too sweet, too sweet.

got to get out.
this generation

-painful, painful;

fury like a hornet's sting

quick to point; and fling

-impulsive adolescence

hides its face behind an orgy of

misplaced hormones

dance, dance

till the sweat of your pits

turns to drunk fits

and the nausea swirls up, up

from the deepness of your being

which you question

from the very

beginning.

get out, get out.

wake up, wash up.

- begin again.

everything.

it is time.

we have waited,

we have yearned;

purposeful freedom duly earned.

smiling we thought we had it all,

yet realise there's time to learn.

- everything has it's due turn.

the littlest task should never refute its call.

for all that

pistol of passion fires

in our unborn desires,

(they creep across the white,

in our cubby hole they hide);

we cannot lie-

or pretentiously deny-

the weight of each moment,

the essence of each laugh,

the pang of nostalgia

the languor of hysteria.

do not brush these aside,

everything has its due turn.

for as long as we create our pride;

you prepare-

purposeful freedom.

suspension.

loosely dappled,
silkily sewn,
carefully plumed,

suspended against;

the upper blankets tempt me away

suspended against a wash of colours

it is never known;

i despise this suspension.

second home

Art room

we’re all just mad; inadvertent
the speakers’ blast
harmonious melancholy;
what’s future, present, past
gets tangled up all in the strings.
like finely selected hair; dab, dab, dab;
as we jab, jab
our way through gelatin glass
like raindrops in near-stop motion
all round us
a little bit mad.

- a poem dedicated to the only subject i enjoy.

grey curtain

today i sat in my computer chair

as my eyes glided over the grey curtain

though finding nothing of particular interest

didn't know when to stop, or where.

indifference, when it comes,

is a funny thing.

the tv rays go straight through my head.

my hand writes, it is unfamiliar

with the chinese words it produces.

had i not written these words before?

a bit am i, out of sorts;

my head is tired filled with thoughts.

music, break these walls!

my heart crawls to sensationalise

can i sensationalize life?

does my indifference neutralise or reveal?

indifference when it comes is a funny thing.

neutralize! reveal!

fire the guns of tomorrow.

maybe then, a curtain could be more interesting.

i didn't know when to stop, or where.

but i guess here will do.

a bit i am, out of sorts.

my fantasy.

Agrestic.
-Pertaining to fields or the country; rural; rustic.


i always dream of living a life,
where i look at my feet and they're framed by grass
which is never still by the way always dancing
because when i look up the fresh gentle slap on my cheek reminds me so.
and the clouds hastily combed in the sky tell me so.

and in my mind i paint an open field to which my left foot belongs.
never still by the way, this field, always moving.
and i'm a foot's length away from a gurgling river to my right.
and i wonder if the cold water learnt its great secrets of refreshment from the wind.
which is never still by the way, always moving, both of them.
and even the mountain in the distance
which my feet ache to trek on, is not as stubborn as it looks.
for she too, (yes, she) moves oh so slowly, subtly and magically,
sweating a boulder, rock, pebble every now and then
trying on a new coat of ice
then always thinking it out of season when she sees herself in the mirror of summer.
yes, she too, moves.
and this happens several times.

this happens several times.
and i look at my feet.

and i realise my feet-

my feet can't move.

lo

i jumped- and grabbed the fabric of the sky.
i pull- clouds, heavens from all corners fly,
and lo, in great gusto
behold

the universe.

who's to say.

they can come at really random, out-of-place times.

like today, whilst i was reading the chinese passage on H1N1.
not even sure how it linked, i think H1N1 linked to hospital in my mind, and that linked to dad.

so yeah, strong emotional waves can hit at even the most out of place times like those.
and likewise, in the most 'relevant' times, like going to the columbarium, it is possible to not feel much.

i like this poem, i read on a friend's blog.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,

I am the softly falling snow.

I am the gentle showers of rain,

I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,

I am in the graceful rush

Of beautiful birds in circling flight,

I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,

I am in a quiet room.

I am in the birds that sing,

I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there. I do not die.

-Mary Elizabeth Frye

beautiful.
i'm not belittling the idea of weeping at a grave.
however i cannot deny that i like the perspective Mary Elizabeth Frye presents.
i like it, i feel i can relate to it, in a way.
thanks, friend.





in a thousand winds that blow.

worlds.

How many worlds

how many worlds--?
as a boy walks home
listens to music,
unraveling emotions, colours in the mind.
the wind waving whispers in his hair.
the world is all to him.

a man lounges on a void deck bench,
cigarette companion comfortably in hand.
his world is of indifference and addiction.

run children run.
of aimless adrenaline and fearless fun.
their world is of what is and is not to know.

the driver in the car driving across
is a mystery man masked equally by his sun-screened car window.
his/her world of destination, but detached.

woman entering the lift.
with swollen stomach sentry to new life.
her world split and conjoined to another world, yet to be framed.

a boy walks home,
listens to music,
unraveling emotions, colours in the mind.
the wind waving whispers in his hair.
how many worlds--?
the world is all to him.

girl-bias.

an old newness.

white light orbs flash across,
the concave contours of the,
glossy blue chairs like how,
pebbles skip across the water.

empty whispers in the dark rushing by
sometimes, screeching whispers,
not of people, meaningless yet scary to imagine if
it were real?

lean forward and take, breathe it in.
an old newness.


took circle line mrt on 28th, first day of opening of the marymount-bartley section.
pretty cool, new new smell of mrt is nice, the train colour's black some more.
i think for now, this will decrease my transport time between acsi and home by at least 5 mins, so that's about 55 mins now, awesome.


now for some interesting thoughts! :P

i have a theory right, that in most or some boys, there's this sense of girl-bias.
like basically, instinctively, boys will treat girls in a nicer way because they're...well, girls.

like for e.g., you'll normally see a friendster testimonial/facebook wall cliche conversation between a girl-girl, or a guy-girl, but not so often guy-guy.
you see guys going like "hey! how are you? remember me! met you at fusion!" to some girl, but you don't really see them doing that to other guys.
and then both parties will engage in some long wall/testimonial conversation which sounds super friendly-like/superficial. now i'm not saying this is WRONG, neither am i implying that it is at all disgusting to have friendly-like conversations with a girl (as a guy), just saying it could be a case of girl-bias.

excuses and explanations.
and then some guys will say stuff like "oh, cos' girls are so much easier to talk to." now i'll admit there's some truth to this, i mean not to get scientific-ky, but guys' are proven to be more event-oriented and girls, relationship-oriented. but if you are able to talk to that certain girl well, then you're just defeating your stereotype of guys being hard to talk to, unless you think all guys are hard to talk to except you. personally, i've tried before, girls generally do seem to be more receptive than boys. (for those i've talked to).

and there's the boys, who are really just...more effeminate? not that it's bad, it's just like a spectrum, seriously, doesn't have anything to do with gayness or anything, you can be manly and gay. yeah so ok in the case of effeminate boys, then yeah, i think they would click better with girls, but for most cases...i don't think it's the situation.

and just for the record, i personally think it's kinda stupid/sickening if a guy talks superficial stuff just for the sake of interacting with a girl, if it's unnatural and if it doesn't reflect his true personality.

now, i'm not denying that i have any girl-bias. i'm sure as a boy, i have some. but i still interact with boys, and do it the same way as with girls. sure, i adapt and have slight personality shifts in different relationships, but i believe it's individual-oriented, not gender-oriented.

haha, yep, something to think about.
oh this is not a personal attack to anyone, in case you thought it was, it's just a thought.




whooopee whee blast off it's the june holidays.

forget.

the wind blows violently
all is still.
flashes and glimpses of light
dance across
your emotionless eyes.
forgetting anything
even though they can capture.
could you?
nay, not a chance.
for you, like your eyes.
forget it all.
the wind blows
and all is still
passing by your mild eyes
like wild lashing thoughts
in your mind.
maybe even forced.
just so you think you might care?
do you?
he's just amazing, doing all this.
are you even trying?

oh wait, maybe



you forgot.

distance

distance
like repercussions, sliding in suspicious
waves of uncertainty.

you grasp
for something of a breath,
heavy with dejection.

crayons in neon
outline the faces, not one, not two
you draw them blank.

deluded, insanity.
the beholder confused and confuses.
falling, screaming silently.










"well, i need a break don't i?"


-ryan.

break free

it spins.
absolute fragrance.
then it spits you to the ground.
nausea.
tearing you apart in beauty.
surfeit in indulgence.
wrapping softly, gently.
the confluence of soft and hard.
exploding inside.
shaking, grasping.
metal slams, you pick yourself up.
nowhere, no way, no place.
a void desert.
conscious, virtually sensing.
snap.
sleeping. vine of numbers.
taunting, treacherous.
screams. smiles. silhouettes.
bright snow. burns.
for something which lacks.
enveloping. hide in black.
sleep now. fading.
slowly. evolving.
yet depressing gently.
go to sleep now.
shhhh.
you're not there.
you're not there.


you're nowhere.

-ryan

of the dark ages.

during school last Friday, suddenly felt like penning this down.
guess it was the impact the clip "End of the World 2012" had on me.

DISCLAIMER: This is NOT a prophecy. Nor is it blasphemy. I'm just using my imagination. Yes.

of the dark ages
by Ryan Goh


the city weeps.
crimson flows,
dark and deep it goes.

an air of apathy.
the sky droops, a mourning.
the sunset in scorning.

silent howling.
its confidence, abolished.
all broken, crumpled, demolished.

"let there be light."
and there was.
but now echoes
the beast's uproars.

as shadow fell
and the Sun hid
the devil unleashes
upon the world, his bid.


I know it's quite dark and satanic-ky.
this is by no means an offence to anyone, or anything.

i think the flow's not too smooth, and there's something about the 4th stanza that doesn't sound quite right. the ending might be a lil' abrupt?

comments appreciated. (:


continue mugging till' its bugging!
ryan-.


P.S.
Oh, nearly forgot.
Cleo the Queen demands that I acknowledge how she inspired me.
Well, she did write a good essay.
So hear goes.

Inspired by - Cleo the Queen.


thank you.

have a nice day.

imagine.

imagine you're a mother.

imagine your experience of first seeing a new baby boy.
imagine him coming out, fresh, crying, new.
imagine bringing him home in your arms, proud to call him your son.
imagine cuddling him in a shawl.
imagine comforting his fears with lullabies.
imagine him, a sleeping angel in the cot.
imagine teaching him how to open his mouth for the incoming spoon with glop.

imagine his first attempt to walk.
imagine his first successful attempt to walk.
imagine his first word.
imagine his first night without sucking his fingers.
imaging his first night without twilight cries.
imagine his first vacation with the family.
imagine his first model toy.
imagine his first visit to the nursery.
imagine his first friends.

imagine his first visit to primary school.
imagine the first teacher - prayer meeting.
imagine the complains.
imagine his first piece of homework.
imagine helping him with his first piece of homework.
imagine his first project.
imagine doing most of his project.
imagine his first examination results.
imagine him joining a sport.
imagine him getting into the school team.
imagine him in a competition.
imagine him winning.

imagine the times you scold him.
imagine the times you drive him home.
imagine the times you eat with him.
imagine the times he scolds you back.
imagine your deepest frustrations at times.

imagine his psle preparation.
imagine his psle papers.
imagine his psle results.
imagine his good psle results.
imagine his great excitement.

imagine opting him for a well-off school.
imagine his first day at the school.
imagine the new friends he makes.
imagine his new interest in a sport.
imagine having to pay 3k for his own laptop.
imagine going for track and field competitions.
imagine scolding him for not completing assignments on time.
imagine screaming at him for finding pornography in his computer.
imagine beating him for the first time.

imagine picking him up 3 days a week from training.
imagine talking to him in the car about the day.
imagine talking to him about his life.

imagine his deteriorating examination results.
imagine his late work.
imagine his poor-quality projects.
imagine the corruption of his character.
imagine his time being sucked away by his sport.

imagine him picking him up one day.
imagine him getting into the car all stinky, sweaty.
imagine his cheerfulness.
imagine driving home.
imagine driving home through the traffic, the red lights, green.
imagine rushing past the orange.
imagine him shutting the car door.
imagine him gleefully announce his presence to the household.

imagine collecting your thoughts.
imagine calling your husband.
imagine asking your boy to sit down.
imagine the puzzlement on his face.
imagine you and your husband, sitting on one couch.
imagine him looking at both of you, on another opposite.

imagine telling him that you both want him to quit.
imagine telling him that you want him to quit his sport.
imagine his face morph.

imagine spending half and hour scolding him.
imagine the rants on time.
imagine the rants on discipline.
imagine the rants on character.
imagine the rants on respect.
imagine the rants on priority.
imagine the rants on friends.
imagine the concluding statement.

imagine his argument.
imagine your shouts.
imagine his shouts.
imagine your screams.
imagine him dash up to his room.

imagine going on with other activities.
imagine hoping he'll think clearly.
imagine hoping he'll quit his sport.
imagine hoping he'll resolve to focusing on studies.

imagine him running downstairs again.

imagine him shouting that as real as you were his mother, his life wasn't worth living.


imagine him dash back up.
imagine him dash back with one last look of hatred, chaos and distress.

imagine your screams.
imagine your sprint after him.
imagine yourself praying right there and then.
imagine your cries after him.
imagine your desperation.
imagine your arrival at his room.
imagine him running towards his open window.
imagine your last desperation.
imagine your last cries.
imagine your outstretched arm just two metres away.
imagine a figure just descend.




imagine his smile.
imagine his words.
imagine his laughter.
imagine his candids.
imagine his humour.
imagine his quotes.
imagine him coming out of your womb.
imagine his first walk.
imagine cuddling him in your arms.
imagine his face.
imagine his face as you were talking to him thirty minutes ago.
imagine him.

imagine.

imagine.



















Note:
This poem is a tribute to Tan Wen Yi.
It is not based on his life, it is just inspired by it.
The characters in the poem are fictional.

This post is not intended as an insult to anyone, be it his parents or him.
I respect them both.







Dear Wenyi,

Hey man, if you can see this-
I don't know why or where
(my opinions don't matter),
but that's up to God.

I'm sorry, Wenyi,
I am.

Trust Him,
ryan

suffocation.

this is a poem relating to my previous post on freedom.

suffocation
it's spinning round and round.
the pain, the claustrophobia.
in a gurgling whirlpool, drown!
or just plain paranoia?

twisters fill your head,
cos' the mind doesn't know.
if reality's so dead,
when will God's true plan show?

head cats have the say,
and many mice just follow.
old concrete, flat, passe.
and all of men, rot hollow.

twisters fill your head,
cos' your mind can't comprehend.
if all this has been laid,
what is freedom to a man?

lucky number

lucky number

you ask a question.
they don't answer.
sparks, fascination!
it makes you wonder.

the smoke fills your head.
flames, licking, alive!
the tables deadly laid
and no one knows they thrive.

hearts sinking under the waves.
Lord knows why she's lucky.
her number is her penny that saves
my mind's juices all muddy.

there are things no one could understand,
even if you crawled into their shoes.
why use a pencil, and not a pen?
it's all in the midnight blues.

ok, this poem is also based on specific personal events, so it might seem random and not make any sense to you. also, para 4, sentence 3 does not make sense here cos this is typed. but on my notebook it's in pencil.

irony

you've probably seen this before. i had to re-enter it for clear-labelling.

In the plane on the way to Michigan, I was REALLY bored, besides playing my nintendo ds, practising my penmanship and scribbling my signatures, chatting to cherums and others, and sleeping, I did this poem.

Irony
i'm on a running boost
yet i'm sitting still
my fingers barely twitching
but i'm on a spree to kill
exploring worlds, a monster comes
DIE! a falling tombstone
was my ticket to the graveyard
whilst i'm still at home; -and then-
my eyes go blind, my mind goes blank
my world has come to end.
my mother pulled the plug
Result? computer games are banned.

it's damn childish, cao did a better one about a guy and a bitch. can't confirm what it's about though, he used one cheem term. that's also illegible, so i can't type it here.

see ya.

stageplay

i had to retype this poem, because while editting posts it got deleted.

stageplay
the hall is empty.
a new light shines.
smoky figures
appear in lines.

the hall has faces.
the man smiles there.
she looks away as
she rusts on the stair.

my violin turns to sawdust.
fourth, third, champion.
the chairs layer grey specks.
this odyssey hits extinction.

He draws the curtain open.
and the stage is finally seen.
it's time to step up there.
it's time to step out there.

yeah, some of my poems won't be easy to understand, cos' they're personal. for this poem, para 2 and 3 is personal.
anyway, it's basically about my life so far and the future.

life is like a boat

Nobody knows who I really am
I never felt this empty before
And if I ever need someone to come along,
Who's gonna comfort me, and keep me strong?

We are all rowing the boat of fate
The waves keep on coming and we can't escape
But if we ever get lost on our way
The waves would guide you through another day

Far away, I'm breathing, as if I were transparent
It would seem I was in the dark, but I was only blindfolded

I give a prayer as I wait for the new day
Shining vividly up to the edge of that sea

Nobody knows who I really am
Maybe they just don't give a damn
But if I ever need someone to come along
I know you would follow me, and keep me strong

People's hearts change and sneak away from them
The moon in its new cycle leads the boats again

And every time I see your face
The ocean heaves up to my heart
You make me wanna strain at the oars, and soon
I can see the shore

Oh, I can see the shore
When will I see the shore?

I want you to know who I really am
I never thought I'd feel this way towards you
And if you ever need someone to come along,
I will follow you, and keep you strong

And still the journey continues on quiet days as well
The moon in its new cycle shines on the boats again

I give a prayer as I wait for the new day
Shining vividly up to the edge of that sea

And every time I see your face
The ocean heaves up to my heart
You make me wanna strain at the oars, and soon
I can see the shore

We are rowing the boat of fate, but the waves keep attacking us
But isn't that still a wonderful journey? Aren't any of them a wonderful journey?

------------------------------------------------

a song that was used for one of the Anime Bleach's endings.
I think no. 3.
it's called 'life is like a boat' (if you haven't realised).
despite it's straight-forwardness, I still find it very deep and meaningful, almost applicable to my life in some sort of weird way.