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
(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
(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
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
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
(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
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
"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
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
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.
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
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 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
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
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
"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
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
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
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."
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 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
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 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
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
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
An Anthology — A burong descends from Tansang Kenyalang in the midst of a dire catastrophe. A shapeshifter f...
