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Jedd Ong Apr 2014
In a cosmopolitan world where
Yeezy reigns supreme on our
Speakers, loathed for loving
Genius-acknowledging, we

Have set a standard of beauty
So surreptitious, soulless—
Unattainable in this number-
Crunching world so pre-

Occupied with symmetry and
Egotism—structure—black and
White dominated by rawness and
Robotics: steampunk screams echo-
Ing from the rooftops of skyscrapers

As lightning continues to strike the highest point.
Ain't no way I'm giving up. I'm a [sic].
Jedd Ong Mar 2014
Only when the rain is as
Sharp as a torrent of Central Park ice
(Y'know, where the ducks are!)
Would I blink,

Not willing for anything
In the world
To miss the joyous songs of a
Still sunny carousel—
Chorus of 10 year old laughter, falling

Much like light spring rains
(Though none befalls me here)
Trickling down my face

Like a second baptism.
He never hunted with the red hunting cap. Revisiting old stories.
Jedd Ong Mar 2014
"Peace"
is synonymous with
Beatles music and
an empty desk—
i stare longingly
for no reason
but
that of some
Artificial sentimentality;

Quiet purity.
Jedd Ong Mar 2014
To watch piano keys tune
Is like righting a broken bone:
Process somewhat crude
But still very much a need.

The maestro looms like a wolf,
Making every note weep
Though to the intensity he is aloof,
As if in a dream—

Or perhaps a nightmare;
He hears the shrieks and jumps,
Perhaps exaggerated by the glares
Of looming ghouls—necromancy.

The notes holding as if a pathos
Back to the world of the living.
Yes, I know he played the harp. But I've always associated pianos with manic-demon Beethoven-like creatures.
Jedd Ong Mar 2014
Those who have managed
The weight of the sky are few;
Far between
And scattered—hidden—searching
For those likewise
With calloused hands
And weary glances,
Rounded shoulders and
Parched voices roaming,
Shouting as one does
When the dawn finally turns to
Day and realizes

"He lives!"
Jedd Ong Mar 2014
I watched the Sphinx
Die quietly of thirst;

Front paws buckling,
Eyes bloodshot—

Her smile, once human
But a twisted grimace.

She shrieked, as her talons
Gouged out her heart; gasped:
"Child,

"My Wisdom is yours."

And she gave it to me
And it was mine to hold.
Jedd Ong Mar 2014
I still think
Heaven is a small
Town with bright
Blue eyes and the
Sound of a child's
Laugher—

That it unknots
The brows of even
The most weary of
Philosophers.

I still think
Heaven is a small
Garden encrusted with
White feathers and
The west-wound winds
Coming from the Atlantic.

An old harbor—Vladivostok—
Spelled perfectly,
Abandoned by
Knaves and all the carnage they left,
Or Ceasaria:

Dry bed of luminous ruins.

I imagine You beckoning us:
"Don't be afraid, come!"—
Revealing pockets of
Nature only you would have
The courage to call

Beautiful.
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