Deathbed

Hello, my dear, you’ve come a long way. What a wild ride it’s been, eh?
Looking back it must feel funny – joy, love, achievements, money –
Things I seek now, did it matter – to make our life better?
Memories created, which one is your favourite?
Sorry for the questions, I have inhibitions…
Do you believe something exists after death?
I hope I didn’t leave you with regrets.
That was the fear, to waste away years.
Experiencing chaos, noises –
Would you change any choices?
Listen to more voices?
I hope you are proud.
Fears are allowed.
It’s alright,
Just say
Hi.

A poem for NaPoWriMo day 25. The prompt was to write a poem for a particular occasion and one that came to mind was a last conversation with my future old self. There would be so many emotions, questions, and stories to talk about – yet time would be running out, so I wanted to reflect those limits and urgency in the “countdown” structure of syllables per line. It turned out more morbid than I anticipated, but so writing goes.

Poetry of Life Rewritten (NapoWriMo #30)

An opposite adaptation of Poetry of Life by Friedrich von Schiller:

“Who would himself with light reject,
Or simplify his death with darkness that dampens in modesty,
Or neglect true despairs that do but confirm the lie?–
Though with my dream my hell should be appointed–
Though the free-pinioned soul that once could depart
From the small empire of the impossible,
This vacation life with iron wings may release,
Yet thus the inexperience o’er ourselves we lose,
And boisterous treachery to our acts illicit,
Separates us thus tutored in the second of need,
With a more drunk and defiant mind!
How front desire–yet bid thy age
Welcome the mild rule of death’s rash peasant, falsehood.”

So speakest thou, nemesis, how weaker far than I;
As from experience–that indefinite port chaotic–
Thou lookest;–and bent, a warmth unwraps the sky,
The winter depression flourishes from the scene,
Encouraged by the frivolous spell; behold them fly,
The godlike images that seemed so ugly!
Noisy the serious Muse–the pale hours
Continue in their dance; and the May-breathless flowers
Ascend from the sister-graces’ still hair.
Foul-mouthed Apollo mends his golden lyre,
Hermes, the wand with expectation scarce;–
The veil, olive-woven, by the old desire
With dreams, drops from the vibrant cheeks of death.
The world seems what it is–a happy! and hatred
Lifts up the bondage wound his eyes below,
And sees!–He sees but tangible clay
Where he dreamed devils; and gasps–and plods away.
The oldness of the grotesque grows young,
And on thy lips the bride’s morbid kiss seems scorching;
And in the dispersal of sadness–upon thy stool
Thou standest in state, and meltest into air.

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I’ve finally written the last poem. I can’t believe how fast the month has passed and am now proud to say I’ve completed my first NaPoWriMo challenge attempt (sort of, since it wasn’t EXACTLY a poem a day). It’s been fun and I’m sad to announce its end. Congrats to all who participated and thank you for joining me this April 2013.

Thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

Ballad of a Phoenix (NaPoWriMo #25)

there was a phoenix young and bright
feathers shine engulfed in flame
it sparkles gold in dawn of light
waiting to be bestowed a name

take these wings and fly to the sea
i will be here when you return to me

i have a phoenix brisk and bright
blinding in rash or angry flame
proud but afraid of its intense light
wild in spirit, but in heart still tame

with those wings fly as far as the sea
don’t forget, here waiting, is me

my phoenix no longer brilliantly bright
burning slowly a serene flame
secrets of time beneath comforting light
powerful creature just the same

the wings have traversed more than one single sea
rest your tired limbs on me

i had a phoenix, in sight and mind bright
who one day extinguished its flame
vanish to leave only embers of light
darkness fell and the night came

from ashes emerges a song from the sea
those glowing wings remember me

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My attempt at a story through a ballad with an ABAB rhyme scheme. I have always loved phoenixes, beautiful, powerful, and able to be reborn from their ashes. Human life is linear, but there are physical and emotional cycles within it. One lyric resembles that of the Beatles’ song “Blackbird” in “take these broken wings and learn to fly” because I love this song and the image of flight it creates. I have associated loyalty with these magical creatures since reading about Fawkes, Dumbledore’s pet phoenix in the Harry Potter series, so that’s where that attribute came from. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll write a tune for it. Or not.

Thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

Image source: http://wiki.godvillegame.com/File:Phoenix.jpg

Just Another Angel: For my grandfather (NapoWriMo #6)

Calligraphy by my grandfather. The first character is “silence”, the one in the corner is “beautiful”. It translates to English: “Silence is golden.”

though you are not here in total, and never will be again

you linger in my heart, and in my memories
no more conversations, or sitting by the tv
it is hard to accept that

i am sorry we didn’t spend our time like we should

with me around the globe, it’s hard
yet you traveled all this way once
and here we are now with everyone
but, it was too late

though your spirit soared, and your mind fought so much

you were leaving behind the air needed to breathe
no more medications to swallow or needles piercing through your skin

and you now fly high, i am pretty sure about that

but you leave us behind, with tears to shed and splinters of the past life you had

and we have to gather up the memories that lay broken on the floor
but you live always, in those whose very existence depended on you
those like me
you are up there with all the heavenly bodies

just another angel

watching our family peacefully

but to me, you are not another one of them

you were my grandfather,my one and only, and always will be

i love you

“To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die.” – Thomas Campbell

Published from September 1st, 2009.

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My grandparents flew to Canada once from Indonesia, and in 2009, our family from all around the world flew in to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. My grandfather had been ill, and his condition worsened while we were there. It was a very bittersweet trip and shortly after we landed in British Columbia, we received the news that Kong-Kong, as we called him, had passed away. I wrote him this poem. Today’s prompt to write a valediction, or poem of farewell, reminded me of it.

Thanks for reading,
thebookybunhead

A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore: Book Review

Let me just say that this gentleman is probably one of the funniest authors around. I’m not sure how many times I chuckled apparently not to myself while reading this; earning peculiar glances that I could only respond to by grinning foolishly, still laughing in my head, or hiding my face behind the covers; but it was worth it. However, as you can guess from the cover, this book’s got its dark side too.

In fact, it’s about Charlie Asher, a Beta male, who has been appointed a job as Death. Along with other ‘Death merchants’, Charlie helps human souls pass on to their next life, a responsibility which he must juggle while taking care of his family and second hand business. What follows is a battle between good and evil as forces from the Underworld threaten to take over. So it’s basically a hero myth, but with context, character, and style unlike any other.

Like I said, Christopher Moore is one of my favourite authors because I can always count on his books for a fun, dramatic read. The characters are colourful, the dialogue between them a zany train of thought, and you never know what to expect as you turn each page. It’s like every time you think you find and follow a straight path, wham! a glass wall appears changing your direction with a most surprising statement or event.

Characters include a Gothic girl chef obsessed with death, an ex-cop who is desperately lovesick and thinks everyone is a serial killer, a reflective homeless known as the Emperor of San Francisco, and two hellhounds named Alvin and Mohammed. But despite the randomness, everything fits, crazy antics contribute to the plot and ’embellishment’ descriptions become relevant; so when you step back, the winding labyrinth of a journey makes a beautiful picture.

In this case, it is the coping and understanding of death that is gained alongside Charlie’s development in his new career. The humour infused throughout makes the serious theme of death not so grave, and I won’t give it away, but leads to a satisfying and serene ending than can be considered enlightening.

One of the characters, Mrs. Ling, is an older Chinese woman who cooks and eats everything, including the deceased pets of Sophie, Charlie’s daughter whom she babysits. Clearly it is a hilarious stereotype, and though its true that Chinese cuisine consists of the strangest meats and parts, how is it really any different than a processed burger patty? All I’m saying is that isn’t it good not to waste anything? Then again I am impartial in the defense…

It is the first book in the series which I hope to read entirely in the future, and I recommend other books by Moore as well, particularly Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal.
So, ending my rambling, if you like comedy, mystery, and everything unexpected then I say go for it.

Thanks for reading,
-thebookybunhead