-ve Priming: An e.g. of what not to do

I really shouldn't say "crap" first thing in the morning, 'cos it means that later at 12:20pm, when I realise that I have clean run out of time and I have one more stanza of the poem to go, that is the first thing out of my mouth.

Then I hear a ripple of not-so-whisper-like-whispers... "I can't believe Ms G said "crap"!"

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Internal monologue

Monday, 5:45am [Alarm rings]
Crap. Groan. No.... 9 more minutes

5:54am
I'm snoozing some more. Who needs a shower in the morning anyway?

6:03am [Visions of being late for school jolt me awake]
-blank-

6:10am
Brain kicks in and tells me I've got to shower, who am I deluding.

6:30am {Walking out to the bus-stop]
Brain kicks into second gear and alarms go off: "CRIKEY! I FORGOT THAT WE'RE NOT GIVING BACK THE TEST FOR LIT CLASS TODAY WHICH MEANS THAT I HAVE A LIT LESSON IN THE MORNING THAT I HAVEN'T PLANNED FOR!!!"

6:40am [On bus, scribbling lesson plan in exercise book]
I think I'll re-use my Sec 1 materials for my Sec 3s. Heh heh heh. *evil laughter*

6:50am {Asleep on bus]
ZZZZZzzz

6:55am [At school]
Need coffee. Cannot function without coffeee. Is the photocopier down? Oh dear. But I'll make my cup of coffee first.

7:05am {madly photocopying. madly planning. brain, infused with caffeine, in overdrive]
How many copies do I need? Why is there no paper? What's wrong with the Master Print? What do I need to scan? What is my password? Who am I?

7:35am [singing the Mahjulah]
I need to tell the kids to stay in their class. Where are they?

---- FAST FORWARD

9:00am [NOW]
STOP BLOGGING! GO TO CLASS!

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Tete-a-tete with Lee Tzu Pheng

“A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.” Robert Frost

I was standing at border's flipping through local poet Lee Tzu Pheng's collection of poems "Lambada by Galilee & Other Surprises" and it struck me how revealing and intimate it is to read another person's poetry. I read her poem about teaching Tyger in a classroom and I laughed because it was all too familiar; I read her poem about the way of the cross and I thought—ah! she's a Christian; I read the one about finding Lucky Plaza on a map and I thought—she's kinda whimsical; and so, from having absolutely no idea who she apart from the role she has played as a local poet, I thought, hey, it would be nice to sit down and have tea and a chit chat with her.

I wish I could have my poems published one day too. But for now, my poems are too frivolous, too particular, too sentimental, and too unpolished. But it would be so cool to add my voice to the accumulation of local poetry in Singapore...

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My Macbook sleeps

My Macbook sleeps tonight
I left the power cable at work
And I think of Jesus
dead in the tomb
three days
drained and poured out
exhausted for the sins of men.

He lies on the cold rock, painfully still
silent
a man without a shadow
a useless God bereft of power.

Satan laughs

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My wicked soul

mumbles through the bits it doesn't like.

OurFatherwhoartinheaven
Hallowedbethyname
ThykingdomcomeThywillbedone
Onearthasitisinheaven
GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD
FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES
asweforgivethosewhotresspassagainstus
leadusnotintotemptation
BUT DELIVER US FROM EVIL
forthineisthekingdom, THE POWER, andtheglory
FOREVER AND EVER.
amen.

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A poem in two parts

Everytime they take a test
she writes a poem
a sad poem a tragic poem a nothing poem
______neither here nor there
just to fill up the quiet
and drown out the scratching of pen on paper

Everytime she writes a poem
it is a test
of how much how far how deep
______she would succumb
to the stranglehold of lies
that maligns hope and whispers chaos

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