Archive for the ‘poems’ Category

EPAULLE

“… The weight of the world crush your shoulder to the ground…”

–Baudelaire–

 Princess, for what did you take a bow?
Seven dragon orbs weighten your shoulder, it seem.
All the peasant saw you and asks:
“Are persimmons turns bitter,
Are the north wind smells so unpleasant ?”

Princess, the streets are in festive
Cheer up!

MONBERTE (a poem for a friend)

*inspired by Allen Ginsberg’s “America”*

Monberte, I’m born as a bookworm in a place where books are mere food for worms;
Monberte, I wrote so many poems but they never write back;
Monberte, I try to sell my poems for a nickel then I gave it away for free, for no one’s eager to buy..

Monberte, I love to read TEMPO magazines but I only read their Sidelines;
I read so many Sidelines, now I’m a sideliner, waiting to die..

Monberte, criminals in my country loves to hide in Singapore;
Monberte, I hate them Singaporeans for giving the convicts a hiding place;
Monberte, Nazaruddin must face trial, now!
Monberte, Nunun must go home, now!

Monberte, I hate them Singaporeans;
Monberte, I love them noodles and chickens;
I love to walk on Orchard Road but I never went there, so what’s the point?

I love their mainland, their Big Wall and all;
Many kids there shit on the street and grow to be bussiness moguls..
Monberte, when them chinamen rebel, they made new star in tennis court;

Monberte, when kids in my country shit on the street, they only get bruises and sodomized;
When we rebel nowadays, we only made traffic jams;
Not all folks here well understood, and no one cares enough to made manuals..

Monberte, I hate them Malays for stealing cultures from my country and claims as their own;
And still our women went to their sultan cocks and gold coins and be enslaved;
Bruises and more bruises and black and blue and towering twin balls..

Monberte, I hate them Singaporeans, them Malays, and them who follow me just to sell their products..
Monberte, where is sincerity?
Monberte, what’s your phone number?
Monberte, can I knock at your door at 3 AM and still get warm welcome?

Monberte, last but definitely not least
Would you send me some postcards?

–June, 2011. say NO the tweeta marketeers!!–

Elegy for the Morning Odours

Morning, with dews and the odours of dawn
Vegetables and fruits laid on the street
Colorful sight for the sore eyes.

Morning, to the fishes that saying: “Hello! Hello!”
To the people that always waiting
At street corners and on the road.

Sweating, for the small and big stuff
For all the stuff that ever changing and repeating.

Swearing, against the day that breaks
Thousand promises and plans.

Morning,
Hopes to see you again.

S. Parman-Slipi, 5 Sept. 2005.