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Jedd Ong Dec 2014
Eat your
Vegetables.

Pack the wheelchair.
You don’t need it
Anymore.
Jedd Ong Dec 2014
Tonight is but a smattering of hooves,
A suspended dance hanging
High above the half-moon forest
Dripping with bravado and sleep.

Tonight is but a quiet lake,
Awake after the storms,
Overflowing with tears,
As the children fade into the forests.

Tonight is but a dragged axe,
A momentary fear of scythes
And hooded faces with eyes
Barely peeking above the lids.

Tonight is but a withered lamp,
Flickering in-between death, life,
Lamps that utter silent prayers,
That glower at the vast Unknown

And wake
And wake
And wake.
Sick. And Over the Garden Wall.
Jedd Ong Dec 2014
There is a pathway to the stars
Mapped out for us by
Tiny cherubs—faint, pulsating
Trail of constellations scattered:
The universe is

Vast

And I’m out here,
Stuttering to find the words
By which to capture
The very ends
Of our corner of the world

Lost

In this sea of light,
Transmissions,
Pulsars beating its heavenly
Drum as a sign that maybe

God

Has not left us for dead
Yet. God has not left
Us for dead

Yet

This noise we run away from:
These nauseating horns
And screams of
Wounded children
Have a heaven, God bless you.

Have a heaven
Transmitting
Its “love yous”
And “miss yous”
And “thank yous”

Singing

To a sky beyond our corner of
Jedd Ong Dec 2014
They flex slowly.

Come up tails.

Coin flips floating down the
Riverbanks,
Past the fountain pens
Dripping with fresh
Ink and short-armed knives.

Laughing hard
At their ridiculous leather jackets,
Brandishing bug eyed grins
Above all other
Deadly weapons,
Just as disarming.

Souped up
Vintage cars and hats
And stowed away
Overcoats and canes
Somehow soaked
By the groundwater rain.

Coming up
Aces,

Breaking through the sea
These

Kids,

They'll be alright.
for my grandfather. may you rebel without a cause.
Jedd Ong Nov 2014
has died

And tomorrow brings
Forth a helping
Of ham sandwiches
And chorizo rice,

And a cold glass of milk,
And vitamin pills,
And sleepy morning sunlight
Clinging to baby eyelids.

The world unraveling,
Yarn by yarn to reveal
A cracked expanse:

Dingy suburbs alternating
With shiny metal subways,
Flimsy straw huts,
And highways,

Schoolbooks once mandatory
Depicting every one of them.

The bell rings and
Suddenly footsteps seem
To linger if but for a second,
Encasing its victims
In a universe where time stops—
Stood—still

Still enough to wrinkle,
And feel the soft nudging

Of naked wrist against
Wrist-watched wrists,

Breakfast crumbs against
Crumpled lips,

Rotting umbrellas against
Sweating hips,

Oxen straining against
Grass-strewn rifts,

Coal dust against
Swollen lids—

So tolls the bell
And ends
Jedd Ong Nov 2014
God
Might move the deadline
For our Chinese script
But I'm still mad at him
For keeping me up
At the grand hour of 11

In the evening graphing
Over (and over)
Again business charts that
Have crooked smiles almost
As blank and bleak

As their returns on investment.

And speaking of which,
This extra eighty grand I spent
At this school, ogling at textbooks I could
Never work up the courage to read,
Is finally starting to break my back.

Weakly, I'll tell you
How much I hate school—
How her consonants sound synonymous
To "scoliosis,"
And peel off my shirt and prove it to you

But that would be careless.

And careless is something in me hand-bound
By iron clad futures and
Graying dreams,
Perhaps that of a dead stock broker
Feet dangling off the roof of
The Philippine Stock Exchange,

And even then that's
Straying too far from home:
A cardboard box business
Resting by a
Tuberculosis-riddled sea.
Jedd Ong Nov 2014
Daybreak
Is a daily baptism:

Small town bubble bursting

At the seams
To find young schoolchildren
Heaving their bags
And heading off to school,

Soft rooster crows
Slowly replaced by the
Smiling whistles
Of traffic guards

Who know each of us
By face.
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