Aurora Borealis

For Aurora Ng,
whose namesake this poem was (ostensibly) written for.

(written by Mary Jo Salter)

An arc of searchlight,
and (as such) a not quite
accurate
way of going about it:

if you were looking
for some lost thing
in the ring
of dark circling

the earth,
if the path
of light you hunted with
(emerging from underneath

the horizon, and trained
not by you but a hand
unseen) ended
with a sideways bend,

if its torch forked
and flickered
as if overworked,
if it torqued

inside itself with a wow
and a flutter, a now
you see it now
you don't, how

long would it take
before you'd make
the leap?—Would you look
at those freak

streaks in the sky
forever before saying, "I
see the light:
this is what I sought tonight"?

Because of Rain

Because of rain, I left calmness
clouding over, face hazed in tea.

Because of rain, the streets were caked
with mud of people stampeding for shelter.

Because of rain, pigeons turned ledges
into hostels, coo miserably like drenched

cats. Because of rain, calamity is
sanity relinquished for some hip

wiggle, thigh jiggle by souls without
umbrellas. Because of rain, I give up

my sane man’s identity, lower my umbrella
for a taste of sweetness if there

is such a thing as sweet brine
once thoughts of safety have dissolved

into forget-me-nots.

Between two friend(zoned)

favors fly to the wind.
Dandelions, stalk umbrellas,
wings of light, helicopter stick
on the head of Doraemon. All

these serve to lighten our hearts,
my friend. I remember meals, free,
treated with hours of shared laughter.

Your face the mirror of my slightly
salt-streaked one. I remember how
when you needed rubbish chutes to
empty a heavy chest, I gave you a

hug, the sea. Then you opened for me
an ocean, gulls and palm trees listening,
sponging my grief, giving back fresh brine.
This table on which we toast longevity

is a mere act of maintaining tact. See:
the sun blends the fine line of land
and horizon unto itself, warms our hands
to spread its love across the sea once

believed to be flat. I trace circumference
of my wholeness back to your presence.

For Jo

After the Trump

It was the carnage of post-elections.
More rain fell; the sad citizens took
to streets, windswept for change. Birds
voiced disagreements over power lines
soon to be torn down for an elected
Wall. The people seeing the future
in tombstones. More bird-attacks online,
more nests and senior birds shot
in an urban crackdown. Dissenters be damned.

The Islamic will Mecca on despite disrepair.
The rustic has rusted nails on barn doors;
now houses, infected. Trust is a homeless
black man turned away with pleas
for water. The rains will drench the next
four years, forecasts the weatherman
(he'd prefer predicting hot places
for riots).

Elsewhere, a black man fumbles for
change in a white restaurant. Obama's
portrait hangs, history behind the counter.

The Wrong Foot

(after reading Alice Walker)

Having gotten off the bed on the wrong
footing, stepped on a nail or the nail clipper
you dropped last night, the day resembles
a splattering of nails clippings.

Swearing at red lights till your last breath,
missed buses, and skipped two meals in
defiance of hunger, fists curled in anticipation
of dropping bottles.

Look! There is but the clear canvas of sunset
that God’s painted, if you care to crane your
neck burdened with a cynic’s rage for spiders.

One got into your drawer, weaved
a web for residence. You slashed the web
yet spared the critter, so there is a drop
of mercy in the heart still raging

with waterfalls. Look! The sun’s dipped
its gold head into velvet pools of night.
Softly, your head rests amongst the moss-
hole of your pillow.

Collectibles, and trump

As a collector of (insert your own collectible), I'm sure you damn well know that feeling when something has been raised sky high and you still decide to snap it up. Financially speaking, of course.

The need for the item outstrips the price you'll pay for it anyway. Just to own it, you won't mind forking out your whole salary (an exaggeration). I've known such collectors. Which is why I choose my collection with care.

No use longing for those times of yore when everything was all time cheap. Times have changed, prices progressed. Alas... we must adapt.

Which brings me on to the topic of Trump...

Work In Progress, and a Quick Welcome

Dear Friends,

Welcome to my new blog. This will be my new poetry site cum content / copywriting portfolio. Work dictates I need one, so I created it. :P

My old blogsite is www.pristineblueskies.tumblr.com
Both will be in use from now on.

All in one. I'll be updating new poems on the go, keep tabs on where I've submitted my pieces, and generally posting any article/poems sporadically.

If you wish to interact with me, leave me a comment on any poem or for whatever reason, you may contact me by clicking on my contacts page.

Until then, stay tuned for more updates to come!

Cheers & Prosperous 2017,

Dan Tan

PS Credits to Choo Meng Foo, artist and photographer for inspiring me to create this blogsite. You may check his out at dimagehunter.blogspot.sg.