the leaves, as ever, are green
and lightly flutter with the faintest breeze
in this land without season,
but phantom shadows still haunt me
and all i see is the browning and falling
of everything about.

the curtain is drawn on
a furious year; desperate days gasp
to a sobbing, heaving close
and what you thought were eternal bonds,
forged of endless moments, perspiration
and tears, are nothing
more than the elusive wind,
memories and relationships of the stage.

thus we dwell and deal
in the superficial, skimming forever
on fragile surface, fearing what lies
below, of what may shatter the careful
illusion. thus we exist within the cracks
of what is real and we are content.

then let me clasp trembling hands
over the stillness of my breast
under the pungent dirt, tossed
carelessly with nary a glance
into the yawning chasm of self and soul;
let me utter under stifling clay
wretched cries drawn from
the well of infinite sorrow;
let me shed salty tears
into the grateful grasp of barren earth,

so let me rest.

Sports Day

For the fourth year running, my team finished second in the Parents-Teachers Race.

This year though i must admit i was somewhat culpable, having lost control of the exercise ball towards the end of my lap.

Oh well, at least it’s a familiar position.

Crab Flower Club

i thought it was an excellent production, especially in its blend of the profound and the comic.

i am grateful for 4I and 4M’s response.

Takeaways from organising this learning journey?

Make it compulsory.

Always.

And the night ended with an unsuccessful attempt to consume Rochor tau huey and a ten dollar note, hurriedly tossed.

Teachers’ Day

I really, really am thankful for the gifts/cards/cookies/candies/brownie.

Football and captain’s ball was fun.

The day a language teacher (EL, Mother Tongue whatever…) in Cedar wins the Greatest, Most Bestest, Fantabuloriffic, Super-Duper Devoted Teacher award, i will give a standing ovation and thereafter proceed outdoors to observe the rare phenomenon of aviating swines and buy 4D.

Sigh. Honestly.

Conclusion

Four and a half or five editions later, things really do lose their lustre.

Forgive me, Holy Father, for ever placing my trust, my hope, my joy, my comfort, my love in anyone or anything but You.

languige can ern money, meh
engrish can it one, ah
gahmen wan livesigns, leh
dey wan enginear, leh
den go an stardy mats lah!
go an stardy signs lah!
mats can it wan
signs oso can
can poot rice on de tehber
dun pray pray okay!

nex taam mus rite argue compo meh
nex taam mus tok reedem meh
nex taam mus in fur rens meh
but
nex taam can aply lo ga ri dem mah
nex taam can tok ess ess mah
nex taam haf too c contour mah
nex taam mus ji de bio an chem notes mah

ler ning not jus mug meh
ler ning not jus ben midnite oi meh
ler ning not jus ecksam teeps meh
ler ning not jus sp oon fid meh

god notes can aw reddy lah!
god spot can aw reddy lah!
god udder sk ool ecksam paypur can aw reddy lah!
god ten yer see rees can aw reddy lah!

god sex poin jiro can lah!
god wan poin jiro can lah!
god top fi can lah!
god for A can lah!
god dee gree can lah!
god musters can lah!
god pee haech dee can lah!
god mahnee den confirmed can lah!

languige ware can ern
dun tok kok!

So Express Yourself Day came and went.

Perhaps it was the division of the Assembly, one featuring the Lower Secondary and the other the Upper Secondary.

Perhaps it was the general dolour that has descended upon the school since the H1N1 measures took effect.

Perhaps it just wasn’t as novel.

But i thought it lacked a little something.

Maybe it’s  just me.

The end of the school year draws on apace, and, to be honest, i am grieved.

What about exactly?

That i’m still figuring it out. But, currently, i would put it down to soon having to bid another class farewell – one i’m deeply, deeply fond of ; how “you can’t please everyone”, as a colleague put it so aptly yesterday, with good intentions; and, as ever, a gnawing dissatisfaction with my expression of worship (i hesitate to honour my pathetic offering with such a hallowed title…) and the bloated, self-serving, navel-gazing, simpering, limp, histrionic excuse we call the C….. .

rant. rant. rant.

And i wonder why i’m more disposed towards verse as a form of self-expression these days.

Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God, O God of my salvation,
and my tongue will sing aloud of Your righteousness.
O Lord, open my lips,
and my mouth will declare your praise.
For you will not delight in sacrifice, or i would give it;
you will not be pleased with a burnt offering.
The sacrifices of  God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart, O God,
you will not despise.

As ever, holy Father, break me; till all i am, i am for you.

the grief -
a seizure of the chest; shallow,
desperate breaths; a cruel,
slow, bleeding of my heart -

seems at times too much
to bear. and i wonder, how
i can go on; how to continue
to trudge within the gravid mud.

wearily; worn more so
by perceived ignorance, a staggering
insensibility, or perhaps my
inherent peripherality, my exiguous existence.

so i continue, to dwell,
buried, within the shroud
of ignominy; where i will lift,
at times, the darkened veil and cast

my soundless sighs
to a withered world.

always, an expectant tilt
of the head, as the bus
trundles to a stop,

and my eyes seek
you, sifting frantically through
the immaterial throng

for the comforting warmth,
like a well-worn blanket,
of your presence.

when you are not
there, still your spirit
haunts me; you are

the ghost in my machine,
traversing the crevasses
of my soul, my mind.

always. you will stay
immortal, an unvanishing
apparition in my memory.

what shines with glaring clarity is
the truth, how i exist

only in your periphery -
a shadow; a wraith -

skirting the edges
of your consciousness,

if even that at all.

yet, you, eclipse all
else in me.

no thought within, no beat
of my heart, reflects not

your winsome rays;i
am encased in your amber glow.

but you do not know

the truth will set
in tranquil depths,

beyond the horizon
of your gaze and grasp,

and then fade
with the dying light

into dusk and gloom.

if I could write to you
of my love, this would I say:

that you are the best of us,
that your heart shines through –

more pure than purest gold,
more beautiful than the sunrise,
more precious than finest spun silk

You are his wonderful creation,
a creature beyond imagination.

You rule my thoughts
and fire my senses;
and my soul thrills

at the sight of you in the morning,
at the tremulous note of your voice,
in the silence that descends upon us.

You capture me
and I am yours.

it seems there exists some uneasy
truce, a fragile pact,
which quickly wanes as
the passing shadows of cloud
blacken and shroud
your glorious light,  which,
for now, cuts right through
the heavy darkness,
illuminating a path through the
tumultuous surface, below which
churns the fury of unfathomable currents.

i fear your passing.
what will i do for light?
who will be my hope?
the violent beauty of the night
engulfs me, as I sit
crouched and wakeful.

do not go

do not go.

one day

i will see you

hands locked in

another’s; and i will

weep.

i will imagine:

your words leaping off

your lips,

to his;

your smiles,

golden and coy,

meant only for him;

your heart,

tremulous and pure,

intertwined with his;

you,

utterly his.

Utterly not.

one day. today.

i will weep.