Kim Sung Ling

i am that Kim Sung Ling

and when i have none to sing

i’ll either walk along the long bridge

or climb and sit on my old fridge

that i may breathe some fresh air

or relax, dreaming my climbing a stair

picking up a strong clip

to tighten securely my lip

that i may speak nothing unfair

or drop, bricks of folly so rare

to the hearty delight

of those gathered in the twilight

to hear Kim Sung Ling

prompting them also to sing

© henry victor     20.11.2003

me, a territorial hen …

time, that precise moment

will bring back my muse

easing the present that, un-

productivity, my current obese

releasing larger energy, power

into my mind and soul

refusing to lay an egg, like

that newly purchased fowl

in her new territory, my new home

and her new habitat

that is far, far away

from her former perching spot

overtly affirming her territorial

bent to move with ease

rare, but definite dissent

indeed, in that new space

am i, a territorial being, to freeze

like a computer before picking

another opportunity, to move

forward the past not licking

but laying my eggs

as a matured hen

again, with

a greater regularity!

© henry victor     09.10.2003

barren greed

her difficulty is remaining second

with her heart full of greed

for money, knowledge, and fame

like a barren womb sucking sperm

she desires the same

also for those she calls, ‘mine’

craving to achieve

spending neither energy, nor time

like that black cuckoo

who lays her egg in a crow’s nest

for a crow to incubate, and nurse

her baby like the cuckoo chick

© henry victor     17.10.2003

learning to conceal

there is a lesson my baby girl

never seem to learn repeating the mistake

betraying her own mischief making me

proclaim: ‘i have eyes at the back too’

she secretly dumps her breakfast

and gives me a hug as if all is well

and she had her full, forgetting i too

have tread that lane in telling my yarn

sooner she will have to learn the art

of concealing fact with a controlled distant

even when urged to traverse that space

before she walks free from her stunts

© henry victor     12.12.2003

hovering of your grace

i covered myself, head to foot as a woman

under the tight rule of bearded Taliban

yet there were those who saw my nakedness

or declared the colour of my undergarments

reading within me evil inner intentions

but with the hovering of your grace

my walk with no covering below waist

still covered all my stark bareness

as i roared, and roared like a free lion

© henry victor     21.12.2003

sneaking out

my youthful loneliness ventured

the aridness of the desert in search

of company transforming in my eyes

the wilderness into a paradise

with maiden fair and beautiful

breathing freely on my face cool

and then, hot air like inside my ford focus

on a wintry drive keeping my cold blood warm

awareness as was in Prince Siddhartha

unexpectedly crawled into my mind

disturbing my nightly peace

transforming the breath, the poise

into an unbearable noise prompting me

like a coward to creep out fearing

on the morrow i may rise snappy and cranky

preferring to rid of sleep and shiver in cold

© henry victor     15.12.2003

too much

 

Lord it is cold and my load

is very heavy too and my pride

that overloaded un-substance

slows me in my stride forward

and i with no more will to soul-stretch

desire, therefore, the death, a longer-stretch

ahead of my future that i have no control

over, like my emotion i seldom patrol

© henry victor     17.10.2003