Perhaps

Perhaps stars are just whispers
blown away by lonesome hearts
Perhaps wind is just a whimper
of an old quiet bard
Perhaps sunlight is a golden broom
that sweeps the dusty doors of time
and winter is but a requiem
that ring in old London town
Perhaps sand is all our memories
that steals across our dreamy lives
Perhaps seas are only tides of change
that cleanse our souls of dust

Copyright©2004 Benedict Goh

seagulls call out
to the brisk breezes of sunset
the breath of the sea must
send waves of untamed temper
on lonesome vessels
where the sky meets the sea
the clouds seem to weep
the fisherman's eternal sleep

Copyright©2004 Benedict Goh

been there, on the high road
now sinking low
on a rocky boat
isn't it a fallacy
to believe in tomorrow
where you don't even know
what day it is now?
been there, doing the same
old usual mundane packing
of wasted dreams in a sleepless
jungle of untamed lunacy
float, float away
on a funnel of
subway cigarette smoke

a horse on a rainbow
sat on dumbo
then lost his jumbo
to limbo
Faints

when ever a cloud
appears to consume
the sapphire sky
the winds will chime
with vigour and pride
the dawn of the storm
the rise of the tide
then rain will come
like pharoah's horses
upon the earth
washing all dirt
on every flower
when that is gone
the birds will sing
their joyful song
of new beginnings
and a bright new morn
across the heavens
the throng of light
will give all life
a rainbow bright

Take a pinch of salt
and put it into water,
what do you get?
Salt water
Pour some water
into a bowl of salt,
what do you get?
Salt water

we can't change the way people think
but we can think that people change

green is the colour of the day
not because i'm feeling environmentally friendly
it's the colour of algae growing on the walls of
my worn-out faculties
reverberation ceased to exist
waiting, wanton spirit, for dooms day

It's a blizzard out there
and in here
there's a melancholic shower
that washes the dim lit alley
of my wasted soul

The whirlwinds of living never beats any faster
levelling all sparkle of this mundane world
before sunsets of the heart starts to trickle
there is not a single drop of wonderment left
or any flicker of the weak flame of the mind's eye
battered, bruised and blistered
are the frames of disconcerted spirits.
losing its line of sight
quickly
in
eternity

The lenses of my senses
were kept in pretenious fences
it takes not one but many chances
to uncover and recover the faithful branches
of sanity which the strength of Venus
could not contain the bold untamed monsters
bursting from entrapped glasses
they crawl undisturbed in midnight masses

the silence is deafening
belting out in resounding emptiness

Syncopated Subversion

Prevailing in a non-sequential absentia
the pillar of boredom throws daggers of dementia
that splits the vaults of prudent jocularity
into funnels of raging immorality
subjectivity is flung out of the window
by flippant throngs of anti-gravity disability
guarded frustrations battle the sheer forceful freudian impulses
that consume and ravage the naked truths of human frailty

Constipated Entanglements of Neurological Impediment

contaminated filters of the mental faculty
cannot resolve the weight of improportional injustices
clouding in the sphere of crashed crumpled indecisiveness
only the withered battered laundry of sorrows
could enclose the wounds of yesterday's beer bottles

it's just another day today
so is yesterday
and the day before yesterday
and the day before the day before yesterday
and so is tomorrow
and the day after tomorrow
and the day after the day after tomorrow
in a nutshell it's a day
which is like any other day
and you'd say
it's not fun anyway
because it's not gay
which maybe here to stay
or go away
in a distant way
that might sway
with dismay
to skies of grey
come what may
stacks of hay
may just be a ray
of light on a bay
which i pray
today
in this month of May
that things will be gay

the wind is in harmony today
except it is a dissonant chord!

What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world?
- anonymous

liking the likeness of a liking
is a thing to behold for a being
that treads softly on this soil for freeing
the pleasures that bind earth's mighty fling
to sting your heart with a pinning
grinding
seeds of satisfaction beneath the surrounding
moment searching for blistering
breath of tomorrow

risen early today
but the sun is cloaked in a grim blanket of grey
almost resisting to show its face to the world
the freshness of morning mist is consumed
by crashing needles of rain
wonder when
the sun will reign again

The rapturous ring of razzamatazz
echoes in the reign of reluctant riddles
that pierces through cells of roaring roasting
in reason's robust reverberation
captured in razor blade sharpness
of time's relentless hand