The Number Seventeen

I wrote these thoughts about the significance of the number seventeen in my life and posted them on facebook more than 7½ years ago, on 17Apr2015.

I think I should have it in this blog too, under the collection "Journey In Life", so here it is —

The Number Seventeen

The number 17 appears to mark significant milestones in my life.

I was born on the 17 day of the month. When I was 17 years old, I converted to Christianity.

In the same year, I was admitted into hospital for the first time, for pulmonary TB, an illness that I contacted soon after I was born, that I had unknowingly suffered for about 17 years of my life.

After I was discharged from hospital, It took me two years to finish the course of outpatient treatment, right until I completed Upper Form Six in 1978.

Then, in 1995, father passed away. It was 17 years after I had finished Sixth Form.

Credit : Image by Yeung Shing Hin — My drawing, Public Domain,

Link

Today, the 17th day of April 2015, marks the last day of work at my college. I go to hand over my official duties to my colleagues and return my ID card and office keys to the HR department.

I am now on official leave until the end of the month. Finally, on the 30th of April, will be officially retired, after working for 17 years and 17 days at this job.

When will the next milestone occur?

I do not know. I will put my trust and confidence in the Almighty One, the Creator of Heavens and Earth, who has granted His Grace through His Only Begotten Son, Yeshua the Anointed One.

---

"Through many dangers, toils and snares,
I have already come.
'Tis Grace hath brought me safe thus far,
And Grace will lead me home!"

Book Launch: Absolution by Anna Tan

Absolution is the final book in the series, "Absolution", a trilogy of young adult fantasy stories set in a magical land called Nusantara. The events unfolding in this book occur five years after the conclusion of the first book Amok.

"Absolution is both a quest for absolution and a journey of faith as Sultan Mikal attempts to restore Kudus’ blessing on the kingdom of Terang and preserve their magical gifts." (Anna Tan)

An Excerpt from CHAPTER 5

Story note:
Tulen is living as a servant in the Impian Palace. In the earlier part of Chapter 5, Tulen is talking to Magda, the head cook & Tengku Nawal’s nanny, in the kitchen when they hear Tengku Nawal throwing a tantrum. They go up to her room to find out what’s going on.

What Tengku Nawal wants, of course, is something we can’t do anything about.

“I don’t want to get married!” she shrieks as we step into the room.

“Tengku? Tengku Nawal? What’s the matter, sayang?” Magda says.

Tengku Nawal flings her arms around Magda’s waist and buries her face in her chest.
“Magda, oh Magda, Ayahanda is a horrible person. He’s forcing me to get married to some fat old foreign raja!”

Magda flounders. Che Nuri groans from the sofa, her face buried in her hands.

“You’re the only one who loves me, Magda. The only one who doesn’t want to send me away!” Tengku Nawal wails. “Ayahanda doesn’t love me. He doesn’t want me around anymore!”

Yes, because you’re annoying. I keep my head down and stare at the floor to prevent myself from rolling my eyes.

“It’s only the Sultan of Maha,” Che Nuri grumbles through her hands, “the actual twenty-year-old ruler of this Sultanate.”

My head shoots up so fast my neck hurts. “That’s not a foreign raja.”

“Who asked you, girl?” Tengku Nawal snaps. “You wouldn’t understand!”

I clap a hand over my mouth and stare down at the floor again, my cheeks heating up.

“Magdaaaaaaaa!” she whines.

I can hear rare impatience leaking out from Magda’s thoughts—leftover irritation from our earlier conversation?—before she deliberately pushes it away. She runs a soothing hand down Tengku Nawal’s back.

“Come, sayang, talk to Magda. What did your father say?”

“He sent me a letter,” she wails, passing Magda a crumpled piece of paper. “He didn’t even bother to come and talk to me himself. He sent Nuri here with a letter.”

Her thoughts radiate with hurt and betrayal, and her eyes start to tear up again. By now, I know what’s coming, so I slip out of the room. There’s fresh bawling before I’m even halfway down the corridor.

In the kitchen, I spy an earlier batch of pastries cooling on the table. Didn’t Magda once say that pastries calmed Tengku Nawal? I try to remember when I heard that, but realise she hadn’t actually said it. Should I get pastries to calm the brat down?—I’d read it off her thoughts when I was following her in the market.

I stretch out my Gift towards Tengku Nawal’s room. I can’t catch any single thought from where I am—it’s all a tangled mess of whispers—but the fragments I catch seem calmer, less roiling. I put a few puffs on a tray along with a glass and the pitcher of water I came to get and head back into the tiger’s lair.

🙢

Today is the last day of Book Launch Week Sales.
Hurry! get your copy of Absolution before prices increase tomorrow.

Get Absolution now
| Amazon | | Other retailers |

Or get all three books
| Complete Series |

Get the other books in the series at our Launch Week Sales price of USD2.99!
| Amok | | The Tale of the Hostage Prince |

🙢

Looking for paperbacks?
Paperbacks are in the process of getting printed. You can pre-order a paperback directly from Teaspoon Publishing if you're based in Malaysia!

Living elsewhere?
Ask for Absolution from your nearest independent bookstore!

🙢

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anna Tan grew up in Malaysia, the country that is not Singapore. She is interested in Malay/Nusantara and Chinese legends and folklore in exploring the intersection of language, culture, and faith.
Anna has an MA in Creative Writing: The Novel under a Chevening scholarship and is the President of the Malaysian Writers Society. She can be found tweeting as @natzers and forgetting to update annatsp.com.

You can find Anna on:

• Website
• Instagram
• Facebook
• Twitter

🙢

Falling waters

Write in the park, day 21

Falling waters, a sonnet.

I came across a lively waterfall,
as I walked one morning in the park.
Its rocky cliff face imposing and tall,
adorned by shrubs and trees with thorny bark.

Restless waters noisy and excited,
Hastily running towards the rocky edge.
Leaping, jumping, looking much delighted,
Prancing, dancing, like actors on a stage.

A waterfall in the park

Rushing, gushing, one another pushing,
stumbling, tumbling, rumbling through the air.
Dropping, diving, frantically screaming,
falling swiftly into a pool down there.

These waters live a short and care-free life,
they're born to fall, it's how the waters thrive.

"Falling waters, a sonnet" — by Huang Bing Yao
Thu 07Jul22 0933 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthepark
#sonnet

Look beyond

Write in the park, Day 20

Look beyond the canopy
of leaves that fill your view
High up in the clear blue sky
you'll find your hope anew

Look beyond the canopy
of weaknesses that impede
Rise above all disability
and find the strength you need

Look beyond the canopy
of anxiety and fear
Stand your ground firmly
you'll find courage appear

Look beyond the canopy

Look beyond the canopy
of failures from the past
Avail yourself of opportunity
find success that will last

Look beyond the canopy
of branches obstructing your view
fly up to the clear blue sky
and find freedom anew

"Look beyond" — by Huang Bing Yao
Sat 02Jul22 0908 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #heartfelt
#writeinthepark

A Child's Hope

Write in the park, Day 19.

I hope to grow up big and strong,
the budding green shoot says,
With sturdy branches all year long
and green leaves every day.

Like those tall trees standing by,
towering over me,
Reaching high up to the sky,
for everyone to see.

An immense tree I hope to be
tho' now I'm just a shoot,
Tiny buds is all you see
I'm no taller than a foot.

There is a long long way to go,
to turn from shoot to tree.
Nonetheless I hope to grow
A huge tree I shall be.

"A Child's Hope" — by Huang Bing Yao
Tue 28Jun22 1510 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthepark

(I took this photo of a young budding shoot of an agave plant on Tue 21Jun22 in Westlake Garden.)

Budding hope

A Parent's Hope

(This painting was created by my three-year old grand-daughter's palm prints. It brings to mind every parent's hope for a child's future.)

Of many colours, hues, and shades,
a child's future is made,
in it our hope is found.

Warm tints of happiness may fill its days,
cold shades of sadness may come its way,
yet will our hope abound.

In bright red times of joy and cheer,
when fresh green chuckles and laughter we hear,
great heights our hope attains.

Hope for child's future

In dark blue times of worry and care,
when heavy deep purple burdens we bear,
unchanged our hope remains.

Tho' months be darkened by war and strife
or years be shadowed by sufferings in life
our hope will still prevail.

Whatever the colour, strong, or mild,
be it pretty and sweet, or ugly and wild,
our hope will never fail.

A Parent's Hope — by Huang Bing Yao
Fri 24Jun22 1046 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#heartfelt #sightandsounds

The Happy Banana Tree

Write in the park, Day 18.

"Look at me! Look at me!",
says the happy banana tree
Playfully waving outstretched arms
for everyone to see

Each branch bears a big green leaf
swaying gently in the air
A long hand hidden in a sleeve
a baggy shirt it wears

Happy banana tree

It wants to stop me in my way
saying, "Let's try peek-a-boo"
A happy little child at play
it wants me to join in too.

This happy little banana tree
does not grow very tall
It is all green and leafy,
and has no wood at all.

"The happy banana tree" — by Huang Bing Yao
Sat 18Jun22 0944 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthepark

Coconut Trees

Write in the park, Day 17.

At the entrance to the garden
stands a grove of coconut trees
Gently waving branches
they welcome you and me

Their long and slender tree trunks
bear the scars of many years
Wearing crowns of slender palm fronds
saying, "Pleased to see you here"

Coconut trees waving their branches

Each frond look bored and sleepy
drooping under the sky
Yet rustles loudly with a sudden wave
when a soft wind passes by

All through the day these coconut trees
stand tall to greet their guests
Gently waving branches
saying, "Come and take a rest".

"Coconut trees" — by Huang Bing Yao
Thu 16Jun22 11:12 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthepark

Grandfather

Write in the park, day 16.

This morning I try my hands at writing limericks in anapestic trimeter. Typically, limericks are often rude and humorous. My limericks are not rude, I think, but I hope you'll find it at least a little humorous.

Old grandpa he was tough and much hardened
He doted on all his grandchildren
They asked for some bread
He made dinner instead
With the food he could find in the kitchen.

And one day old grandpa went to town
From the shops he did look for a gown
He found one that he liked
It was cosy inside
But it made grandpa look like a clown

In the evening grandpa he would sit
On his rocking chair resting his feet
Grandchildren would come
His bald head they would comb
Old grandpa would pretend it was neat.

"Grandfather" — limericks
by Huang Bing Yao
Sun 05Jun22 0851 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#daydreams #limerick
#writeinthepark

African Tulips

Writing in the park, Day 15.

African tulip flowers
are soldiers brave and strong
Resplendent in royal regalia
they stand guard all day long

High up on the tulip tree
they can be seen from afar
Guarding their castle with watchful eyes
always ready to go to war

African Tulip tree

African tulip flowers
are warriors without fear
Armed with swords of gold and crimson
no enemy dares go near.

"African Tulips"
— by Huang Bing Yao
Sat 04Jun22 0855 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthepark

Happy ripples

Writing in the park. Day 14.

Happy ripples playing on the pond
Running, skipping, hopping without care
One moment they're here, the next they're gone
Chasing one another everywhere.

Rowdy ripples rush in frenzied waves
Bouncing about in unpredictable ways
Ripple against ripple strong and brave
Playfully battling all over the place.

Happy ripples on the pond

Carefree ripples, boundless, unrestrained
Celebrate in cheerful festive mood
Singing heartily their noisy refrains
Dancing in their friendly neighbourhood.

A happier, merrier scene one cannot find
Than happy ripples of the playful kind.

"Happy ripples" — a sonnet
by Huang Bing Yao
Fri 03Jun2022 0700 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #sonnet
#writeinthepark

Solitude

Write in the park, Day 13.

A lonely flower in the park I spy,
disinterested, indifferent, all alone.
Quietly ignoring people passing by,
absorbed in a silence of its own.

Away from the rat race all around,
on a retreat from a hectic life.
In solitude its refreshment abound,
in quietness and peace its happiness thrive.

Solitary flower

Let's come aside from work that never ends,
from diverse duties all along our way.
From many obligations to our friends,
and find some rest in solitude today.

Spend not all your days in work and strife,
spare some time alone to live your life.

"Solitude" — a sonnet
by Huang Bing Yao
Thu 02Jun2022 0900 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #sonnet #writeinthepark

Sun and Shade

Write in the park, Day 12.

The sun is warm, it stirs our zest,
The shade is cool, it's where we rest.

The sun gives strength, and power, and might,
The shade gives respite from battles we fight.

Sun and Shade

In the sun we dance and celebrate,
In the shade we sit and contemplate.

To the sun we run to chase our dreams,
To the shade we retreat, ourselves to redeem.

"Sun and Shade"
— by Huang Bing Yao
Tue 31May22 2009 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthepark

Buildings

I look across the city from a hill,
endless blocks of buildings do I see.
The hill is quiet, the morning air is still,
a gentle wind of thought blows upon me:

"Beneath those buildings made of stone and steel,
stand many other buildings big and small.
Buildings that we neither see nor feel,
they cast no shadows, make no sound at all.

A view of Kepong and northern KL

Teachers building students' knowledge and skill,
Parents building families at home.
Young people building careers with strong will,
Merchants building wealth in days to come."

Beneath those buildings standing tall and strong,
are buildings that we build our whole life long.

"Buildings" - a sonnet
by Huang Bing Yao
Mon 30May22 1344 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthecity #sonnet

The Dawn

As the sun peeks over the horizon
homes begin to light up
we prepare to work and play

As Dawn flies over the earth
it heralds the arrival of
a completely fresh new day

I wish this Dawn will bring
a day when we are set free
from all sadness, sorrow, and tears

I wish for a new Dawn
when wars and destruction cease,
and disasters no longer do we fear.

Desa Parkcity at dawn

The Dawn of a new day
when by kindness is cruelty defeated,
and by honesty is deceit repelled.

A Dawn that brings the day
when greed gives way to charity,
when heaven drives away all hell.

"The Dawn"
by Huang Bing Yao
Sat 28May22 1947 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthecity

A train ride

I'm going on a journey
I feel like a child again
all excited and happy
at riding the express train

The thrill of hearing clickety-clack
and the occasional thump
of many wheels on the railway track
going over occasional bumps

The express train

The fun of rocking side to side,
the train at times will roll,
beautiful sceneries outside
through the window I behold

I feel a strange excitement
seated aboard the train
It brings such pleasant moments
I'd take the train again.

"A train ride"
by Huang Bing Yao
Fri 27May22 2334 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthecity

The Old Lamp Post

Write in the park Day 11

An old lamp post
stands silently in the park,
at a corner where garden paths meet.
He is there in broad daylight
as well as in the dark,
upright on his strong and sturdy feet.

The old lamp post
has lived a hard life,
been through many a difficult time.
Assailed by heavy rain
lashed by storms and strife,
he bears the scars of dirt and grime.

The Lamp Post

The old lamp post
is dimmed but not snuffed out,
weakened and yet not frail.
Under the scorching sun
he stands dignified and proud,
to do his duty he does not fail.

He's been struck but not beaten
ignored but not forsaken,
harrassed by dogs yet not afraid.
He's been threatened but not subdued
leaning but not fallen,
into oblivion he does not fade.

This old lamp post
still stands silently in the park,
for many more years he will last.
Shining forth his dim light
each time it gets dark,
for lovers to walk quietly past.

"The Old Lamp Post"
— by Huang Bing Yao
Thu 26May22 0857 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthepark

The bamboo trail

Write in the park Day 10 — a sonnet

A long uncertain trail before you lies
Through a bamboo forest it does wind
Rays of sunlight shines through from the sky
You step forward and leave your past behind

Each shoot of bamboo a day in life you've spent
An accomplishment or mistake you have made
Your deeds or misdeeds the bamboo represent
Kind or cruel words that you have said

Bamboo trail

Joys or sorrows that you have been through
A memory that you cannot forget
Happy moments, times of sadness too
Feelings of satisfaction or regret

The bamboo forest never leaves your view
You don't take the trail, it is taking you.

"The bamboo trail" — a sonnet
by Huang Bing Yao
Tue 24May22 0854 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #sonnet
#writeinthepark

Walking on water

Write in the park Day 09

I see water all around me
a few deep breaths I take
as ripples glisten brightly in the sun

I put my best foot forward
and trudge across the lake
hesitant footsteps plodding one by one

Bridge on the water

I'm floating away slowly
yet I'm firmly on my feet
along the crooked path I make my way

I'm sinking underneath
yet dry surface do I meet
for all the time above the lake I stay

I'm walking on water
but I'm really on the ground
unhurriedly along the bridge I tread

I'm in peril of the deep
yet I am safe and sound -
to walk on water I am not afraid

"Walking on water"
— by Huang Bing Yao
Mon 23May22 2150 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthepark

Gnawing on the fence

I have a gnawing feeling
as I sit atop the fence
I hear my old friends calling
but my heart says, Go not thence.

It is indeed a nagging pain
choosing between two sides
Should I with my friends remain
or with my heart abide?

Gnaw

A wicked situation I face
as a fence-sitter, I fear
If only there's a simple way
to make fence disappear.

So on the fence I'll gnaw each day
chewing with all my might.
When at last it goes away
there will be no more sides.

"Gnawing on the fence"
— by Huang Bing Yao
Sun 22May22 1624 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#daydreams

Best friends

Write in the park Day 08

Two dainty flowers
grow up together
blooming as childhood friends

One a bold purple
the other a timid pink
yet on each other they depend

One is bright and cheerful
the other soft and shy
both of dissimilar kinds

Though one is loudly outspoken
the other quietly subdued
yet closer friends you cannot find

These two different flowers
they're there for one another
always ready a hand to lend

Having little in common
yet getting along together
they're each other's best friend.

"Best friends"
by Huang Bing Yao
Fri 20Mar22 2127 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthepark

Eat, Sleep, Play

They eat, and sleep, and then they play,
what little babies do all day.
When they start to smell,
loudly do they yell,
they will not listen to what you say.

"Eat, sleep, play"
- a limerick
by Huang Bing Yao
Wed 18May22 1111 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#daydreams #limerick

A glimpse of heaven

Write in the Park Day 07

(Hello everyone!
I'm back, writing in the park again. I took this photo from my window seat while flying over the South China Sea, returning from Kota Kinabalu last Friday 13May22.)

High up in the clear blue skies
way beyond the clouds
A tranquil calm and emptiness
Is this what heaven's about?

In this borderless expanse
we fly from cloud to cloud
A life of freedom that never ends
Is this what heaven's about?

Will there be days, will there be nights
in this heavenly space
Or will there be only daylight
throughout our heavenly days?

A glimpse of the sky above the clouds

How I wish that we could live
a tranquil peaceful life
High above our troubled earth
away from war and strife.

How I wish that we could fly
in skies of heavenly blue
Free from hunger and illnesses
and grief and cruelty too.

O how I wish for heaven's days
joyous and free from care
A heaven where there are no nights
nor sorrow nor despair.

"A glimpse of heaven"
by Huang Bing Yao
Tue 17May22 0855 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthepark

Pompous Plates

Write in the city 10May22 (a sonnet)

Plates of fine china, proud, indifferent,
Each one grandly installed on its throne.
Born in families reputable, affluent,
In grace incomparable, in beauty well known.

Plates of fine art, impressive and charming,
Proudly beams at every passer-by
Who stops in awe, beholding and admiring,
To impress their audience, they need not try.

Pompously installed in their thrones

Plates of high standing, nonchalant, reserved,
Exudes an aura of grandeur unmatched.
Getting the rapt attention they deserve,
From their audience they appear detached.

Day and night, enthroned in regal state
On tall pedestals, they are pompous plates.

"Pompous Plates"
by Huang Bing Yao
Tue 10May22 2017 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthecity

Delayed

Write in the city 09May22

You search for dates and times of flights,
select, confirm, and pay
Your boarding pass is printed right
you wait for departure day

To airport on a journey long
in bright and cheerful mood
Your heart is filled with happy song
and thoughts of all things good

On arriving, Alas! you're stumped
by bad news that you fear
from your Row One seat you're bumped
to Row Fifty at the rear.

The departures information screen

Another scare comes from the flight
departures information screen:
Words DELAYED flash red and bright
for flights that can be seen

It is a day of bad delays
at the crowded airport hall
with patience tried in many ways
you wait for your boarding call.

"Delayed"
by Huang Bing Yao
Mon 09May22 1119 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthecity

Walked by the dog

Write in the City 08May22

On a lead, on a lead
your dog walks ahead
It stops to smell the roses
Your dog leads you

Clean up, clean up
your dog takes toilet break
It leaves you with a little mess
Your dog commands you

Walked by the dog

Walk the dog, walk the dog
What you set out to do
has now unwittingly changed
Your dog is walking you

"Walked by the dog"
by Huang Bing Yao
Sun 08May22 1059 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds

In your dreams

Write in the city 07May22

If I could appear in your dream
and meet you face to face,
it matters not if we're separated
by journeys of many days

If I could answer in my dream
a question you have asked,
no longer will you have to wait
'til another day has passed.

If we could promise to meet up
in our dreams tonight,
and have some tea together
that will be a great delight.

A dreamy view of the city skyline

If we could meet our long lost friends
in our dreams at will,
we won't need to call or write
or send any message still.

If all our dreams were just as real
as when we are awake,
then the saying, "In your dreams"
a different meaning takes.

"In your dreams"
by Huang Bing Yao
Sat 07May22 1730 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#daydreams #writeinthecity

A Story Book

Write in the Park Day 06

A story book is like a ship
that sails the deep blue seas
through calm waters, ferocious storms
on a voyage you will be

A story book is like a train
that goes on endless tracks
up the mountains, down the gullies
you won't be coming back

A story book is like an eagle
that brings you up the sky
to look at people down below
and see them laugh and cry

A view from my park bench

A story book is like a rabbit
that burrows down a hole
through places dark and dangerous
where mysteries unfold

A story book is like a cure
for all your ills and woes
Whenever you need some respite
it is the place to go

So lay your hands on a story book
when you see one come your way
Feel the joy of reading it
and read one everyday.

"A story book"
by Huang Bing Yao
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#daydreams #writeinthepark

Reeds in the Water

Write in the Park Day 05
(a sonnet)

I see a clump of reeds inside a pond
quietly growing up out of the water
With each other they seem to form a bond
huddled together, holding one another

I see a clump of reeds steadfast and strong
bravely standing, guarding their watery home
They say to all who chance to come along
"You - are not allowed near us to come"

Reeds in the water

I see a clump of reeds, upwards they grow
stretching, rising, reaching for the sky
From the water they would like to go
to touch the clouds, unceasingly they try

A clump of reeds in water do I spy
standing quietly, ignoring my passing by

"Reeds in the water"
by Huang Bing Yao
Thu 05May22 0837 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #sonnet

O Weeping Willow

Write in the Park Day 04
(when rain falls on a weeping willow, rainwater flows down the long drooping branches of slender leaves, giving the appearance that the willow is weeping)

O weeping willow, how you weep
under a shower of rain
Streams of tears you cannot keep
bring forth your sorrow and pain

Your feeble branchlets soft and frail
like pendulums they sway
When endless drops of rain assail
to wash your sadness away

A weeping willow

Your slender leaves with pointed tips
are stained by countless tears
Each tell the world with silent lips
sad stories through the years

O weeping willow, how you keep
on weeping in the rain
Your tears of sorrow dark and deep
flow down from all your pain

"O Weeping Willow"
by Huang Bing Yao
Wed 04May22 0853 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds #writeinthepark

I wish I were

Write in the Park Day 03
(thinking in the subjunctive mood)

I wish I were so rich
that my mansion were grand and tall
but I am rather poor,
my house is simple and small.

I wish I were so famous
that all would admire me
but I am largely unknown
my achievements none can see.

I wish I were so powerful
before me the world would bow
but I am simply powerless,
I toil by the sweat of my brow

Two park benches, one wishing to be the other

I wish I were, but I am not
I wish I could, but I can not
I wish I had, but I have not

Until one day I woke up from my dreams
to a world of anguished screams

from
the needy who wish to be helped,
the sick who wish to be healed,
the oppressed who wish to be free
the hungry who wish to be filled,

Poor people in dire need I see,
People who wish
they were blessed like me.

"I wish I were"
by Huang Bing Yao
Tue 03May2022 0848 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#heartfelt
#writeinthepark

A Straight Path

Write in the Park Day 02:
(an ekphrastic poem)

A straight flat path
a little rough
a little uneven

with most of its original blue worn off
by the wheels of a hundred bicycles
by the steps of a thousand feet
by the dripping of a million raindrops
leaving remnants of blue patches
struggling to survive.

A straight path
bounded on its left and on its right
by straight rows of straight trees
with their slender trunks
covered by lime green moss,

like a guard of honour
standing at attention
saluting my arrival
watching me walk past with indifference.

Walking down the straight path, at Westlake Garden

A straight path
leads me straight ahead
coaxes me on towards the other end

where I will receive
my medal of accomplishment:
of having finished my morning walk.

"A straight path"
by Huang Bing Yao
Mon 02May22 0834 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybybingyao
#sightandsounds

A Write in the Park (Day 01)

What shall I write?
What shall I write?
I'm seated on a park bench
with a big pond in my sight

Birds are chirping all around me
fresh morning air I breathe
Under the shade of an old gnarled tree
with cool damp grass beneath.

"A Write in the Park, Day 1"
by Huang Bing Yao
01May22 0828 hrs GMT+8
#poetry
#poetrybybingyao #sightandsounds

A view of the lake from my park bench in Westlake Garden

Stare

Stare at the wall

Listen
Watch
Listen and watch
Listen and watch and listen

gasp
muffled scream
"Oh no!"

chuckle, chuckle

Stare again
continuously for two hours

"What did you do last weekend?"
I paid to stare at a wall.

"What did you see?"
Moving pictures.

"Stare"
by Harold B Huang
Sat 30Apr22 1256 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#sightandsounds

Day 30 : "movie"
#mpwm22day30
#haroldhuang

Kind words

(A sonnet)

Happiness comes from hearing little words
Spoken from within a sincere heart.
A simple "Thank you" brings a smile when heard
"You're so sweet" does make a good day start.

Happiness comes when someone says "Well done!"
It lifts your spirit; warms your inner soul.
"Awesome" brightens like the morning sun
It drives away self-doubt and makes one whole.

"Glad to meet you" often brings to mind
A pleasant soul we'd like to meet again
"Very nice of you" are words so kind
It says your good deed is not done in vain

Simple little words are good to say
They bring us happiness in many ways.

"Kind words"
by Harold B Huang
Thu 28Apr22 2124 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#heartfelt #sonnet

Day 28 : "love/happiness"
#mpwm22day28
#haroldhuang

The day I lost Blackie

(A sonnet)

Blackie was a little puppy dog
He came into my life when I was ten
He was small but heavy as a log
For want of a name, we called him Blackie then

Blackie was so playful yet endearing
He'd steal my sock and take away my shoe
Up and down the house he'd go a-hunting
It seems there's nothing Blackie wouldn't chew

One day we had to pack our things and move
To a shophouse in another town
A pet dog the landlord would not approve
"No Blackie!" said my father with a frown

Oh how my heart broke on that tearful day
To see my beloved Blackie given away.

"The day I lost Blackie"
by Harold B Huang
Wed 27Apr22 2321 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#heartfelt #journeyinlife #sonnet

Day 27 : "lost/found"
#mpwm22day27
#haroldhuang

Submit

One click of a button
On that little blue box called SUBMIT

Sets in motion a flurry of activities
a series of steps
a chain of events

in an unseen world
called cyberspace

Your name,
and credit card number,
its expiry month and year,
and three-digit verification code,

Your payment amount,
and product item code,

are all joined together
forming a string of characters,

each represented by
an American Standard Code
for Information Interchange

'A' becomes 65,
'Z' turns into 90,
'a' is changed to 97,
while 'z' becomes 122

65 is converted to 01000001,
and 97 to 01100001,
in that long character string.

each little binary '1' is stored
as a high voltage bit,
each binary '0' a low voltage bit,
with 8 bits to a byte
of ASCII character code.

Voilá,
A string of codes,
Little bytes containing little bits
of ones and zeroes

are sent by electric current
in data cables
by pulses of light
in optical fibre
and by radio waves
in thin air

all the way to its destination
website
to be recorded and processed.

Your credit card is charged
Your order is confirmed
And soon the item you purchased
will be delivered to your doorstep

All because of

One click of a button
On that little blue box called SUBMIT.

"Submit"
by Harold B Huang
Tue 26Apr22 2230 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#sightandsounds #journeyinlife

Day 24 : "e-Xchange"
#mpwm22day24
#haroldhuang

Timeless time

From sunrise to sunset,
from nightfall to daybreak,
the cycle of a day revolves.

Time passes through the sky.

From the first hour to the sixth,
onwards to the twelfth,
the shadow of the sundial moves.

Time passes over the land.

Time reveals herself to us
by her rising and setting sun,
by her waxing and waning moon,

day after day,
night after night.

Time passes before our eyes.

What if
one day the sun stops rising
and tarries at the same spot
in the morning sky?

What if
one day the shadow stops moving
and dwells at the same line
on the sundial face?

Does time come to a stop?
Do we stop growing old?
Has time become timeless?

Time surpasses our mind.

"Timeless time"
by Harold B Huang
Tue 26Apr22 2021 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#heartfelt #daydreams

Day 26 : "time"
#mpwm22day26
#haroldhuang

Shadowy play

(A sonnet)

Every time you stop to talk with me,
you meet a veneer of my outer skin.
My outward behaviour is all you see,
while who I am is hidden deep within.

What I put on is my skin of choice:
the look on my face, gestures of my hand,
with my varied changing tones of voice,
and in the casual posture that I stand.

This skin of mine a scripted play performs,
in which I act out my own chosen drama,
a gripping life-like wayang of shadowy forms
moving together in perfect sandiwara.

Shadows of my skin are all you see,
underneath lurks that which is really me.

"Shadowy play"
by Harold B Huang
Thu 21Apr22 2120 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#daydreams #sonnet

Day 21 : "wayang kulit"
#mpwm22day21
#haroldhuang

Made of memories

Memories,

good, bad,
happy or sad,
recent, distant,
traumatic or soothing,

whether vivid
or nearly forgotten:

we are made of memories.

Our hopes and dreams,

aspirations, desperations,
persuasions, doubts,
smiles and frowns,

whether we persevere
or give up:

we are shaped by memories.

We are but skeletons of memories
walking to and fro
going about our day
accumulating more memories
along the way

Memories.
Whether we like them or not,
they make us.

"Made of memories"
by Harold B Huang
Tue 19Apr22 1625 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#heartfelt

Day 19 : "memory"
#mpwm22day19
#haroldhuang

My first flight

"Cabin crew,
to Take-off stations!"

The Captain ordered,
his voice stern and crisp.

Oh dear,
Taking off must be dangerous
Are we going to die . . . ?

Engines roared frighteningly
Aircraft lurched forward powerfully
I was pressed against my seat

Time slowed down
Every moment felt like forever
At last the huge rumbling aircraft
lifted up from the runway

We were airborne
and climbing above the clouds

Seated by the window
I became a little airsick
when the plane banked to the left
I got the feeling
that I was going to drop out
into the clouds below

Everything seemed amplified:

Louder
Stronger
Swifter
Higher
and scarier than it really was.

I was scared

that my feet were not on solid ground
but instead
on some fragile aluminium floor
thousands of feet up in the sky

Never have I been
so high up above the earth before

Thankfully it was a short flight
and I should be back on land
in no time

If only time would move faster

Suddenly
came a sinister announcement
from the captain:

All passengers must return
to their seats
and fasten their safety belts

We will be landing soon.

"Cabin crew,
to Landing stations!"

The Captain ordered again,
in words stern and crisp,
just like before.

Oh dear!
Landing must be dangerous
Am I going to die . . . ?

Thankfully, I lived.

"My first flight"
by Harold B Huang
Mon 18Apr22 2110 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#sightandsounds #journeyinlife

Day 18 : "firsts"
#mpwm22day18
#haroldhuang

My Old Creaky Bicycle

My old creaky bicycle
its frame is dirty brown.

With three chain-rings, a five-gear cassette,
it used to have fifteen speeds.
Today it's stuck in chain-ring-two,
its third gear is all I need.

My old creaky bicycle
brings me out to town.

It's decades old yet runs well,
rusty, yet workable.
Bare and simple yet sufficient,
ugly, yet desirable.

My old creaky bicycle
is all but broken down.

In all the years, it has served me well
and has never made me frown.
My old creaky bicycle,
I will ride it out to town.

"My old creaky bicycle"
by Harold B Huang
Sun 17Apr22 1925 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#sightandsounds

Day 17 : "objects"
#mpwm22day17
#haroldhuang

A sunny winter

After an eight hour flight from KL
we landed in Sydney
in the evening of a winter day.

It was our first time in the city
without a tour guide,
armed with only some information
gleaned from the internet
and a few photographs
of the train station and
the hotel surroundings.

We bought our first Opal card
boarded a clean and quiet
double decker train
from International Airport
to Townhall station.

Walking out of the station,
we stood at the junction
of Druitt St and York St
feeling somewhat lost
staring anxiously
at the tall imposing
Queen Victoria Building
looming over us.

Thankfully, with some guide
from a friendly helpful stranger
(well, everyone's a stranger then)
we found the way to our
little inconspicuous Hotel
on the west side of QVB.

The next four days
were spent meeting up
with a nephew
and several old classmates.

They took time off
to bring us around the city
on foot,
by train,
on ferries,
and in their cars too.

We walked around The Rocks
and its night market
Up and down the long flights of steps
outside Sydney Opera House.
through the Botanic Gardens we went,
around Circular Quay and its surroundings

Looking at almost every attraction
of Vivid Sydney, a festival of light and sound,
among large crowds of visitors.

Vivid memories indeed
of the colourful lights
imprinted
in heart and mind.

The next day,
on foot around the city,
spent long solemn minutes at
the Lindt Chocolate Cafe, Martin Place
terrorised by a religious extremist
one day five years earlier
holding hostages for many hours
killing three helpless innocent souls.

A web of steel girders beneath the southern end of Sydney Harbour Bridge

Visited Barangaroo Reserve,
with its Cutaway,
past the wharves and piers at Walsh Bay,
then walking under the southern end
of Sydney Harbour Bridge,
back to the Rocks and Circular Quay.

Went on a ferry ride
across the Paramatta River
to Cockatoo Island
visited the sombre compounds
and buildings of the old Convict Prison.

I bought
a "Fidel Castro" cap like those
worn by the convict labourers
in the old photographs.

We took another ferry to Manly
visited the open air markets
watched a busker perform
on her electric harp.

A classmate fetched us
in his car
to Milson's Point
from there we walked across
the entire length
of Sydney Harbour Bridge
southwards, back to the Rocks

On the final day
we took a long long hike
from Coogee to Bondi beach
on narrow winding footpaths
by green undulating hillsides
passing by beautiful sceneries
deserted lagoons
with foamy waves crashing on rocks
and a sprawling cemetery too.

It was supposed to be winter,
but it was sunny,
a little warm at times
something
I had not expected at all.

Finally
it was time to go home
after a hearty lunch with all my old friends
said lots of Good-byes,
we landed in KL
in the wee hours of the morning.

It was indeed a memorable holiday
of a sunny winter
in Sydney Australia.

"A sunny winter"
by Harold B Huang
Sat 16Apr22 2355 hrs GMT+8
Edited: 17Apr22 0856 hrs
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#sightandsounds #travelogue

Day 16 : "travel"
#mpwm22day16
#haroldhuang

The Lonely Iguana

Lonely old iguana
wanders around the lake
Leaving little gentle waves
rippling in its wake

Lonely old iguana
paddles on the pond
Looking lost and aimless
tired and forlorn

Lonely iguana swimming across the pond

Lonely old iguana
gently wags its tail
Slowly swims with feeble paws
growing weak and frail

Lonely old iguana
stares blankly ahead
His snout above the water
all his friends are dead

"The lonely iguana"
by Harold B Huang
Fri 15Apr22 2149 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#sightandsounds

Day 15 : "picture this!"
#mpwm22day15
#haroldhuang

The Honest Mirror

Many of us would like to know
what the future has in store
Few among us would wish to go
back to where we've been before

In those bygone days, however,
lie lessons for us to learn.
If we would pause and ponder,
our lives we may discern.

---

One day I found a mirror,
'twas framed in tarnished brass,
I looked at it, lo and behold!
I saw visions from my past.

Vivid scenes flashed before me
right from my early years,
when I was just a little child
with all my little fears.

My success and my failures,
and all my mischiefs too,
My times of joy and sorrow
like gusts of wind they blew.

Of my mistakes, there were many,
those times I spoke too soon,
Nasty replies, angry words,
Like the villain in a cartoon.

Suddenly, my accomplishments,
they seem no longer great.
My character not quite noble,
my very past I dread.

It was an honest mirror
I looked into that day,
A mirror that showed me plainly
vices I must put away.

---

Though I've always liked to know
what my future has in store,
Today I learned the way to go
seeing where I've been before.

For in the mirror of bygone days,
lie lessons for us to learn.
If we would pause and ponder,
our lives we may discern.

---

"The Honest Mirror"
by Harold B Huang
Thu 14Apr22 2150 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#heartfelt #daydreams

Day 14 : "mirror"
#mpwm22day14
#haroldhuang

British

Personal name, Surname
House number and road name
Towns and townships
Districts and states,

introduced by the British

Our roads
our roundabouts,
and road junctions,
our traffic lights

brought to us by the British

We drive
on the left side of the road
in right-hand drive cars

the British did it first

Post Office
selling postage stamps,
money orders and postal orders,
air mail and aerogramme,

started by the British

Police Station,
with CID, and ISD,
OCS and OCPD,
Traffic Branch, Special Branch,
and Federal Reserve Unit

first organised by the British

Hospital
Outpatient Department
Accident and Emergency
Admissions,
doctors and nurses
MB,BS. MRCP, FRCS

a legacy of the British

The Army, the Air Force and the Navy
their Regiments,
their Squadrons
and their Fleets

patterned after the British

Our schools
with morning and afternoon sessions
monthly tests and term exams
classrooms and class-teachers
a time-table divided
into forty minute periods,

British.

Our electricity supply
240 volts, 50 Hertz AC
billed in kilowatt-hours,

Our water supply
with its meter and main pipe
just outside our house

That's also British

Everywhere we go
we see British
Our country is shaped
in a British mould

We continue
to live colonial lives
in post-colonial times

---

"British"
by Harold B Huang
Wed 13Apr22 1950 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#sightandsounds

Day 13 : "post-colonial"
#mpwm22day13
#haroldhuang

Daily News

"Today is a sunny day."
said Teacher to the class.
The sun was shining brightly
through panes of window glass.

"Today is a cloudy day"
said Teacher with a sigh.
Soft and fluffy clouds of grey
covered the afternoon sky.

"Today is a windy day"
said Teacher somewhat excited.
Pieces of paper were blown away,
branches swayed and fluttered.

"Today is a rainy day"
said Teacher to us all.
Little drops, and then a shower,
from gloomy skies did fall.

Every day about the weather,
Teacher would enthuse.
In simple words and sentences,
we wrote our Daily News.

---

"Daily News"
by Harold B Huang
Tue 12Apr22 2125 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#sightandsounds #journeyinlife

Day 12 : "weather"
#mpwm22day12
#haroldhuang

Life of dreams, Dreams of life

When I was young,
my life was full of dreams.

I wanted to be a firefighter
fighting ferocious fires:
but the only fires I had ever fought
were mistakes in my life.

I dreamt I was an inventor
of new machines and devices:
all I invented were tricky ways
to get myself out of trouble.

I imagined being a warrior,
conquering distant lands:
I ended up fighting to conquer,
my greed and laziness.

I thought I'd become a hero,
to save the world from suffering:
the only heroic acts I did
were in saving my own skin.

My life is now bereft of dreams,
they have all materialised:
in ways I had never imagined,
my dreams are filled by life.

---

"Life of dreams, Dreams of life"
by Harold B Huang
Tue 12Apr22 0056 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#daydreams

Day 11 : "dreams"
#mpwm22day11
#haroldhuang

The old Indian tea stall

Beneath the looming shadow
of Kishan Dial School,
Stood an old Indian tea stall
with a table and a stool.

I'll go there every morning
to buy my breakfast fare.
And sometimes in the afternoons,
tea time will find me there.

"Mau makan apa ini hari?"
The old man always asks,
his voice both warm and friendly,
his hands busy at tasks.

His tasty roti pratha
are fluffy, piping hot.
And thosai irresistible,
with chutney from a pot.

Some days he sells something,
to which I can't say no.
Sweet apam straight from heaven,
with coconut milk to go.

Memories remain in the shadow
of Kishan Dial School,
of the tea stall's friendly Indian,
with his table and his stool.

---

"The old Indian tea stall"
by Harold B Huang
Sun 10Apr22 2145hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#journeyinlife #sightandsounds

Day 10 : "local haunts"
#mpwm22day10
#haroldhuang

Background note:

In 1967, this teh tarik stall stood at the junction of Marsh Rd and Thambipillay Rd, Brickfields, KL in front of an old three-storey private school building called Kishan Dial School, just behind Lido theatre.

"Just behind the Lido cinema was the Kishan Dial Secondary School, possibly the first private school in the country to prepare students for the Overseas Senior Cambridge School Certificate."

• https://benmorais.wordpress.com/2018/04/25/la-salle-school-brickfields-kuala-lumpur/

Press On

When things turn out well,
and make you happy,
When troubles befall,
and make you sad,

Press on.

Whether in high spirits
or in low,
Whether in good mood
or in bad,

Press on.

When success is exhilarating,
When failure is incapacitating,
On days bright and cheerful,
Through nights dark and dreadful,

Press on.

---

"Press On"
by Harold B Huang
Sat 09Apr22 18:46hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#heartfelt

Day 9 : "up/down"
#mpwm22day9
#haroldhuang

A Cat named Ice

A cat named Ice - a limerick.

There was a cat named Ice,
who loved looking for mice.
He found a fat mouse,
brought it to his house.
Their tea-party was very nice.

---

"A Cat named Ice"
by Harold B Huang
Fri 08Apr22 1039hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#daydreams

Day 8 : "comedy"
#mpwm22day8
#haroldhuang

Learn and Yearn

We cannot change our yesterday,
its lessons must we learn.
We cannot tell what comes tomorrow,
for better times we yearn.

Between regrets of yesterday
and hopes for bright tomorrow,
stands before us a whole new day,
with dreams for us to follow:

On this new day we call today,
we practise what we learn,
We live in it, then it goes away,
to a future for which we yearn.

---

"Learn and Yearn"
by Harold B Huang
Thu 07Apr22 1355hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#heartfelt

Day 7 : "past, present, future"
#mpwm22day7 #haroldhuang

Why?

Why is the sky so often blue,
and grassy fields so green?
Why are green skies unheard of,
and blue fields hardly seen?

Why aren't there any deep blue cows,
and green hens running around?
Why are they often white and grey,
or black or red or brown?

Why is your face not emerald green,
nor hands sapphire blue?
Why won't my eyes turn ruby red,
when I see a smile from you?

---

"Why?"
by Harold B Huang
Wed 06Apr22 1756 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#sightandsounds #daydreams

Day 6 : "colour"
#mpwm22day6 #haroldhuang

Checkpoint Counter Two

In enthusiasm and eagerness,
and much excitement too,
I make my way with hurried steps
to checkpoint Counter Two

Twenty-four months I have waited
for this day to come,
At last, the border opens doors
for me to go back home.

Gingerly, I place my papers
On the checkpoint counter top.
Will the officer find a fault,
Will my journey come to a stop?

My papers are in order,
my passport is stamped in blue.
In high spirits, I walk away
from checkpoint Counter Two.

---

"Checkpoint Counter Two"
by Harold B Huang
Tue 05Apr22 2358 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#heartfelt #journeyinlife

Day 5: charge(d)
#mpwm22day5 #haroldhuang

Another Yesterday

Yesterday,
all those lockdowns wouldn't go away,
Within our cities we were told to stay,
To wait for yet another day.

Suddenly,
all our hopes and plans were not to be,
Shattered dreams were all that we could see,
Oh yesterday from us did flee.

Why
we
had to go
through such times,
no one could learn.

How
we
wished we could
make it go,
never to return . . .

Yesterday,
life was such a happy path to take,
Now I seek another chance to make
anew, another yesterday.

. . . anew, another yesterday

(Sung to the tune of "Yesterday", a song by the Beatles.)

---

"Another Yesterday"
by Harold B. Huang
Mon 04Apr2022 2335 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#heartfelt #journeyinlife

Day 4: after
#mpwm22day4 #haroldhuang

Ibukota Tersadai

Ibukota tersadai: a stranded capital city
I wrote this Malay poem, adapted from the lyrics of a popular song, after the severe flash floods caused by torrential rain in Kuala Lumpur city this evening.

(1) Sungguh ngeri pandangan panorama
Kuala Lumpur... Kuala Lumpur...
Ibu kota permai yang aku cinta
Ditenggelami air bah merata

(2) Rakyat bersusah payah balik kerja
Kuala Lumpur... Kuala Lumpur...
Berbilang jenis motor dan kereta
Tersangkut di tengah jalanraya

Chorus:
Tergendala segala perni-agaan
Baik yang kecil mahu pun yang besar
Pusat dan nadi perdagangan negara
Rosak dibawa banjir ketara

(3) Tidak lagi tegak, teguh dan gagah
Kuala Lumpur... Kuala Lumpur...
Bila lagi disayang dan dibangga
Tersadainya Ibu kota negara

(Sung to the tune of Ibukota Permai)

"Ibukota Tersadai"
by Harold B Huang
Mon 07Mar2022 20:53 hrs GMT+8
#poetry #poetrybyharold
#sightandsounds #journeyinlife