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Unfinished song 1

How strange

the injuries we cause each other

don't disappear with time

but manifest like termites

from the woodwork of our mind

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Sushi

I see his steady hands

dab the wasabi on 

the focus of years bygone-

he’s done, and hands

It over to my side 

my watering maw wet

and I bastardise his sweat

selfishly pushing aside

the countless days

of cuts and sleepless nights

I add a dollop more 

of the mustard stem

“I need the spice”, I say

and he looks on, poker-faced

while he sighs internally

he carries on determinedly

still patient -he isn’t fazed

because the kid is coming tomorrow 

and his eyes shine like a greedy crow

and taking in everything

and asking anything

he loves preparing for the kid

because the kid is patient

hungry with no hesitation

still so curious amid

the cacophony of patron birds

who feast on anything

and defecate on everything;

his hands are steady

and when the craft is ready

the kid dabs the shoyu

on : “just like I taught you”,

he thinks fondly

his hands to his mouth

and he recalls the countless days

cutting and the early mornings

all in that curious mouth.

#10days10poems #samuel hew #poem

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Life and People and Girls

Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit

we tread on eggshells

or dance upon the 

fine-tuned balanced scales of relational minefields.

Precariously moving 

on rickety fences

we set up, hoping

for strong defences.

Projects started 

with great gusto

soon discarded

without bravado.

One by one

they drag like anchors

metric tonnes

on the body of the soul,

and, razor sharp

memories that cut

nonchalantly but-

agonisingly-

that we rewind

while of sound mind

to torture ourselves.

really,

we are masochists

who plunge ourselves

into

realities 

that bite so hard 

they make us gasp.

#samuel hew #poem #poem?

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Ghost of Summer: after the sculpture by Anna Gillespie

The ghost of summer wears

leaves of autumn wings, and

flies- sleeping- to each place

his wings must go.

The ghost of summer cries

his tears of summer’s hand,

which gently shrink whilst

autumn’s wings turn green

to red and gold.

The ghost of summer sails

on seas of constant change,

easing day by day from

warm to cold and cold 

to warm again.

The ghost of summer lands

in future’s steady flow,

and gently shrugs off

summer’s skin- revealing

autumn’s frame.

#poem #samuel hew #anna gillespie

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If it's not easy for us to talk

If it’s not easy for us to talk, we can just write to one another would that be better? If it’s not easy for us to meet, we can just send pictures to one another and though we’re further from each other we can see each other like never before I can write in blood and ink like I always do; and you can use whatever you want to I know I’m the stupid little fucker who still wants to talk to you but if it’s not easy for us to talk we can just write to one another would that be better? It would be nice if we could meet is keeping distance doing us well? I don’t know if we’ll ever talk ‘cause you never seem to want to we’ve not caught up in awhile and I hate to say this but I’m afraid we never will I don’t know what you want; but if it’s not easy for us to talk we can just write to one another; would that be better? would that be better?

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Nintendo Designs - Created by Denis Duarte

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I am an entitled millennial

I feel like a candle burning at both ends so much light so much warmth

more than some can handle more than some would want but sure enough they all say “What bright light! what embracing warmth!”

Some, they go away and some they stay

Stay and fan my flames for a little while a little while while I burn

I go out fast faster than you’d like but while I’m burning stay awhile a little while while I burn

I’m going soon don’t cry for me but stay awhile a little while while I burn and watch me shine my bright light my warmth don’t go away just stay and look look! I’m getting brighter one last time my curtain call

I burn

#samuel hew #poem

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Home of the Day - neuviemelune

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Explore Lomography in Munich, Germany 

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The ramblings of an incoherent frustrated man

HOW TO MAKE A VIRAL TEEN SHOW HIT SERIES POPULAR MAINSTREAM MARKET!!!!!!!!!!!!

Step 1: Procure pleasant looking pre-teens Step 2: Ensure they are prepped on professionalism, acting, and presenting skills. Step 3: Represent all ethnic groups ( no asians, no gingers.) Step 4: Have them sign a work contract (milking rights). Step 5: Get them high. REaLLy hIgH. ON Cocaine. (Ensures perkiness-ness and energy on set) 6: Threaten them with neglect. Dock their pay (they don't need it anyway). 7: Keep producing shows until they grow up, quantity over quality, milk that money cow. Ravage that dead cash horse. RAVAGE IT!! 8 Don't let them kill themselves. 9 DOn't lEt Them Kill theEmseles Don't LEt tHem go they are your chance at salVATion they are your messiah they will get your wife back they will get your youth back they will make you happy you will be happy money money money money money moneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneysavemesavemesavemesavemesavemesavemesavemesavememoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneykillmekillmekillmekillmekillmeeymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymoneymon

#wordblog #wordlog

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gardening has this reputation as a gentle and chill hobby but you know what?? gardening is actually a constant and brutal conflict between the human need for control and the will of life to spread - a battle between life and death itself, even. in the garden I am the Overlord Supreme, Peerless Queen of the Dirt, Arbiter Above All, the ultimate and final judge over who gets to live and who must die. I drowned an entire anthill today for daring to exist in my realm, and the blood of hundreds has soiled my soul. my thumbs may be green but my hands are black and deadly.

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t  e  a  m    b  a  r  t  o  w  s  k  i

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I am running out of time is running out of me.

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An Essay On Loss; Or, A letter to her

The memories come flooding back- Things that time and tide don’t wash away Or maybe I am holding on;

still holding on

and they flood my mind and my nose and my mouth and my lungs my stomach and the spaces you once filled and I find

I am drowning or floating but not swimming

and the way you used to say:

“You’re so weird, Sam.”

with that look in your eyes -that said- that look in your eyes: “I’m not entirely sure.”

and I say: “I know”

and it

hurts.

it

hurts

and

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be how you deserved me I’m sorry I was always there when you needed me I’m sorry we started meaning ‘goodbye’ with each 'Hello’ I’m sorry I wrote this; I hope you never have to read it because I am ashamed

(and because you’d say things like: “Where did you get this from?” and “I don’t understand.” and “You’re taking this too far.”,

because you wouldn’t have consciously processed it except in your undercurrent and in the two-week-long replies and

the busy silences

which meant nothing- and everything)

but this is my closure my mourning my catharsis my ‘meluah-ing’ my expressionism and my art

since I lack fluency

in social situations and human interactions

but am well-versed in action and ink

like when I read “Crow Fire” a loud

and made you smile

and you said: “You’re so good, Sam!”

and made me smile;

I still have that picture, you know? And remember your paintings And your 15th birthday photo And I often think of you sometimes But have you seen me lately? I am different and more mature And I learnt to be less weird I dress better And my black book is almost finished I’ll show it to you when we meet again

And Josh says he was upset That you barely mentioned me and no one would expect That we were close

once

But that’s not fair Because I know you tried And you polish the strings That hold us together Or, you did anyway.

The truth is, you

Were often busy And had many

Priorities which began with:

G, and F, and U, and F again, and recently, B.

But none of them really started with S.

The memories come flooding back- Things that time and tide don’t wash away Time and tide don’t wash away They

                           Float

U s

                                                          A   p   a   r   t

But These are my words These are my feelings Are my thoughts It’s me It’s mine It’s my way of saying

                                             Goodbye.

6/8/2016

#poem #samuel hew

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Discoveries at 4:30 am in M'sia

1. There are still cars around. Why? 2. You are either, falling asleep, waking up, or something else altogether(that's me). 3. At Maccies, you are either Chinese gangster, Malay gengster, Indian geng-ster, or College student defeating the coursework warlords to succeed in winning the hand of the degree princess. Or the manager reviewing the place. 4. People work at this time. Like, they Really work at this time. 5. The person you're with, you're really good friends with.

#Samuel Hew #wordblog #wordlog

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Not for acrophobic humans.

#again #nature