Bean and Nut

20191127
[A thought that came to mind while having tea three days ago.]

Bean and nut,
dark and pale,
deep red that's almost black,
light earth that's nearly brown.

Each satisfies differing tastes,
of different people,
in different ways.

Yet both are served
in bowls of porcelain white.

Some of us may be beans,
others may be nuts.
Some behave dark and deep,
others bright and shallow.

Whichever our colour,
whatever our nature,
each of us brings fulfilment
in our characteristic way.

Let us all dress ourselves
in attire of pure hearted white,

reaching out to others
in spotless bowls of respect,
with many spoonfuls of courtesy.

Whether
bean or nut,
dark or pale.

Started:   20191124
Finished: 20191127 10:53
#Poetry
#PoetryByHaroldHuang

Beans and Nuts
(Wisma Menjalara, Kuala Lumpur)

The clock struck midnight

"The clock struck midnight as dogs began to howl in the dark deserted lane."

Submitted to
#MyWriters1stLiner
48/2019

20191126 14:55hr

The Living and the Lively

[A poem prompted by a photo of a person posing next to a painting, with the person mimicking the character in the painting, posing with a deckchair, with hand resting on head]

One is clearly a living actor,
the other appears strangely alive.
One stands there a smiling character,
the other steps forth with drive.

One is greeted with a "Good Morning"
the other with a "Wow!".
One raises a hand, on the head resting,
the other raises eyebrows.

One is seemly in appearance,
the other a colourful sight.
One stays still, keeping one's distance,
the other, with carefree delight.

One is a living breathing being,
alive and full of thought,
the other, non-living inanimate painting,
of life it has naught.

Yet it's not the living that seems more alive,
alongside that which is dead.
It's the lifeless painting that springs to life,
becoming so lively instead.

20191126 05: 21hr
#Poetry
#PoetryByHaroldHuang

The Living and the Lively.

Dance of the hoops

20191124
[A poem about the "Petacloud", a kinetic sculpture installed in Terminal 4 of Changi Airport, Singapore.]

Shining triangles with their rounded corners,
skeletal hoops bent into uncircular shape.
A dozen of them, hanging loosely together,
they form a giant hollow metallic drape.

Glittering hoops of gold, they proudly dance,
a muted rhythm, silently but strong.
To a melody each golden hoop does prance,
guided not by music, nor by song,

Each hoop goes on a journey of its own,
a different way from any of its neighbours.
Yet all of them move together, not alone,
like a sleepy giant awaking from its slumber.

A "petacloud" it is called by its creator,
It floats around, slowly in the air,
deliberately gliding hither thither,
rising up here, settling over there.

The massive cloud, its shape gradually changes,
sometimes, for a moment it does pause.
It lumbers along, high in the air it dances,
as every hoop lends credence to its cause.

20191124
#Poetry
#PoetryByHaroldHuang
#Petaclouds

Dance of the Hoops

The blank stare

20191123
A rude encounter at the air pump of a petrol station in town a few days ago.

"Hello," I called the driver of the van
to let him know I've finished with my task,
and handed him the air pump hose and nozzle,
"Would you like to use the pump?" I asked.

He had been standing just beside his vehicle,
waiting somewhat impatiently for his turn
to use the pump on tyres low on pressure,
watching, for me to finish and return.

I thought I'd save this driver time and trouble,
by handing the reel of hose over to him,
instead of putting it back onto the pump,
"He'll be happy that I do this," to me it seemed.

To my dismay, without a word he took
the hose and nozzle away from my hands.
Giving me a stern expressionless look,
leaving me puzzled, I couldn't understand.

To think that I have tried to show some kindness,
it left me feeling annoyed, standing there,
Instead of hearing a simple word of "Thanks",
all I received was only a blank stare.

Started: 20191120
Finished: 20191123 12:41hr
#Poetry
#PoetryByHaroldHuang

The Blank Stare

Fly

What will I do if I can fly
like eagles in the sky?
If comes a day when I can rise
high up, to my surprise,

Will I soar up till heartbeat stops,
over the mountain tops?
And hover like a giant kite,
to everyone's delight?

Will I climb up to touch the clouds
and feel so glad and proud?
Then dive down to the waves below me
upon the rolling sea?

Would that I could carry out
all that I've thought about.
I will never do it right,
for I have a fear of heights.

20191122 17:05
#Poetry
#PoetryByHaroldHuang
#MyWritersPoetryPrompt
32nd / 2019

Fly

Mirror of the sky

A mirror of the sky lays on the ground
quietly, with a distant, longing gaze.
She waits to catch the blue sky looking down,
to meet her perfect image face to face.

Mirror of the sky, a flawless pond
of water motionless, serenely still.
The sky arrives and stops with feelings fond,
his grand and lofty clouds the mirror fill.

Longing mirror stares upward with glee,
a perfect copy of the clouds up high.
The mirror mimics all that she can see,
each time she meets the vast and cloudy sky.

The mirror hopes the sky won't tarry long,
for soon, unruly gust of wind may blow
to stir up waves and many ripples strong,
then mirror of the sky will have to go.

20191119
#PoetryByHaroldHuang
#Poetry

Mirror of the sky

Tap, tap, tap

"Tap, tap, tap", the slow, deliberate knocks on the door made Moorthy freeze in his seat.

20191118
Submitted to
#MyWriters1stLiner
Week 48 / 2019
18th - 23rd Nov 2019

Remember, Remember . . .

(Reminders from my three-year old grandson)

Remember to put my car on top,
not buried under other stuff.
If not,
when we come home from the shop,
taking it out will be tough.

Remember to go quickly and buy
the blue truck,with a white stripe.
If not,
When the same truck other people spy,
we'll be left with other types.

Remember to come back early
from meeting with your friends.
If not,
This evening it may rain heavily,
a long wait for a taxi then.

20191118
#Poetry
#PoetryByHaroldHuang

Remember, remember . . .

Green field by the foothills

Early in the morning ere the sun
peeks over hills in subtle shades of green.
Alone I stand amidst a grassy field
with drops of dew refreshing, cool, and clean.

Fresh morning air my quiet soul surrounds,
pleasantly soothing every breath I take.
A silent wind sweeps gently o'er the field,
neither rustle nor a ripple does it make.

Its a green field 'neath the shadow of the hills,
a sea of grass spread o'er a deserted place.
Alone I stand in silent sea of green,
with drops of dew on blades of grass I face.

20191117
#Poetry
#PoetryByHaroldHuang

Green field by the foothills

Con

Con

A convocation is the coming together,
of people, partaking in the same vocation.

A confluence is a point of coming together,
of two rivers flowing in the same direction.

A conjunction indicates the coming together
of sentences, clauses, or words within a clause.

A concatenation is the coming together
of letters or words without a break or pause.

A concurrence results from the coming together
of two or more like-minded opinions

A conjugation simply means coming together
whether of verbs or of human union.

Let us make a habit of coming together
when duty calls and work beckons,
where none can accomplish without help from others,

Let us con-together.

20191114
#MyWritersPoetryPrompt
#PoetryByHaroldHuang
31st / 2019
Con

My Ringgit goes Shalalalala

Written in 20161113, posted here today, a parody about the shrinking Malaysian Ringgit, sung to the tune of Shalalalala.

My ringgit goes shalala lala . . .

There's a ringgit in my purse and its value has been sinking,
All the way to the day and the night till dark clouds surround me.
He's going down for some time, now that started me thinking.
And I'm singing a song, hoping he'll bounce back when he hears me.

[Chorus]

My ringgit goes shalala lala,
going down in the morning,
Oh oh oh, shalala lala,
when will it ever see sunshine.
Shalala lala,
losing its value in the evening.
Shalala lala,
making life hard for you . . .

#PoetryByHaroldHuang

Siti opened the door

"Siti opened the door to go out for her morning walk, not knowing that the sun would not rise that day."

20191111
Submitted to #MyWriters1stLiner
Week 47/2019
11th - 16th Nov 2019

The Walk

From home I set out early in the morn

for a long walk, of which I'm very fond.

My feet are shod with shoes of sturdy soles

the firm and solid ground they surely hold.

A hat my head does shield well from the sun,

while on my face a gentle wind does run.

Foliage of green trees tower high above

still higher up the sky the white clouds move.

Each step I take along the endless way,

brings me nearer to the venue for the day.

On and on, my walk becomes hard-fought,

"Oh! A long way to go" is all that fills my thought.

Clouds are scant, skies turn blue and clear,

The day gets brighter, the sun begins to sear.

I trundle on, keeping my spirits high,

knowing well the end will soon be nigh.

At last, I cheer up, I have won the fight,

my destination appears within sight

My strength I summon, my body forward send

with a spring in my steps, I make it to the end.

20191110

#PoetryByHaroldHuang

The Walk

Gone

20191107
#MyWritersPoetryPrompt
#PoetryByHaroldHuang

Gone

Baby cries in her cot
Mummy is in the bathroom
Just for a while
"Where has mummy gone?"
The infant's unspoken question
To himself
Anxious over mummy's absence
Uncertain whether she'll return.

Toddler cries at the door
Mummy has gone to the market
Just for an hour
"Why is mummy gone so long?"
The toddler's repeated question
To the baby-sitter
Anxious over mummy's whereabouts
Uncertain about when she'll return

Child cries in the classroom
Mummy has gone to work
Just for the day
"Why did mummy go away?"
The child's unanswered question
To himself
Anxious and scared
Uncertain whether she'll come back for him.

An adult cries at the funeral
Mummy has gone to heaven
Leaving him alone in this world
Just for the rest of his life
"Why must she leave?"
It's an unanswered question
For everybody
Mournful and sad
Certain that she'll never return.

Hello Mr Ko

20191104
Submitted to #MyWriters1stLiner
46th/2019, 04 - 09 Nov.

"Hello! Mr Ko Ka Yu?", the delivery boy called, amused at a name that sounded like "You piece of wood".

Wind of Change

Wind

A strong wind does blow
from one end of the sky,
it rushes to the other,
passing everyone by.

It neither howls nor whistle,
none hear it come their way.
Not a green leaf does it rustle,
No branch does this wind sway.

Yet we know it's in the air,
this silent ominous wind,
we see it moving everywhere,
and feel it deep within.

The wind makes some worried
about what their life will be,
It makes others excited
about things that they will see.

Nobody can explain the wind,
you'll find it rather strange,
it's not like any wind you've seen,
it is the wind of change.

20191101
Submitted to
#MyWritersPoetryPrompt
29th of 2019

#PoetryByHaroldHuang