For every emotion songs have already been written:
poetries and sonnets,
angry beats and ****** ballads.
My more positive, happier self is an extra-terrestrial being
from galaxies far away:
No cutting off fins from sharks. Unlike lizards’ tails
fins don’t grow back.
Love. Respect.
No ceramic idols lining the windows
their empty gazes crawling up your spine.
No empty promises. No magic cures for baldness.
Phones on mute during class. Eat sensibly.
Take a breather – life is not a race
to the finish line. Have cleaner washrooms.
Less unwanted criticisms. Less trance.
Love thy country.
Pin-striped shorts
from M&S; Stronger will.
No slitting wrists or overdoses. Suspend disbelief.
No secret candy stashes. Do your laundry without being told.
Omit racism, misanthropy. Wilted flowers by the windowsill.
No secret phone calls in the middle of the night.
Who are you afraid of? Almost and nearly don’t count.
Come home.
Forgive favorite band for disappointing album.
Be kinder to puppies.
Brood, not rant. Skulk, not stalk.
Get my name right.
Don’t drink and drive.
There are no gays, no lesbians, only
people with feelings.
Fight, not flight.
Have more 24-hour pizza places.
Avoid politicians, traitors, lawyers.
No throwing around words like vociferance,
vociferate, vociferous.
Accept fate – don’t be a martyr;
One day everything fades
so hold on to
all your post-it memory
until every star

turns to dust.

Dear Malaysia:
I’m embarrassed that it has taken
me so long to love you; it’s usually
the toughest when politics begin to fill
most of the pages of the newspaper.

I’ve never been sure if
this was the place for me
like a flutterby I flit, never to linger
and ever since I packed up my bags decades ago
I was afraid of the memories that will come back
as soon as I returned to the chaos of your streets.

But you know what, I surrender
to your murky politics and sluggish services
to your bright lights and friendly smiles
as I often wonder to myself –
What makes you tick
amidst the strings of lights
That shone down the path of the dark, filthy streets?

I can no longer keep you at arm’s length
though your imperfectness is glaring
amidst harsh whispers and constant ridicule;
Being a permanent resident at my favorite hotel
is like being a tourist
With a startling realisation that I think I’m staying for good.

A friend told me I didn’t quite like it this time around
and I don’t understand you at all.
But today, white blossoms would fall
From an old tree with its own love story to share
Onto the feet of those with an unspoken pact
and the same bittersweet melancholia.
Malaysia, I will learn not to feel lost
and I will learn to hang up my flighty shoes;
Let me make it up to you:
I cannot promise I won’t wince and shut my eyes
during a live telecast of the Commonwealth Games
but I promise
I will be behind you
every step of the way.

The ice is thin
at this time of the day
so walk, don’t hop
pick your battles wisely
remember me

Good advice
except that there is
already a far greater poem
by the same name
and everybody knows that one
but nobody knows mine

There are enough flowers at
his grave to weigh down
a gentle boat with guilt
Your father claims to be
The first man on the moon
your daughter’s a conspiracy theorist
your pet’s a schizophrenic ball of dust
named Memory

One of the many pleasures in life
is knowing that there’s heaven and hell. I cannot remember what
you look like, just that
today’s my own personal

Life-*****-and-I-Want-to-Die Day (which means
tomorrow I will
love my life and want to live forever).
The astrology department reports an explosion
and that people should stay indoors
to avoid tunnel vision.
My star sign says

I will be torn in two directions today – I should
hire a private investigator to count my steps. I wasn’t
going to feel happy for myself but
now I’m stumbling my way out of the bar
with only five dollars in my bra.

A beakless raven hops past
against the dying of the light
and intones
I am the poet Dylan Thomas
risen from the dead:
advancing as long as forever is

I promise I will be ok.

it's funny how much damage
   a .338 Lapua Magnum can cause
   to the person wielding the
   weapon of death.

the pain sliced through me
   quick, merciless
   and death came slowly.

PERRIE GRAM, the plaque
   on my desk
   mocked me:
ACCOUNTS CLERK.

by night, my name card read
ASSASSIN FOR HIRE
although between the lines
****** SUBMISSIVE
PART-TIME LOVER
GRIM REAPER
   hovered in silence.

hundreds have died
   by the barrel of my gun:
   politicians, mob bosses
   past lovers, business competitors
   but your thirst for blood
   and revenge
   still blinds you.

"I love you," you tell me
   but the absence of
   feeling in those three words
troubles me so.

tell me: why am I still
   not good enough?