Lullaby

I want to sleep beside you
tucked into bed by midnight
every night
for as long as forever

steal into my window
blend into the humidity of the dark
a wisp of love
tucked behind my ear

rise and fall in rhythm
like the patterned sheets
harmonising
a duet

I want to sleep beside you
awakened by dawn
for as long as we can
forever's not too long

Love,
Petal P. Rose

Human Nature

she strides past me
with her head held up high
not even glancing to see me

she doesn't speak to me
my only fault - being alone
here

I come to escape such pettiness
I live it everyday
yet this place offers me no respite
none I see anyway.

her husband sniffs around me
like a beast, circling

his quick flash of smiles
much like the leash that the wife keeps-
short.

"hello, how you doing?"
"doing well - and yourself?"
he prattles on - like I really cared

the wife doesn't know he says hello to me
it's clandestine, this affair

all I'm thinking is,
go back to your cocoon
I don't want your "hello, how you doing"
I prefer to be alone, thanks

i don't want to talk
i don't lack or want company
leave me alone
leave me be

the reason I left
is found(yet again) here
never can escape
this human nature

Petal P. Rose - chilled out in Samui

When I zipped my luggage

on my way to you - I packed with me

not only warm clothes but I take with me

hope.

I unpacked it and drapped it all on the cold

steel, set on your carpet. I aired out my warmth,

shook out the love and hugged hope.

and when I packed my luggage home

it was with a heavy heart - bubble-wrapped in mirth

and eyes that wouldn't bleed tears.

I've left it all behind - the warmth, love and hope

tucked quietly in the extra creases

between your sheets

I've left it for you to rediscover at

your own time - the essesence of me.

Petal P. Rose

That Girl

What kind of a girl runs out
breathless, shoeless out of a bar
just to answer that one call
that happens every night (for a week now)
always close to midnight

What kind of a girl uses
all her money (okay, some of it)
on her mobile phone
checking messages online with it
every couple of hours - at times every 15 minutes

What kind of girl whose heart
feels like it's on hot pins and needles
with every mention of another
in Russia, Hong Kong, Singapore -
it didn't matter

What kind of a girl buys
flowers and leaves notes strewn
hidden in the house
to remind him of her presence
even if it's only the lingering traces
of her eyes on his pillow

What kind of a girl lies
in her bed with mascara
making unhappy tracks down her freckled skin
pressed up tight against her bolster
late, oh so late

She's the kind of girl
who's in love with you
She always has been
She is waiting
for you.

And that girl?
She is me.

Petal P. Rose

Taking flight

Winged ant do not take flight

stay awhile and let me enjoy

you

tracing your path, scurry in panic

and going against what

you

already know, your desired paths

stay still, stay, while i examine

you

in the sunlight, pretty veins

that control you. I want to dissect

you

to peel away the folds, the betrayal

of your soul. Just plain, old,

you.

Petal P. Rose

To all the girls I've loved before

It's no use pulling that hair, dear girl,

it will never curl,

the way you want it, though it's been processed.

Me? Never that problem, I was born with

luxuriant curls. They flow down like honey

glistening as they catch the sun's eye.

No amount of blusher is going to bring out

those cheeks, dear girl.

You are about as flat as flowers,

pressed closely between 2 heaving

books. You'll only look like a dowdy clown,

the one we laugh at when she frowns - though I guess

it takes skills to choose the right blusher tone

to match your troubled skin's glow.

Petal P. Rose (giggling)

The woman with the glass eye

She goes around with a magnifying glass
In hand she takes it
about her daily life
peering at documents over the counter
I wonder what she sees -
does it bring things closer,
more than she wants to see?
change it perversely to suit her dull heart?
or let it end
there, over the counter,
right where there is a full stop.

Petal P. Rose

The End........ALMOST

Last weekend marked a few things for me. It was the end of my art therapy course and also the “beginning” of Migrant Voices.

Part I – Art Therapy

We ended the course with each a presentation. There were a few angles with which one can do the presentation. I sat through a few the weekend before and it was my turn last weekend. I didn’t want to have to go through all the notes and be factual, regurgitating notes that we already know and I didn’t have time to do research and gain more in-depth views. I didn’t want to quote anyone infamous on the topic – I have always liked sharing things that people don’t know about. As I’m certainly no expert in this course, I shared myself. I let pieces of me be shredded much like tissue paper in nervous hands. My hands were Icelandic cold and at times I felt myself tearing. My voice, it broke, hoarse at certain points as I choke back the lumps. I could see the empathy and understanding in their eyes. I also wrote an impromptu poem when one of my course mates was presenting. I closed off the presentation with it. It is not the exact one I wrote then but you’ll get the gist of it:

Lines

squiggly, straight, thick, wavy
lines connecting
Red - it outlines boundaries
excitement “do not enter”
celebratory?
dashed lines
Yellow,
pause
A wait –
I guess that’s where I am
stomach in, containing.

Part II – Migrant Voices, The Beginning

I underwent training for a forum theatre piece that we were putting up as part of our International Migrants’ Day celebration. He wrote the script and was the director. I was his shadow, the co-director. We only had about 2 months to work on this, putting a lot of stress on the actors who are not professional actors. It put me under strain too because I’m not a trained theatre practitioner. But I can’t tell you how proud I am of the outcome of the whole thing. Everyone was there in full force, supporting and helping where they could. It was heartwarming to see everyone band together to make it a success. We have always partnered up with organizations such as DramaBox and SDEA to produce a drama piece. I am proud to say that this is the first Migrant Voices production that we weren’t partnered with such organizations. True, we had help with the script and directing but all the rest were entirely stamped with Migrant Voices’ mark. It showed me how far we have come from day one. I will always be grateful for the endless creative talents who are willing to work with us and the support from the arts’ community as well as the general public. It makes it all worthwhile.

Fast forwarding to Year 2008, I’ve already met up with some volunteers who will be running creative writing workshops. That’s about to take off in late January/early February. It has been on hold since October so it’s about ready to hit the ground running. I hope to also recruit more volunteers to run certain programmes that do not require too much off them. Hmm…plans plans plans….

I bought a digital camera recently and have already started taking pictures. This blog will be updated with some pictures taken. Be patient. I am thinking of starting a photo blog too. Look out for that.

Oh yes, I will be starting a beginner’s course in Javanese gamelan – that should be fun…Will update as I go along on that progress.

Till then, have yourself a good Christmas with your nearest and dearest and see you again sometime in January.

Hugs & Kissies,
Petal P. Rose

p/s: FINALLY! Year 2008 is only 2 weeks shy – can’t wait for it to begin. I’m impatient as to what it brings.

Bedside tramp

she comes to him during his days
him to her, the dark
illuminated by the bedside lamp
they entwine in a breach
of trust that wasn't there to begin with
a glimpse of disillusionment
she allows, indulgent
to her wants, needs neglected
preferring the dark
when he comes to her
illuminated by the bedside lamp
locked in a tight embrace
of reality and insanity
tempestuous affair rocking
their lives together yet apart
cocooned in their virtual net
she feels undisturbed,
him smoothening her furrows
when he comes to her, borrowed,
illuminated by the bedside lamp

Petal P. Rose

Enmeshed purple, red, blue

I wonder why the need for speed
is it wind in the hair or desire to bleed
hastening your arrival, meet the Maker
estimated time, past tea, early supper

what would you say then to your Maker
"how do you do? time for dinner?"
I do imagine He may say - "not for you - your arrival undue,
see, I only had the table set for two"

with that rejection, he faces away
heart is laden with dismay
distant beeps and soft murmurs
took him out of deep, dark slumber

"wha...who..." his first words said
his eyes saw needles, pain in his head
no ‘get well soon’ or cheerful flowers
he wanted to feel just like the others

a darting pain, an aching heart
he spiralled into deafening silence
his only company, dejection
he sucked in the air thick with disappointment

in his nightmares
he would pummel the air -
"all the rosaries that i prayed, hours of mass,
didn't it count - how can you let it all pass?!

resentment of decades
hopes unpaid
while in the shadows waiting in glee,
the infamous red cloak wants to end this melee

"come my poppet, sit with me"
applying balm to soothe his knees
but behind his cloak, hidden dagger
with one swift flick, it is all over.

it wasn't for the thrill of wind in the hair
that he made the pact at the villain's lair
more because he was shouldering hurt
of rebuff from love he once covert

Petal P. Rose

Turning 3-0 (and counting...)

Looking through my fingers
My eyes are squeezed shut

Fast approaching
uh-oh
‘round the corner
big three-oh

Not too tight
Careful the crow feet
cos

Fast approaching
uh-oh
‘round the corner
big three-oh

Things don't sit well no more
I'm not talking about just clothes,
nah-uh

Fast approaching
uh-oh
‘round the corner
big three-oh

Can't slam them brakes
Shit! I'm careening out of control
oh no!

Can't stop, will crash
uh-oh
'round the cornder
big three-oh


Petal P. Rose

Apple Peel

Oh your thin skin
I peel you back. expose
some parts
brown and bruised indicative
of a journey
same like mine but different
the more i uncover
delight fills my eyes and the
heart congested with emotions
stomach all twisted
i am undecided
it's just skin, uncovered

maybe i shouldn't have.
put it back
tuck it in the edges
better the unknown than this
raw and tender i see
its networks and inner workings
i stare, can't tear these eyes away
recalling the times when it
was perfect
skin, so thin.
right before I peeled you back.

Petal P. Rose

I swallow

Too much food on my plate

oh, this buffet of conflicting choices

heaped on by well-meaning people

alright, so greed got the better of me

still, too much food on my plate

variety to suit my palate

sweet, salty, juicy, sour

tidbits and some just desserts

it's just too much food on my plate

like a cow, i graze the field

pushed it round with my fork

but the amount stays the same!
still, to much food on my plate!

pausing momentarily to pick

a morsel i nibble

i spit it out, revolted by the taste

sour bile rise now in my throat

darn, this food on my plate!

sweet water i pour

quelling the rise of indignation

i swallow it because

it's my fault, i've got too much food on my plate

Petal P. Rose

Chimera?

bulging bloodshot
slanty suspicions
beady scrutinization
follows
everywhere they roam
myopic views
past and present
does it matter
hanging
immortalised in the past
to present show
captured anguish
delirium parade
deathly silence
echoes

Marathon

I’ve been running
much like she
going somewhere
yet getting nowhere
I sight a pot of gold
yonder horizon
I paused just for abit
but it gets farther
the landscapes change
orange to brown to green
my feet they stay still
I stretch my fingers
I never win

Petal P. Rose

My "usual" Sunday posting(s)

Unmasked

Thankless, I toil
on this foreign soil
I call my home

I feel entombed

Drenched under the hot sun

I am one in a million

not so rare

fast forgotten

I am faceless
I feed the blank stares
of a nation that is taught graciousness

Unpretty

chipped, hot fuchsia
nonchalant imperfection
reflection of a failing?
or one who is flailing?

glazed eyes do not see
shielded by sunny daze
the dark comfort
my darkglasses bring


Petal P. Rose

Something to chew on.....

As is my custom, I am reading a couple of books at the same time. How I do it, I honestly don’t know. Yes, of course, it’s easy if all the books do not have the same type of topics but ……anyway…. I happened to be in the poetry/literature part of the library during my last visit and I’ve borrowed books along those lines.

I started out looking for “Conference of the Birds”. I’ve been told about this book a couple of times and I did pick it up about 3/4 visits ago but put it back down, hoping to learn more on Sufism before I read it. One of the books I picked up this particular visit was a book of poems by an Albanian man, Visar Zhiti. Imprisoned at the peak of his prime of 27, for 8 years. Imagine being locked up in a dark, dank room, with nothing accept the clothes off your back and your mind. No glimpse of the outside world or even contact with other prisoners whom you know are within the other walls. No sun, no moon, no comfort of any kind. Nothing to lose except for your mind. Even the simple pleasure of writing was not allowed. I think if it were me, I would have been long dead – probably of insanity.

Visar kept his sanity intact by “writing” and memorising his poems. Reading through the first few pages of his book, I am struck by how he keeps things “alive” in his mind by reminiscing and remembering the outside world. Simple things like “the verdant branches of a cherry tree” or the shoeshine boy. He employs Greek mythology and Shakespeare in his poems, bringing in the likes of Romeo, Juliet, Prometheus and Ulysses to describe his feelings and his thoughts. He writes about how he remembers the outside world – not just through rose-tinted glasses but the brutality of war and the longing for loved ones. I don’t know how to describe his works – my words cannot tell you enough. You must read it to know it. I leave you with two of his poems:

The Condemned Apple

The day gapes open
Like a endless chasm under my feet.
How can I fill it to enter the next day?
Hundreds of times have I heaved myself into it,
trodden upon myself.

Descent into solitude!
I have been left without the comfort of human voices
as if without fire.

Barefoot day after day
I walk back and forth
With nowhere to go.
There is no road under my feet,
No one here to say ‘good morning,’
They hurl a broom at me
And make me sweep the floor
of my misfortune

And I, gone mad, scream in silence:
Hi there, world!
You may have forgotten me,
but not I, you.


The Little Things

Only with a leaf
Can I talk of the forest,

Only a star
Can ensure you are not alone.

An abandoned shoe,
Rouses endless roads.

Light a cigarette
From Prometheus’ pack.

Infinite Feeling

I will love you
fat or skinny
ridiculous and ninny
if that's part of you
it's the way you were meant to be

love you when you are down and out
even if we go without
life without love is a starvation
worst than famine and drought

that's what makes the world go round
a merry carnival
a kid's laughter in a crowd

I will love you
even if you bore me
or wear me out
I love you without a doubt

Petal P. Rose

Addiction

I had a thought
Didn’t find it from the ground
I’ve gotta, gotta write it down
Urgency most profound

Do you know where it’s found?
Do you know where I got it from?

The thoughts came from my head,
Got it from my head
From my head

I had a dream
That I was running wild and fast
Down by the meadows
Weeks slipping past
Way past the shadows

Dreams came from my head,
Got it from my head
From my head

I found snakes slithering, swords afencing
Pretty rainbows, my own pot of gold
Private seductions, ignored instructions
Passions uninvited

All from my head
Got it from my head
From my head

Petal P. Rose
*inspired by a song from Diana Schuur and Elmo (yes, Elmo from Sesame Street)
Yes, I do watch Sesame Street

S L A M!!!!!!

Okay folks, a double posting for today. This slam was done via sms when I was at my most stressed (read: creative) earlier in the year. Quite a number of my friends were alarmed at the tune of the poems, most thinking that I was going to commit suicide and called to ask after me. I thank you for your concern. and for the one who got into trouble with wifey - I sincerely apologise again. There were 3 poems and they were sent at different times of the day. One sometime in the early afternoon, one about tea time and the last, close to dinner. Here are the responses I got and my replies to them:

Petal (1st poem to all):
Madness reigns my day
chaos, my mind
peaceful not my sleep
I long a good night

SN:
Nights black and dark
sleep on my lover's side I seek

AC:
My shoes are white,
don't like cocacola,
give me chocolate

RB:
Recalcitrents rule my day,
Pipiet by night
indolence my current desire
my past haunts my case

Petal to SN:
Whisper, dear beloved maid,
your hearts' desire
whose yearning wait

SN:
Soft as velvet, slow as breeze
this night leaves me yearning,
that darky one.

Petal (2nd poem to all):
Night becomes day
day rules the night.
dawn brings bad memories
flight of night

ChasB:
This heart full of sorrow
desires only to comfort you
reverse that dreadful state
what ails you?

AC:
tomato, give me your plump
tonight,
there is a bill without paying,
I want spirit.

Petal to ChasB:
Sorry, why, my beloved friend?
what ails me is to no end
life is such I have no holds
pray, oh tell, what sorrow you hold.

Petal (3rd poem to all)
Worry not my beloved ones
What ails me will have no end
such is life I cannot bear,
the sorrow, oh pain, we run not far.

AC:
bride, speak, tomato, potato,
boss, rose, mini, banili

N:
Flowers coloured my screen
within the screen lie my secret
secret, holding wilting petals of your past.

Petal to N:
The past may wilt
regret not I.
The flowers colour our very lives
leaf no secrets, no petals belie

N to Petal:
Closed eyes wept roses
closed heart spat freedom
closed door barfed love
I went on painting my rainbow


Petal P. Rose