Two poems from two GOoD friends

One I have met; the Other not yet. But both I feel I have known them for ages. Yes, far "longer" than the three years-plus I first interacted with them over the Net -- more specifically, via our Blogs reading each other'sPosts and leaving foot or paw-prints. Longer in reality than many of my schooldays mates spanning over forty years -- YES, the lengthy acquaintanceships don't translate into freindships because if there are/were/have been "no connections", or meeting of mind and soul and spirit, there is hardly any friendship to speak off.

So I have bonded with two mGf via comments from the heART, or letters in the sand. Also more closely, Emails -- all communication channels GOoD as Au. For those who do not know Desi wellA, I use DDC -- Da Desi Code -- and Au is the scientific abb for Gold. Ah, abb is abbreviation, off course. "Off" and not "of" because as I often say of one privilege of Blogging is to "digress" as often as the Blogger fancies. Yes, at his/her whims and Plenty!:)

Yan hailing from Catsville -- which transaltes as Kuching, Sarawak, sent the first poem to me to share, and she later described my response as reflecting my "depressed" state ...she reads Desi's mind wellA!:)



A Book

these page-locked words
that imprison the world within
each turned page
as opened door to paradise
where we meet friends
without seeing them
witnessing their smiles, tears,
all in the quiet of the mind
or a journey to hell
where we pound our heads against wall
only to find the quiet moon
at the barred window
glaring at our stupidity
the mighty ocean of the human mind
each of these page locked words
oozes into,
soak up characters
as each trudges in
the mind that turns each word
into gold
or handcuffs it into bondage
the world rocks with each turned page
a ship in tempest ocean
an eagle gliding in the clear blue sky
for good, for bad
a newly created angel awaits his trial
for all the imprisoned words on the shelves
an opened door at the deepest recess of my mind
where they could stand in a new line
to meet a new world
for good for bad

John Tiong Chungho
Posted by Yan at 2:56 PM
5 comments:

Anonymous said...

yes, yan-ny, 'rite up my Seremban "V"alley:)
words are indeed awe I have at this dark moment

I'll move their positions around a byte

then sad can read glad
or mad

now i take a nap

and let the words back to where they belong
at night/morn just after midnight

in the dark recesses of the mind

where many ghosts roam
yet there is peace

if one's heart is of Au
a human havin' whisper'd I've you

YL, Desi

November 6, 2008 12:53 AM

**********************************

Second poem is stolen in the steal of the Aussie night by a Furongknight!:) from sweetspirits' abode by Redhead beach, NSW, DU without the H!:)

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

Miss Me, But Let Me Go



When I come to the end of the road
and the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom-filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?
Miss me a little, but not too long
and not with your head bowed low
Remember the love we once shared
Miss me -- but let me go
For this is a journey that we all must take
and each must go alone
It's part of the Master's plan
a step on the road to home
When you are lonely and sick of heart
go with the friends we know
and bury your sorrows in doing good deeds
Miss me -- but let me go.

-- Author unknown

Desi's comment dare and den -- with some words added (BOLDED!thus) as I realised I omitted some in my haste, or sleepy head nods! --YL

desiderata said...
ah niCe poem, it strikes many chords with me:) I may steal or claim as my ORI OR in the steal of Oz night for kambing sundae!:)
I wished I was the "unknown" author, can I file a claim? -- Desi
PS: It's just midnight hear! Sleep tight, you are at 2AM dare DU?!

3:00 AM


DESIDERATA: I am penning this Post to record the moments when I feel the rewards
flowing from Blog writing/'riting/writHing are sometimes surprising, sometimes magical, even a little mystifying. Even heart-wrenching sometimes. But always enriching. Maketh desi grow up. I wonder if my conversationists befriended via cyberspace feel such emotions, sometimes.