V-Campus

Hi everybody, here is a very touching poem about losing a cherished lover.

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Your image
Burns a memory in my mind
Vividly, Intensely resonates through
The soundless, empty
Space you left behind
It stretches before me;
Painfully bleeds my heart to fill
The vacant void
Of your absence.
I can almost touch you

Your face,
Halcyon expression of childlike innocence
A pallid canvas crested
With the pink blushes of feminine youth
Atop the alcoves of your cheeks.

Your eyes,
Pools of limpid blue
Catching rivets of light as you laugh
Unpredictable, capricious, flirtatious.

Your smile,
Radiant as a summer’s sun
An aurora in the North sky
The centerpiece of nature’s artistry.

Your absence,
The sudden, unrelenting chill of your absence
Keenly felt as you brushed aside
My earnest entreaties for you
To stay by my side;
Cruelly withheld the blessings of spring
From the barren grey expanse
Of my winter-ravaged spirit.

The loneliness
As I finger the briary thorns of a withered rose
Cuts me deeper
Than the merciless blade of a whetted knife.
Oh, the day that you would return to me,
To fill the hollow emptiness again!

Hello one and all, in today's offering, the author is describing a scene from Wayang Kulit (shadow puppet theatre).

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A pristine cloth hangs in the midst of darkness,
hiding a small lamp shining with brightness.
Carefully, the Tok Dalang expertly fingers,
the still-life puppets while suspense lingers.

Excited voices murmur among the audience-in-waiting,
for the kings, queens, princes, gods and other beings.
From the great Hindu tales, epic echoes from the past,
a hush settles and the show begins at last.

The hammer beats out a musical cadence
gongs, chimes, drums and voices drown the audience.
Royal and divine shadows sweep across the lighted sheet,
filling star-struck souls with fables of heroic feats.

Through hours and hours of delightful telling,
with Good and evil ebbing and flowing.
Excellent thrillers, yet with hints of humour,
well known legends hiding present-day rumours.

After much anger, sadness, suspense and strife,
the lamp is dimmed, and smoothed out, the angles of life.
The story ends and every heart feels bound together
the puppets rest, as all others drift to peaceful slumber.

Hey everyone, today we have another lovely little poem.  It is about a person describing herself and how she is influenced by different cultures to form the unique person that she is today.

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Yesterday was Fat Tuesday
or Shrove, or Carnival.

Either all days are holy,
said Constable Dorfl,
Or none are;
I have not yet decided which it is.

I know how the golem must have felt
But yesterday was Fat Tuesday.
So yesterday feast
So today fast.
I observe the distinction
Because we need Fat Tuesdays.

Yesterday was 初三,
the third day of the lunar new year,
the Farmers' New Year though we have not farmed in years,
and we ate pork
barbequed into blackness
and we ate oranges
golden and sweet
Because I am a child of the east.

Yesterday was Mardi Gras,
the last day before Lent,
marked by flour and sugar and lard,
and though we have no masks,
no spangles, no glitter, no costumes,
and though we have no day of freedom,
here in the east,
to be garish, queer and proud
My soul was colourful.

The oranges
were taken from a church
as filled
with bells and incense
an any of your temples
because
they poured water
on my infant self
when I was but a month of age;
and we few,
happy, who have known
this amalgamation
to be 混合 comme ça
tossed between cultures
as easily as the shredded radish
as easily as amen
from my grandmother’s lips
precedes lo hei.

So to some, bells and incense are for the heathen;
And to some, a trinity is as anathema as utter disbelief,
for I am yellow;

So to some, what am I then?
who have discarded the gods of my forefathers
and the god of my grandparents
for a little bit of everything else:
A little Catholic, a little atheist, a little Chinese, a little queer.
A little too much of everything, to you.

It is not for you to tell me what I am.
But this is me
And I am me
And yesterday and tomorrow are me and mine.

and yesterday
was fat tuesday
and today
we burn,
ashes to ashes,
and are wise.

Hello dear readers, let's kick off this week with this poem here.

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The mind-reader he’d thought he was –
Oh! Look at him go.
Relishing, basking, feasting on the days,
They that were going to last forever.

The others had always stood silently close by,
Watching, waiting, no need to be heard;
They weren’t in his sight.
Then one day he broke, as the very promises made to him.
Those of old had failed him.
Through the fire that refined, the others of gold, they could revive
His desecrated heart, decrepit, destitute,
The one forlorn.

Yes Diary, today I learnt the hard way:
Those there for you when the sun shines, the foliage,
Aren’t always the eternal rocks beneath

Hi eveyrbody, today we have a wonderful poem describing the life of a model, and the moments right before and immediately after she goes on stage.  It is a reminder to all of us that we should not need to suffer for our careers, otherwise we will only be a shadow of our original self.

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Sit still if you will please; hold your chin up
Do not clench your jaw; relax that arched brow
He holds a sponge lovingly
As he proceeds to slather my face roughly with foundation-
A foundation of lies

I do not know his name; I never remember any anyway
Is there any meaning to a name
Once the life behind it has been martyred
For fame?

He has his glorious tools but I know the real things better than he ever can
Why, I have:
rosy cheeks from puking
smoky eyeshadows from late nights entertaining
blood red lips from my chapped and peeling skin
and a deathly white face from constant starvation.
This is make-up in its truest form, girls.

I'm done, he announces
As he ruthlessly rips off
the restrains conforming my unruly hair
The curtain call comes
The audience start to cheer
I exit my reverie and enter reality
A carefully made-up doll.
A marionette at their disposal.
And smile.

Hello dear readers, here is one more poem for today.  It is probably the longest one we have published to date, but it is a good one and I hope you like it.

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The wind whispers a silent word
And echoes in the dark
While shadows hide the fading light
The owl eats the lark.

The skies smolder an awful grey
And darkness begin to sing
While dancing masks begin their play
Toil bells have ceased to ring.

“Mirror shows
Mirror shines
Mirror tells
All their lies.”

Flowers of life so innocent and pure
Are darkness’ greatest foes
For every light the dark may lure
Become its fearful woes.

She lurks, unforgiven, in the empty street
And avoids the judging eye
But a sin within consumes her heart
And commence the cruel vie.

“Mirror shows
Mirror shines
Mirror tells
All their lies.”

Her eyes glittered in the sullied frost
Like an honest, clear, looking glass
But thus chaste beauty was not long, lost
Just as sunlight in a fleeting dusk.

The whole world is a stage,
With countless fates at stake,
Masks worn beneath a tainted hallow,
Who would pity the actor’s bellow?

“Mirror shows
Mirror shines
Mirror tells
All their lies.”

Colourful casts in mysterious masks
Hunts a single pallid rose
Gloomy glee on faceless façades
She strikes her final pose.

A wingless bird dream of flight
And leaps off the cliff from its damned plight
For its promised fate was all but lies, cast
In stone, Justitia weeps from bandaged eyes.

“Mirror shows
Mirror shines
Mirror tells
All their lies.”

The city only knew one kind of dance
But sweet seduction danced a trance
They round her neck with the chains of law
While friends hid, reeking in heaps of straw.

Solemn heads bend while hearts become heavy,
They mourn for their friend, regret, a bitter agony
Yet there was little they could do, for the sacrifice
Necessary for many to pull through.

“Mirror shows
Mirror shines
Mirror tells
All their lies.”

Like a mirror she holds their masks
Like a mirror with many tasks
Death breathes a silence, stinging cold
Plunging deep a secret, never told.

Twisting smiles and half-faced tears
Leads the consecrated mind astray
Hearts long forgotten human fears
Blood stained petals flown away.

While pains throb within their chests, her friends sung yet again:
“Mirror shows
Mirror shines
Mirror tells,

One last time.”

Hello one and all, here is a poem describing Singapore in the morning.  The students based in Singapore should be able to relate to this especially well, and for our readers who are not from Singapore, I hope this gives you a glimpse into life in the garden city.

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here and now pigeons roost like dew
on a new seedling and the breeze
somnambulates on tree-lined concrete,
rousing to the sound of morning kopitiam
where bellies comfort themselves with
milo and kopi-o
while schoolbags and uniforms are
packed into groggy buses in
neat obliging rows

indoors Papa is super-imposed onto
spiffy office wear and mama
lets the kettle run riot in the kitchen
coaxing chicken essence into boyboy’s
mouth so 100 marks become a
distinct reality

outside central expressway disgorges
office-types in sputtering toyotas and
sunbeamed mercs all heading to
desk-bound obscurity amid cacophonous
skyscrapers and furtive coffee breaks

here and now it is, merely, the
start of another perfect day.

This poem is written by a student whose class went on an Overseas Community Involvement Program trip to Batam, Indonesia, for 4 days and 3 nights. They built a fence to secure part of the perimeter of a children’s school. Construction materials, accommodation, food and other necessities were paid for by the students together with the help of other funds raised by their class. This poem is a reflection of what the student did and how he felt during the trip.

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From foreign land we came thus far
With bright faces and cheerful hearts
To do only good was our just cause
And to make a difference, our common goal

The children we met, touched our hearts
Their mischief and energy, from yonder past
Unearthing for us, memories long gone
Of childhood and their dear delights

With energy unmatched
We started our work
Much blood and tears did stain the earth
Muscles ached and skeletons groaned
With every blow our shovels hoed

From dawn to dusk, sun to moon
We toiled non-stop with hearts of steel
Insect swarms
Came and gone
Putting all, to the very test
Spotting us with unholy blight
And seeking to sap our courage dry

Heaven’s tears became our foe
Throwing back earth
Into holes laid bare
Burdening us with labour there
So many a groan, did we swear

Steady companion, mud became
And left their stain
On shirts once clean
Yet steadfast, we still remained
In service of the common good

The meals we had, the drinks we shared
A cup of fellowship for all to bear
Our share of fun, was much to savour
Though busy as bees, still time allowed
For that camaraderie, forged out of labour
Burning bright as the stars above
But before we knew
Time flew right past
And soon our boat was to take us home

So we bid adieu
To hotel room and Batam fair
Though hearts were heavy and sadness reigned
In our minds a new hope came
With heaven’s grace
A good deed done
Forever and always, our fencing stands.

Hi everybody, today we bring you a wonderful poem describing a mythical creature that is often chanced upon in forests.

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there was such heat in the
twirling of words
– i love you – around
smooth-lacquered
greased-green
skin

but the way sunlight
twists intentions,
into thick
and drooping silence
is cruel.

have forests emptied tension
from their tight fingers
and tensed chests
just as you have.

yes you are
cruel. and each
jagged motion
undresses these messy
emotions
that cannot again
be assembled,

splinter each memory,
so this longing
is lodged as broken glass,
with flesh, entwined
in dim neglect. under
the occasional clink,
clinks of dusk

pooling around
our silver limbs that remain
tangled despite
your swirling absence.

Hello dear readers, here's another poem today about a boy meeting his crush.

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It comes every second,
each one as dependable as the last.
It needs not be beckoned,
its neither slow nor fast.

A rhythm in my chest
like the marching of a pawn.
Underneath my vest,
it goes on and on.

I used to know every 'thud', every 'tok'.
And even those times when it seemed to just stop.
But then that day, that one fateful day,
I gazed at you and suddenly it went away.

That monotonous sound that once filled my head.
Now gone, now lost, and yet I’m not dead.
I strain my ears and try to listen real hard.
But only silence now, making me look like a retard.

I tried my hardest to remember that day.
And, with any luck, I’ll turn out to be okay.
I can still remember when I first looked at you.
I was so shy, I didn't know what to do.

We sat in that hall, strangers in every right.
Somehow we sat together; Boy did that give me a fright!
I snuck some glances when you turned away.
I tried to talk but didn't know what to say.

You didn't talk much either, maybe because you were shy.
But that's o-kay, because let's face it, I’m the guy.
And even when I took your hands for our first dance,
I knew I wasn't ready for a chance for romance.

We danced together, I would never forget,
that joy I’d never feel with any other I’ll bet.
And in that moment, that time of day,
I felt my heart leave, like a ship, out the bay.

When that week ended, I knew I had changed.
I felt kinda funny, like a sniper out of range.
I had lost that once dependable beat.
One, that was so familiar, like the soles of my feet.

I looked for it everywhere but to no avail.
I felt like a mouse that had lost its tail.
Where can it be, oh where can it be?
Under here? Or perhaps behind that tree?

And then I heard that familiar sound.
So close, I could feel it, at last, I had found!
But turning around, I had quite a shock.
For the moment I saw you, I felt the ship dock.

I hurried to you, feeling my courage start to lack
But you just smiled and waved before returning to your pack
I bid you good day and as I watch you leave,
I smiled to myself as I hear your chest heave.

For now I have found that familiar pound.
Two beats, together, and yet unbound.
One day when I get to keep one of them around,
I hope it'd be an unfamiliar sound.