Ripe

The best time to do something
is when time is ripe,

Not sooner,
for then you may not be prepared for the task,

Nor later,
by then the opportunity may have passed.

The best time to say something
is when time is ripe,

Not sooner,
for then the listener may not be persuaded,

Nor later,
by then your words may no longer be needed.

So the best time for work to be done,
and the right time for words to be spoken,

is when time is ripe.

20191031
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Ripe

Catch

Let's play "Catching"!
all my friends would say,
during recess time
on a typical school day.

"Catching" is a game
 that others often call
tag, tips, tiggy, chasey,
or simply "it", that's all.

We use neither racquet,
nor stick, nor net, nor ball,
other than tagging
a friend to chase us all.

Running for dear life
when nearer the chaser comes,
for anyone who's tagged
the next chaser becomes.

Let's play "Catching"!
Happily we would say,
each day at recess time,
it's the only game we'd play.

20191030
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Catch

Injured

Mother took us for a walk,
my elder brother and I,
We strolled along Ipoh Road,
Maxwell Camp passing by.

Surrounded by dense jungle
full of undergrowth,
With monkeys high up in the trees
peering at people below.

Somewhere by the roadside,
a post office pillar box was made,
With its daily letter collection times
engraved on black metal plates,

It was my habit to run to the box
and tap and rattle those plates,
"Tap tap tap" I was wont to go,
"Rattle rattle" in reply they would state.

That evening there was something more
than just noisy tapping and rattling,
For suddenly from behind the box,
out jumped a monkey, very angry looking.

Its claws were sharp
Its canines strong and pointed,
Its front paws grabbed my left leg
on my left thigh its sharp teeth landed.

My mother and my brother shouted
and frightened off the jungle goon,
I was left shocked and crying in pain,
with blood flowing from deep wounds.

A kind old man stopped to carry me up
in his arms, all stained with blood.
Another passerby flagged down a taxi,
to the hospital to be brought.

I was carried into the taxi
by the kind-hearted old man,
Telling the driver, "Send them there!"
"As quickly as you can!"

At last we reached the hospital
Accident and Emergency zone,
The doctor on duty rushed out from his room
to attend to me alone.

Forty stitches did I get
that evening in surgery,
My left leg was in a bandage
my eyesight became blurry.

I grew up the rest of my years in school
with long and ugly scars
"What are those on your leg?"
my classmates would often ask.

Now more than fifty years have passed
since that night near Maxwell Camp,
"What's that on gong-gong's leg?"
my grandson asks his gramp.

20191029
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Injured

Ride

A little toddler on a kiddie ride,
hops on a locomotive,
colourful and bright,
with music playing, lights blinking,
rocking back and forth,
swaying side to side.
is thrilled and much excited,
though it remains in the same place,
not going anywhere.

A lively kindergarten child
climbs into a kinder train,
in the crowded fun fair,
going choo choo choo
moving along a circular track
around and around,
loves its every turn and rumble
though it returns to it's starting point,
not going anywhere.

A happy family on their vacation
boards a shiny express train
at the busy railway station,
then speeds along a winding track,
swiftly passing endless sceneries,
until they reach their destination
hundreds of miles away,
they love their pleasant train ride
though they remain earth-bound,
not going anywhere.

Each of us is on a train,
we boarded when we're born,
we've left the station behind us,
and journeyed on and on,
climbing hills, rolling through valleys,
in fine weather, through thunderous storms,
until we breathe our last,
we love our unpredictable train ride,
though we are, by consciousness bound,
of no other realm aware.

20191028
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Ride

Look, the water is rising!

"Look! The water is rising!" Atan exclaimed, as his mother stared worriedly at the raging river before them.

Submitted to

#MyWriters1stLiner
Week 45/2019

20191028

Dark

Dogs can detect smells
up to a hundred thousand times
better than we can.

Snakes can feel our footsteps
vibrating through their skulls
while we're approaching on land.

While the moth and the bat and owl,
and the elephant
and the horse,
not forgetting the dolphin too,
hear more sounds
much more clearly
than any of us do.

The eagle's eyesight is so keen,
its four to eight times better,
and far more powerful
than that of a human being.

Whilst cats,
and many nocturnal animals,
and the snake
and our neighbourhood frog,
can see well in dark places.

We human beings are feeble
compared to animals around us
for we neither hear,
nor see,
nor smell,
as keenly as they do.

Our world is dark
and restricted,
in contrast to theirs,
we move about in a narrow realm,
Living in sensory darkness.

20191026
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Dark

Tasty

An oven a splendid meal may bake,
A sumptuous dinner grill.
A perfect roast it may even make,
for us to eat our fill.

But to cook a dish that's much desired,
more is to be done,
than merely heating in oven fired,
or any stove under the sun.

For whether we sautee, grill or roast,
tasty food it will not cause.
To make a dish enjoyed the most,
the secret is in the sauce.

20191025
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Tasty

Dizzy

"What dizzying height!"
I mutter under my breath,
as I begin to walk across.

The long rope bridge,
hanging between two towering trees,
is constantly

swinging,
swaying,
sometimes bouncing,
with each step I take.

Gingerly,
I inch forward
on the canopy bridge,
suspended hundreds of feet
from the ground below,

gripping the ropes on each side
tightly,
trying to steady myself,
as I take my hesitant steps
towards the other end,

swinging,
swaying,
sometimes bouncing,
with each step I take.

I look down
briefly,
as I am about halfway across,
I feel the blood drain off from my head,
feeling as if
I'm falling off the bridge.

My knees become wobbly,
my head, dizzy,
the ground far below,
seems to be spinning slowly.

My mind tells me
that I am safe,
I know I'm holding on tightly
and on the planks
I'm stepping firmly.

Yet my heart tells me otherwise,
for I am

swinging,
swaying,
sometimes bouncing,
with each step I take,

my knees become wobbly,
my head, dizzy.

20191024
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Dizzy

Pawn

Pawn

We've been taught in school by teachers
to love people and use things.
But in this world we live among others
who use people and love things.

Those who use people for making a sum,
in turn are used by others.
Pawns they are, their pawns we become,
in earning our bread and butter.

The worker who slogs day and night,
the manager who carries out plans,
the executive who tries to get things right,
are but pawns in hidden hands.

For right at the very top sits One,
great satisfaction does he savour,
For whom everyone beneath has done
the best and biggest favour.

20191024

Submitted to:
#MyWritersPoetryPrompt
28th / 2019
Pawn

Ancient

Rama found a dusty book

under an old rain-tree.

He opened it to have a look

and wondered what he'd see.

The book was full of drawings

labelled with many words.

Rama thought he was looking,

at pictures of strange birds.

He took it to a wise old friend

who many books had read.

The old man browsed with look intent

through the pages torn and bad.

He told Rama that he had found

a book called The Ancient Word.

In it was knowledge much profound

of things they've never heard.

Those strange drawings that looked like birds

were actually machines

with sides that spinning magnets gird

they're weightless from within.

The Ancient Machines ruled the sky

without the lift of air.

They rise with ease, away they fly,

magnetic fields they bear.

Rama rejoiced upon learning this,

happily he remarked,

"I'm going to make a machine like this,

for the skies I will embark"

20191023
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Ancient

Ghost

There is a house in forest green
that many say is haunted.
The locals warn against going in
Lest you become afflicted.

For in it's dark and eerie chamber
lurks a horrible host.
Whoever enters will encounter
a fearsome angry ghost.

Against such warning I went one day,
to see if it is true.
I wanted to prove that what they say
is just a tale or two.

With trembling hands I opened its door
and slowly stepped inside.
Suddenly before me on the floor
I saw a frightening sight.

Unpleasant scenes appeared one by one,
memories from my past.
Scenes of bad things I had done,
at which I stood aghast.

A ghost indeed that day I saw,
it struck me with much fear.
Like no other ghost you've heard before,
It's the ghost of yesteryear.

20191022
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Ghost

The Sound of Ignorance

Written seven years ago as a personal note, on 20120523 0043hr.
Posted here today 20191022.

The Sound of Ignorance.
(Sung to the tune of Simon & Garfunkel's Sound of Silence)

Hello, students my old friends,
I'm here to talk to you again,
Because a thought is slowly rising
In my mind it's not surprising,
That the ideas that are carried in my thought
Will not be sought
. . . amidst the sound of ignorance.

In sleepy class I teach alone
To blank expressions cold as stone.
'Neath the shadow of a fluorescent lamp,
I am talking to a mindless camp,
When my words are stopped by the ringing of your phone -
A startling tone
. . . it breaks the sound of ignorance.

In the fluorescent light I see
Thirty people minus three,
People chatting while I'm speaking,
People sleeping and not listening,
People sending texts to others everywhere,
And no one cares
. . . about the sound of ignorance.

There's something you do not know:
Ignorance like cancer grows.
Hear my words and let me speak to you.
Take my hand and let me lead you.
But my words - flow like water from the rain,
Into the drain
. . . drowned by the sound of ignorance.

And you students laughed and played
With the avatars you've made.
Then your phone flashed out a warning,
as its battery charge is waning,
But the warning of your teacher you ignored,
And you're bored
. . . amidst the sound of ignorance.

(by Harold Huang, 23-5-2012 0043 hr)

As Lee was getting ready

"As Lee was getting ready to go home, she suddenly remembered that she had left her little child in the back seat of her car."

Submitted to
#MyWriters1stLiner
44/2019 (21st to 26th Oct 2019)

20191022

Treasure

A treasure of things we have in a trove,
Along our journey in life.
Land and houses, with gold that we love,
For such we work and strive.

We labour, we struggle, we devote our lives,
to gather, store and keep,
A mass of fortune we proudly call
our hard earned treasure heap.

Single-mindedly, we live our lives,
to build up more and more,
Our treasure grows, its value increases,
Until we can build no more.

Then,

At the end of life, we run our last mile
and take our final breath,
We realise we can't take our treasure in style
across the chasm of death.

Alas! The truth stares us in the face,
we realise we have lost,
That the wealth we have built in life's race
aren't worth what they have cost.

For the treasure we hold, those precious things,
are all but vain and worthless,
While things we've ignored, those we should have treasured,
are truly loved and priceless.

For what's really dear, the kindness of loved ones,
and of friends sincere.
Are the only treasure by our side
when the shadow of death draws near.

20191021
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Treasure

Tread

"Tread quietly",
the soldiers were told,
As they moved out to capture
the enemy stronghold.

"Tread slowly",
the hikers were reminded,
To keep close to their guide
so that they will not be stranded.

"Tread cautiously"
we should ourselves remind,
When going forth on paths unknown,
lest we end up in a bind.

"Tread wisely"
in many books we've read,
That fools are wont to venture
where angels dare not tread.

20191020
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Tread

Sling

I'm going on a holiday

some baggage I must bring,

Some change of clothes along the way,

and my blue bag on a sling.

I make my way from place to place
trying new food and drinks,
Sundry manner of customs I face
with my blue bag on a sling.

Many vivid scenes I see,
flowing rivers, cooling springs,
I'll always bring along with me
my blue bag on a sling.

My heart is happy, and full of cheer
with a smile a song I sing,
As I carry on my journey here,
my blue bag's on a sling.

20191019
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Sling

After picking his last piece

#MyWriters1stLiner Week 43/2019
14th - 19th October 2019

After picking his last piece of firewood, Ah Chong got up, turned around to go home, only to run into a pack of stray dogs.

Submitted on 20191018

Misfit

Pussy and melons,
Prick and balls,
As a child I've learnt them all.

Decent words
they've always been
Until some changed the way they're seen.

You are a misfit
if these you use
as harmless words, you'll sound confused.

They think you shouldn't
use such words,
in ways other than they've always heard.

A happy merry word
like gay
Is now understood in another way.

You are a misfit
if you don't say
it in a homosexual way.

Cheeks and lips
are now seen by many
as hidden parts of the anatomy.

So are tits,
a slang for teats,
Those baby birds won't find it neat.

Of all the animals
we've been taught,
the cock and the ass are most distraught,

Following closely
is the bitch,
who hates the way her name is pitched.

You are a misfit
if you use
such words carelessly in your muse.

For they have changed
from what they've been,
from what they always used to mean.

20191018
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Misfit

Ornament

A ring on a finger

    serves no useful purpose,

Save to adorn the wearer

    and be part of looking pompous.

Yet it can be highly prized,

    it's sought after by many,

Greatly valued, though small in size,

     it's worth a lot of money.

           It's an ornament.

A pendant on a necklace

     when worn around the neck,

Brings no helpful benefits

     save attention to attract. 

Yet it may cost some pieces of gold,

     afforded by only a few

To the most discerning it is sold,

     for looking bright and new.

          It's an ornament.

Like pendants, necklaces and rings,

     many such things we love,

We're willing to pay a price, to bring

     home to our treasure trove.

          Such are ornaments.

20191017
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Ornament

Wild

Animals foraging in the wood,
Fishes swimming under sea,
Birds flying as high as they could,
All are living wild and free.

The lion has no money to worry about
The dolphin no loan to repay
Nor parrot has any wealth to build up
Like humans do today.

Under sea, on land, and in the air,
Their abode is far from me,
While I'm burdened by many a care,
They're living wild and free.

20191016
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Wild

Sunrise

The sun arrives each pristine morning
      to mark the break of day,
She ushers in a new beginning
      in a silent intrepid way.

Ascending slowly in the sky,
      along an unseen line,
Going forth and rising high
     upon the land she'd shine.

On the days of equinox
      vernal and autumnal,
Sunrise comes at time o'clock
     when days and nights are equal.

During summer solstice day
      she rises very early,
Traversing skies for a longer stay
     and sets reluctantly.

But on cold winter solstice day,
      she loathes the early dawn,
Instead, she makes her own delay
      to bring forth a later morn.

Over and over again she appears
      each time at break of day,
We welcome sunrise without fear
     in every place we stay.

20191016
#MyWritersPoetryPrompt
27th / 2019

Sunrise

Legend

The Legend of Words,
     is an extraordinary writer:

By a few simple words,
     many are impressed;

With short simple sentences,
     profound truth expressed.

In common phrases,
     deep meaning is laid;

Via concise verses
     interpretation made.

Through a few short lines,
     a clear image is drawn;

And within a paragraph,
     a vivid picture borne.

Many are thus smitten
     by this extraordinary writer;

For no one else has written
     in such legendary manner;

No other
     but the one and only,
     the Legend of Words.

20191015
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Legend

Overgrown

It's just a patch of vacant land
Overgrown with weeds,
And everyday the passer-by
Pays scarcely any heed.

But little do the humans know
That hidden deep beneath
The tall grass and thick undergrowth
A village you will meet.

In one corner a snake lays still
Sleepy from its meal,
Down a path, an earthworm creeps
So slowly through the fill.

A spider keeps watch in its web
Waiting for its prey,
To fly in unsuspectingly
From just a mound away.

The crickets in their happy mood
Are chirping loud and clear,
While bugs and bees fly through the wood
Buzzing in one's ears.

All this while the human thinks
There's not much underneath,
It's just a patch of vacant land
Overgrown with weeds.

20191014
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Overgrown

Switch

A switch is but a small device
That lets a current through.
We use switches everyday
To ease the tasks we do.

A switch is used each time we need
To make a lamp light up,
To make the TV come alive,
And drip coffee into a cup.

Switches exist everywhere
More widely than we think,
Without them we'll be in despair,
In every electrical thing.

Submitted to
#MyWritersPoetryPrompt
26th/2019

Switch

20191014

Ash

There is a little kitchen
       where fire-wood is stashed.
The air is often smoky,
       the stove is full of ash.

Each day before the cooking
       some fire-wood is placed
neatly into the brick-lined stove,
       and slowly set ablaze.

When the fire-wood's aflame
      burning well and good,
The cooking starts to go ahead
      with sparks and ash and soot.

When at last the cooking's done
       and the wood is in a stash,
All that's left is smoky air
       and a stove that's full of ash.

20191013
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Ash

Dragon

Everyone of us
Have dragons to be fought,
A bad habit, an addiction,
A weakness we have got.

Some dragons are dauntingly huge,
While others are quite small.
Some appear so fierce and strong,
Others just annoying, that's all.

Like a giant dragon
When addiction we fight,
It's ferociously strong
It takes us all our might.

A little annoying dragon
A bad habit may be,
It takes some conscious effort
For us to make it flee.

We spend our lifetime fighting,
Weaknesses we blame,
For everyone of us
Have dragons to be tamed.

20191012
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Dragon

How Enchanting

#MyWriters1stLiner Week 42/2019
7th - 12th October 2019

"How enchanting!" said the little girl watching the drama on television, as a tall shadow loomed slowly behind her.

Submitted on 20191011

Snow

I would like to touch some snow
And see what it is like.
For in the land I live and grow
The days are hot and bright.

It's delightful, it is cold,
That substance they call snow.
Lovely to touch and to behold,
That's what I'm always told.

So one day I would like to go
To where it always snows.
To see and feel and really know
That substance they call snow.

20191011
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Snow

Pattern

Life is a pattern
Of moving forward
As soon as one is born.

From helpless babe
To restless child
To rebellious adolescent

Becoming strong-willed adult,
Leading to anxious middle age,
Slowing down
Getting old

'til frailty and illness set in,
'til life comes to an end.

Life is a pattern

Of moving on,
Of never going back,

From birth to death,
From cradle to grave.
The same pattern we track.

20191010
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Pattern

Swing

The swing has not much to its name,
nor beauty to behold.
It's just a seat hung from a frame,
with ropes for us to hold.

It stands quietly on the ground,
just waiting in plain sight.
Until at last a child comes 'round,
and hops on with delight.

We see such excitement and joy,
on the face of the happy child.
Almost as if a new-found toy,
it swings so free and wild.

20191009
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Swing

Frail

With trembling hands
he coaxed
the pair of unsteady chopsticks
to pick up a morsel,
bringing it
gingerly
to his mouth.

With shivering jaws
and chattering teeth,
barely chewing,
it was yet
another struggle
to finish up his food.

Day after day,
meal after meal,
the frail old man
perseveres
to satisfy
his constant hunger pangs.

20191008
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Frail

Enchanted

They say the place is bewitched,
that it has been put under a spell.
Some call it the enchanted castle,
for every visitor will tell

that no sooner have you crossed the draw-bridge,
and step in through its gatehouse,
than an eerie silence befalls
one and all,
from which silence none can be aroused.

This is the enchanted castle,
it leaves visitors spell-bound.
Having become the enchantee,
they leave without turning around.

20191007
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Enchanted

Husky

My teacher he has a husky voice,
his speech unclear and hoarse.
Yet he's well loved by us boys,
for he's earnest in getting across.


He teaches us with all his heart,
rising above our noise,
His expert knowledge he does impart,
we love his husky voice.

20191006
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Husky

The Spiral of Life

Life leads us
step-by-step
down an endless flight of stairs.

A spiraling stairway
where we can only walk down,
and only look back
but never climb up again.

It's an unending descent
into the unknown
called the future.

We are compelled
to keep stepping forward,
going deeper into the spiral,
getting lost in our pursuits of life.

Always looking for a better future,
yet never certain if the steps ahead
will prove better than those we've left behind.

For we are all journeying into the unknown
along the spiral of life.

Submitted to
#MyWritersPoetryPrompt
25th/2019
On Sunday 20191006

Build

A house we build with timber and nails,
A ship is built with anchor and sails.

We build an aircraft to fly the skies,
but for friendship that never dies,

we do it with much sacrifice.

20191005
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Build

Freeze

It's more than fearsome
when you freeze
in the midst of writing out your piece

When an idea that had
unfolded so vividly,
is now met with words that cease.

It's a stall, it's a block,
it's everything you'd not like to meet,
For a freeze in your writing
makes you frozen in your seat.

20191004
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Freeze

Bait

Like a bone for a dog,
and a worm for a fish,
It's always something you like,
It's been always in your wish.

Now, it's there right before you,
in front of your very eyes.
It's within reach and waiting,
your desires it satisfies.

So you reach out for it,
and grab it with both hands,
"It's a prize", you thought,
"it can't be found in other lands"

Alas, you're undone, my helpless friend,
For ere have you taken hold of your prize,
than it has taken hold of your hand,
and from it you can never
ever be prised.

20191003
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Bait

Mindless

Like a horde of mindless beasts,
the rioters appeared,
rushing out of a street corner,
a situation everyone feared.

They surged towards the police line,
approaching officers holding shields,
armed with batons, tear-gas canisters,
all ready for battle to wield.

A mindless battle then ensued,
with rioters stoning the officers in view,
who replied with tear gas rounds and baton charge,
to drive them away, and to capture a few.

20191002
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Mindless

Ring

A ring on your finger
shows your commitment for life.
It goes around and around,
There's no end to its life.

He puts a ring on her finger
to take her into his life,
to care for, love and to cherish,
through hardship he must strive.

She puts a ring on his finger
to receive him into her life,
to belong to him, to be always by his side
and be called his very wife.

20191001
#Poetry #PoetryByHaroldHuang #Inktober

Ring