tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13102398900769488842011-07-28T23:45:21.034-07:00Life is a stream of becoming. We know this and yet we try, each in our own way, to bottle the flow, even as we flounder in the currents. This need to project private meanings on our experiences define us as human beings - we cannot do otherwise. These poems are attempts to frame and render some coherence to the flux.Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.comBlogger481100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-61517595787595112462008-08-24T06:10:00.000-07:002008-08-30T08:37:32.477-07:00

Enwrapped in Night's cloakwe lit a fire in her bosom.The damp wood hissed at her broodas tongues of fire leapt and singedour variant strands into a cord.Starlight lanced her cloakand we laughed at the impaled presence.Bored with impotent wraiths, we turnedto theodicy, discussingGod and suffering over tea.In that star-pinned cloak,we thought the shepherd's star was sought.We who hadn't writhed on

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-88471008046705210342008-05-31T23:22:00.000-07:002008-08-26T07:32:38.826-07:00

This airstrip does not scour the brain's runwayswith take-offs and landings;If memory serves - it ended near a pier bobbingWatchfully in the lulling waves of amnesia.This place yokes me to a worldwhich until now has resisted the tyranny of change.And through the silent grace of the yearsonly glimpses I've retained.Into my sleep Jalan Kayu often slipsher collage of infinite impenetrations.1.

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-40386363879037385662008-02-23T07:24:00.000-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.478-07:00

Sit and observethe bow poised to drawcacophony from strings drawn tautto wake sleeping shadows that will dancelike frenzied demonsanticipating an audiencewith Godand then you may ariseand dust off the commascolons and fullstopsfrom your life(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-51956168051543968932008-02-23T07:22:00.000-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.479-07:00

a candle glowswe wonderwho put the match to the wick would a lamp be brightereven though while the tongue licks the fat we could by its lightknit write read loveor be still to the presentnone but the blind uttersthe wick burns to no purpose yet it seems contrived to insistthe flame shimmers with intention(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-62400285261501835982008-02-23T07:19:00.000-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.480-07:00

(for Sean)there is no need for an apologyfor the state wherein you were bornfor never was there a better time and placeor so they would have us believein our minds you were formedand took shape in a spherequarantined from talkof a new world ordersuch as it should besince for you comparison is emptynot having recalled any otheror so i presumeonly one thing mattersthat you aregod isbeing aliveand

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-72147002337629138602008-02-23T07:17:00.000-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.480-07:00

1bub-bubbling cool springseeps through grains of forest gritthe earth's thirst is quenched 2crashing waves dissipatespreading wet blanket on white sandfootprints are erased 3grass blades bend as the sky spitssoft pins till his clouds are spentstill they stand(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-20706774044032265422008-02-23T07:16:00.000-08:002008-08-26T07:32:38.826-07:00

Into green-dressed mounds of loamthe beast plunged its steel-cold clawsand rammed through soft and yieldy clay.In due seasonthe ravaged earth an offspring bore:a monolith with punctured holes,a hive that breeds a thousand souls.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-26455101430201193442008-02-23T07:12:00.000-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.481-07:00

For A Friend1s DaughterConceived in deliberated passion,you were brought before timeinto your parents' life.And they, suspending mortality,try on the robes of God.In dreamless slumber, you lay pup-likein a time when neither words nor imagescan violate the sweet sanctum of the unknowing.You would not knowwhat your soft and even breathingmeans to souls gazing in hope and despairat a world groaning

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-75326192493180162612008-02-23T07:09:00.000-08:002008-11-20T23:37:33.171-08:00

the journey inward must pass through passionnot limp detachmentwrought in the soul's uneaseit is forged in the workshopof artless clamour and less simple whispersthe theatre of time reverberateswith the affirmation of this or thatand spawned in this tangled webyou radiate to mate with causesand feast on fliesbut this momentyou strain to hear the words that quakein the chill of the

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-55392031988132164782008-02-23T07:07:00.002-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.483-07:00

1Dreams:mind's gossamer web tornby a draft's caress.2Silent cravings slide downtime's endless gulletinducing no more than a tickle.3Dormant seeds ignorethe weight of earth aboveto their own loss.4What is there to losenot having knownanything to gain.5You could, of course, be contentchewing the cud, pretendingto be the ox you're not.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-85727286183593197202008-02-23T07:06:00.001-08:002008-08-26T07:32:38.827-07:00

I have travelled that road many times in the last twelve years:times of retreat they were, from an unrelenting past, and the ache of stillborn desires. On the coach to Tapah that night I looked, time after time, out of the wide window into the streets awashed by the jaundiced hue of sodium lamps that could not exorcise shadows from the objects they illuminate. And then I realized that ghosts do

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-32932668146725961642008-02-23T07:00:00.000-08:002008-08-26T07:32:38.827-07:00

1a glass house is betrayedby its stained windows 2for rhyme we forfeit the naked truthpreferring to titillate the earsthan have our sight outraged 3stigmata: a divine gesture to an emptied vesselor the seal of the self-enchanted 4be content with proximate veritiesthey don't disappoint besidesyour sanity hinges on them 5sniffing at innocence and quixotic

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-42888348052967324532008-02-23T06:59:00.001-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.484-07:00

In spring, let me see the sunflowers as a mirror of light on the swell,not the greying curtain of the late rains.In the frost, let me see a bed of rest for the seed snuggled in white quilt,not the blanketing of life.Don't judge me too harshly:I have not learnt to peel the masks of God.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-54768859419470715302008-02-23T06:57:00.000-08:002008-08-26T07:32:38.827-07:00

The Lord is not slow about his promise as some count slowness, but is forbearing toward you,not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance. But the day of the Lord will come 1st Peter 3: 9,10Peter was, perhaps, too quick on the draw again when he, with apostolic flourish, waved the quill and sought to extend our expectations as though He needed an excuse for

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-85429261100149576412008-02-23T06:56:00.002-08:002008-08-26T07:32:38.828-07:00

This day last year I let my last tear roll:no dam-bursting floodwater,just a trickled beadthat seeped through a packed crackwhile I was listening to a verse recitationI've now forgotten.But it was enough to wet his ashes.From the cleft of the seed, a shoot springs forth to pierce the earth; then laying down its weary head, it merges into the sodden bed.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-73260269778352664552008-02-23T06:56:00.001-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.485-07:00

I'm sure you canhold a ball in your handand feel its firmnessenough not to crush it;toss it up and downspilling the seas into dry land,cracking the earth just here and thereto turn the cracked, caked mudinto rivulets of bloodto quench our desires,to recast our deeds.I have heardyou danced upon the cosmosto break her slumber,but now retirebeyond our delusive day-hoursin a banyan seed…yet you spin

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-89370183487010840472008-02-23T06:55:00.001-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.486-07:00

Animals lovers feed their petswith less-favoured-animal carcasses,so the wheel turns.Yes, that cat that took a frightened leapfrom the trembling clutch of a childwho meant to save it from peril.Kitty eyelids stretched wide opento keep out the fast approaching dark."All men are mortal":the major premise inthe syllogism of life is a clichéwhich revitalizes in the immediacyof a father who is

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-64337416942463383292008-02-23T06:54:00.002-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.486-07:00

a threaded needle pierces the silkscreena double is stitched this side of timesmile a second in recallingthen wince in paingrappling with the desolationonce animated faces now frozenby random firing of neurons(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-47364390104805908482008-02-23T06:54:00.001-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.487-07:00

Among tomes transformedby Forster's artistryinto the Marabar Hills,my mind reverberates in its shelllike echoes in the caves tillthe sound escapes its prison.I am now one in the sea of pressing fleshwith Mrs Moore,chasing the wind,catching up with itand grasping a handful of emptiness.Wafting through the chillthe stench of freeze-driedweek-old socksbesieges my nostrils.Someone in this library is

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-60860832425301659452008-02-23T06:53:00.001-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.488-07:00

Very much alive, I must now conclude,by the lamplight on the page,how one's dimming sight should greetthe fast approaching night.Correct summation, I'm to believe,rests upon a pen point's reasoned glide.The heart is ripped when death is pinnedby a moral paradigm.And so this piece ... words again, I'm afraid,which would have to stand for wreathsto atone and set at rest the sin of presumption.(The

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-25303085238767494982008-02-23T06:52:00.002-08:002008-08-26T07:32:38.828-07:00

The corridor is litin yellow wash, the many doorsopen to rooms with barred windows.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-79020851349751076362008-02-23T06:52:00.001-08:002008-08-30T08:37:32.489-07:00

There you stood in the market:the loose sleeves of a woman's dressslipped off your shoulders,unveiling pubescent breasts.Distracted, I shot a prayerto check that all-too-easy stray,to graft wings to the hopethat those eyes that study the ways of menwould never need to know them.Dry, ruinous prayers – poor talismansagainst the rising tide of unawakened knowledge?Sometimes when the world is not too

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-34970643044140900022008-02-23T06:50:00.000-08:002008-08-26T07:32:38.829-07:00

The weight of age pressing upon still steady limbs,a man in a floppy fishing cap saunterstowards Somerset Station licking a popsicle.Measuring the effort, he gingerly stepsonto the moving stairsand places his palm against the marble wallpolished raw polished

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-26734124038645017932008-02-23T06:49:00.001-08:002008-08-26T07:32:38.829-07:00

Lifting my head, I seeeyes eclipsing souls, waitingto be amused(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-51314994095049513222008-02-23T06:48:00.000-08:002008-02-23T06:49:07.933-08:00

Your scent of talcum and perspirationinfuses a gladness in these bones.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-43060548129259243842008-02-23T06:47:00.000-08:002008-02-25T02:05:34.815-08:00

What speechless sorrows did you beholdyears ago to raise those tears?Were they for the innocentswhose hollow screams have now seepedinto the cracks of compelled unity?Were you sharing the silenceof one bygone eveningwith a knight who has awakenedfrom the carnage to surveythe slain that lay sprawled amidst strewnbanners of the cross and the crescent?Are you weepingfor still-benighted spectreswho

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-76960106469880328382008-02-23T06:46:00.000-08:002008-02-23T21:14:30.513-08:00

like guileless idiots who seecomedy in liturgyor number-brazen camaraderiesharing a joke at a funeralthey laughthese products of a mission schoolwho can find a moment of levitywhile they watch a product of conceptionlying quite limp against aseptic greenafter the scalpel has done its job(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-15021351039053183722008-02-23T06:45:00.000-08:002008-07-11T00:30:13.729-07:00

(John 3:1-8)The skies choke. On the man-littered land, there'sno quilt melting over a hinting green;for the drought has scorched such contrary scenesnot sparing the ash to astound my smallness.In the unfallowed ground, seeds will not burst.There's no hoofprint on the parched earth, nor footprint on the pavement cracked by the Sabbath's neon din,now smoothed over by the shuffling feet of

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-13132726832855689772008-02-23T06:36:00.001-08:002008-07-11T00:50:02.445-07:00

Impelled by Swiss steel,the pendulum swings,mirroring the lives it rules,until the coiled spring is spentand everythingSTOPS.And then Uncle (father of ten)grand in his agesticks the key inand faithfullywinds it up again.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-17934866247635778182008-02-23T06:35:00.001-08:002008-02-23T06:35:58.824-08:00

Through thick-rimmed glassesyou peer at how I sit-how I shift my bodytowards this side and that.My words you weighwith your infernal scalesjust to see if I should deviatetowards this warped side or that.Twiddling your thick fingersin sync with the tumblingof your well-balanced mind,you peruse this obscured footnotein the Book of Life.Hiding behind jargons,you poke to test if I yelp.Now don't you

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-39745224817017994192008-02-23T06:34:00.001-08:002008-09-15T21:51:40.888-07:00

Clasping a pouch to her heart,the girl standing by the hurricane lampgazes: quiet eyes needlingthe dark, cherishingthe medicine man's antics;while sceptics, cloyed by past featsand bored from protracted anticipation,cross their arms.Just then the pugilist slamshis head against the bricks in question:Now will you pay for my pains?(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-83844569929998948022008-02-23T06:33:00.001-08:002008-07-11T00:41:51.278-07:00

Unblessed, unkissed by the lips of Godyou speak of his grace:his days and waysare as desiccated asthat sanctimonious shell.Meanwhile we drool before puppy's crumbsbut restrain ourselves from grovellingwhile the Host gazes into the distancefor uninvited guests.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-6863636512752434502008-02-23T06:30:00.000-08:002008-07-11T00:52:17.815-07:00

Remember this, there is meaning beyond absurdity - Abraham Heschelsliced from the public eyeby the slender slats of the lallang grove:it squatsbrown and conspicuouscomfortable in its elementsnubbed to neutralitydonated to the good earthby some familiar pariah whose nature-tutored manners decreed that it would leave its markthereperhapsthere liesembedded in itan undigested seedwhich will burst

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-90993101516572262152008-02-23T06:29:00.000-08:002008-07-11T00:28:14.707-07:00

Night does not crave devotees,she simply is.But if an altar we insist,our sacrifice she'll not dismiss.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-3274089161140595642008-02-23T06:28:00.002-08:002008-02-23T06:29:34.075-08:00

we have not shed the skins of childhoodlike kids we returnto gawk at moustached ladiesenvy the trapeze manallow clowns to frighten usand bite into balls of cotton candydespite knowingthey would allin secondsmelt into syrup(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-90906051202783900352008-02-23T06:28:00.001-08:002008-02-23T06:28:39.434-08:00

musing on all that has transpiredover mugs of coffee sippedin the hours when only two soulskept alive by the disquiet searchfor the "what is"were kept awakequite unquiet(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-44804714504740863402008-02-23T06:27:00.001-08:002008-02-23T06:27:51.741-08:00

listen to the painvoiced in full dosagenot glossed by wordsof the articulate(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-681556305261779202008-02-23T06:26:00.000-08:002008-07-11T00:16:53.412-07:00

Spreading my thin arms,I hover as old as the skyover tombstones green with moss –poor excuse for a treestationed for peoplewho no longer need a shade.This is your time. your season.Wind. go on, shred and scatter.I shall bide my time and outstare the moonfor grief, like joy, must ebb.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-78080367935283985422008-02-23T06:25:00.000-08:002008-02-23T06:26:15.230-08:00

We rant and raise our fiststo question if he cares.Sequesteredby the books which give us voice,we took silence for absencewhile mute souls, straining to shape a prayer,are bandaging a worldwhich continues to bleed.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-52938778604524933422008-02-23T06:24:00.000-08:002008-02-23T06:25:00.594-08:00

Writing in the dark,I don't know if I'm skimming abovethe line or cutting right across it.Your tents on the ridgeflap their colours in the breeze,taunting and beckoningthis contemplation of dark leaningsto traverse the chasm from his cloister.One day I shall pushthese tentative toes off the ledgeand plunge into your deep, dark pool.Plumb the depthsto taste the sweet water.But what uncharted coast

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-86145264547108484942008-02-23T06:22:00.000-08:002008-02-23T06:24:05.527-08:00

(i.m. of the last of the flower children)Huddled in the cleft of a seaward rockyou were as if carved out of it:emerald eyes reflecting sea green.Your father's myths no longer sustained you,and so you mused on the wisdomof Oriental sages who speak ofapprehending lifewithout the net of words;I smiled at how readilymy people would trade gods with you.Flower child, fall's wind is blowingand petals

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-67375358607032137382008-02-23T06:21:00.000-08:002008-02-23T06:22:24.579-08:00

Time it was when Ithrough tear-bleared eyesscoured the Book for Youand heard a faceless voicewhich I took for Yours, onlyto be hurt by the silenceof the desert which trailedthe wake of my rage.To poetry I turned:words of men, mortally penned,for they, at least, are inked with bloodand through the page I can finger bones.Across the hushed chasmevery thought once uttered turnsinto a net that melts

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-85540724161940428732008-02-23T06:20:00.000-08:002008-07-11T00:23:48.856-07:00

'Good night sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest'You have not fathomed, my brother,the dark ocean of intentions in your own soul or another.You alone in Elsinore couldwith words candy-coat the worldwhen intrigue speaks in whispersand sorrow festers in its own morose silence.So be drunk then with your own estimationof ineffable delights and horrors.How can you step into my

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-70970914165572319122008-02-23T06:19:00.001-08:002008-02-23T06:19:51.509-08:00

The Ferris wheel creaks in the wind,powdering heads below with rust.A boy sadly eyes an empty booth,then glancing at the spindly web,he smiles at a mind-drawn fairy path.In this circle he permitsonly gasps and shrieks of glee.Come along.Mum tenderly intrudes.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-29687595534536176022008-02-23T06:04:00.000-08:002008-02-23T06:08:32.273-08:00

When his mind and wrists marryin motion, shadows take on lifeand dance against the screen.Like the puppeteer,the poet, real or pretender,strain to conjure the dead…to name them and consign themtheir own afterworldsaway from the mind of their maker.For this shiver of arrested vision,he scratches his pen against paper.Publish PostAs the moment of assertion fades,lifeblood stains the page.(The Sea

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-2967664198906946112008-02-23T06:03:00.000-08:002008-02-23T06:11:40.096-08:00

In the still, the sun peers languidlythrough the early mist and the windwinding through the grassheaves a sigh as habit rousesthe Earth from her stupor once again.The lights on the tarmac go off.amber chasing the blue into the darkness,forerunners dimming in the face of dawn.At the north end of the runway,eight white sentinels waitone-legged in the chill,necks craning towards some placebeyond the

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-45233638221977891472008-02-23T06:02:00.000-08:002008-02-25T01:50:39.012-08:00

They drink the shadowsthat are spilt upon the earthand fooled,I believedfrom this box of boneI could dispense the breath.(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1310239890076948884.post-69148831474999097882008-02-23T06:01:00.000-08:002008-02-23T06:12:57.169-08:00

I must remember not to dielike herThis fluttering of frantic wingscannot take you beyondshort spurts of sad flightabove the gravel;and tomorrow's rainwill sweep you into the gutter(The Sea is Never Full. Singapore: EPB Publishers, 1994)

Jeffery Leenoreply@blogger.com0