted in shadows

you could lie
and dream
at night
dreams before sleeping
of everything
that you want to do
that you want to see
in your life
before you say
I'm done

you could lie awake at night
and toss
and worry
because tomorrow
tomorrow
is your Math exam
your English Exam
your History Exam
your Exam To Make Sure That You Know How To Do Exams Exam

you could lie awake
tonight

or
you could just go to sleep
and tomorrow
tomorrow
will be there
waiting
fresh
like you
and full of promises

Remembering George
and her grief
is like a night blooming flower
filling the darkness about her
with a scent
almost unbearable

he walked in the simpang
with his children
holding their hands
watching them play
their voices
their laughter
bright as a thousand giant-winged butterflies
around his head
as he smiled

and she remembers
his voice filled with concern
and humour
each word slowly measured in thought

and she remembers
his face that could be creased
with worry
or with laughter

and she remembers
his hands
that could be strong
or gentle

the love
the warmth
the trust
that was in this man

and her grief
is like a night blooming flower
that she must hold
to her breast
until its scent
is borne
and the sweetness of memories
remains
the sweetness of memories

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