World famous Painting Haiku - Christina's World

Christina's World
love is worth
crawling for

Christina's world
still crawling to find
a footing in America

Christina's World
home is where
the warmth of love is

below courtesy of New York Times:
Andrew Wyeth who died Jan 16,2009 (Friday) gave America a prim and flinty view of Puritan rectitude, starchily sentimental, through parched gray and brown pictures of spooky frame houses, desiccated fields, deserted beaches, circling buzzards and craggy-faced New Englanders.
A virtual Rorschach test for American culture during the better part of the last century, Wyeth split public opinion as vigorously as, and probably even more so than, any other American painter including the other modern Andy, Warhol, whose milieu was as urban as Wyeth’s was rural.

Because of his popularity, a bad sign to many art world insiders, Wyeth came to represent middle-class values and ideals that modernism claimed to reject, so that arguments about his work extended beyond painting to societal splits along class, geographical and educational lines.
One art historian, in response to a 1977 survey in Art News magazine about the most underrated and overrated artists of the century, nominated Wyeth for both categories.

One picture encapsulated his fame. “Christina’s World” became an American icon like Grant Wood’s “American Gothic, ” or Whistler’s portrait of his mother or Emmanuel Leutze’s “Washington Crossing the Delaware.” Wyeth said he thought the work was “a complete flat tire” when he originally sent it off to the Macbeth Gallery in Manhattan in 1948. The Museum of Modern Art bought it for $1,800.

Wyeth had seen Christina Olson, crippled from the waist down, dragging herself across a Maine field, “like a crab on a New England shore, ” he recalled. To him she was a model of dignity who refused to use a wheelchair and preferred to live in squalor rather than be beholden to anyone.

It was dignity of a particularly dour, hardened, misanthropic sort, to which Wyeth throughout his career seemed to gravitate. Olson is shown in the picture from the back. She was 55 at the time. (She died 20 years later, having become a frequent subject in his art; her death made the national news thanks to Wyeth’s popularity.)

It is impossible to tell her age in the painting or what she looks like, the ambiguity adding to the overall mystery. So does the house, which Wyeth called a dry-bone skeleton of a building, a symbol during the Depression of the American pastoral dream in a minor key, the house’s whitewash of paint long gone, its shingles warped, the place isolated against a blank sky.

As popular paintings go, “Christina’s World” is remarkable for being so dark and humorless, yet the public seemed to focus less on its gothic and morose quality and more on the way Wyeth painted each blade of grass, a mechanical and unremarkable kind of realism that was distinctive if only for going against the rising tide of abstraction in America in the late 1940’s.

ButterflyWings Haiku published in Mainichi Daily News

Daily Haiku Selection
Jan. 14, 2009
trailing us from the boulder
two eyes on
the butterfly wings
--
john tiong chunghoo (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)
(Mainichi Japan) January 14, 2009
http://mdn.mainichi.jp/features/haiku/news/20081222p2g00m0fe013000c.html?inb=rs

Remembering Dylan Thomas' Do not Go Gentle into That Good Night

the flickering light ignites a fear
the menacing billowing dimness
evokes a fear that the light would
join the darkness to obliterate a dream
there as it flickers - a little yellow lady
kneeling in ferocious prayers -
almost to its last, another set of fire
bursts into action and rages in a towering
inferno against the dying of the light
against the dying of a wish, against
the dying of a torch of courage that
has kept this poetic path alighted
in the worst of storms

by john tiong chunghoo
inspired by Dylan Thomas'
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Gemini Featherstone (1/12/2009 8:27:00 PM) Oh my God. I love the Dylan Thomas poem, but your poem was AMAZING! ! ! The metaphor, the imagery, the feeling... everything about it was perfect. I love the 'little yellow lady' line! Words elude me. Great job!

My external Body

my physical body -
when it lacks water
talks to me through
a thirst in the tongue
when it is not well,
envelopes me in a fever

my external body
when it is sick -
too let me feel its
rising temperature,
that if it is not taken
care of would not be able
to sustain my survival

john tiong chunghoo

Kay Bressner (1/11/2009 10:39:00 AM) I think that this is an excellent poem!

The Real Snake is Twisting in the Mouth

poor snake
life is equal so god says
but look at the snake
look at the snake..
it cant even walk
but slithers and always
at the lowest of place
and everywhere
the message is
it's evil, culprit of the Great Fall

everything the snake
lowly humbly takes
cane, blows and all
you can swing it, you can stretch it
you can bend it in any angle
because it's just a snake

there is a snake too
barely two inches long
yet it's the most pliable of them all
and that's the real one
where the first divine
curse should go

guarded all round
in a red glowing ruby palace
and gleaming pillars of enamel
the cunning and sly creature
in all smugness and warmth
could never get enough of the world
sweet, sour, bitter, salty, hot or cold

it could make satan of god
and god of satan and turn
the world upside down
without even having to leave home
effortless, treacherous as the Niagara Falls

john tiong chunghoo

Subbaraman N V (9/17/2007 2:15:00 AM) Absolutely great! That is why the great saint Thiruvalluvar, the author of the THIRUKKURAL observed 'Ya kaavaaraayinum naa kaakka - kaavaakkaal sokaappar sollizukkuppattu' Whatever you take care of or not, be sure to take care of your tongue, lest you will come to great grief!
Charles Chaim Wax (1/15/2006 9:58:00 AM) a poem of truth the grand snake a wonder and so beautiful the human really twisted and sometimes sordid words ripping up truth a fine poem

The Earth talks through You

the land talks through
you, every line on you
resonates with its vibrations

you are the poetry of the
land, mouth through which
the land conveys its senses

the sun talks through
your eyes, they channel
its spirit through to me

a radiant warmth the
ounce of love that rises
in a primordial pool to
surge through my heart

the moon touches me
the way your lingering
mood and nonchalance
speak volume of the other
side of your cheerful self

a luminousness that
skirts and corners night
to let shadow rest in shadow
and words echo in words

a tide bound in only by the
starry promises of night

john tiong chunghoo

Sandra Fowler (9/3/2008 2:59:00 PM) Beautiful. This poem has a soul and without a soul life is not worth living or writing about. Ten for you. Always your friend at poemhunter Sandra
Taylor Butts (8/10/2008 9:15:00 PM) woah this is one of my favorites now. very good poem.

Love of a Sister

the indian woman is
a tormented soul
weeping secret tears
ink that writes lines
of anguish all over
her countenance

her large, sharp and slit eyes
pour longingly into the
the jasmine she strings
everyday for hours
in india street

pure, white, dainty
a softness and scent
that two days from now
will be nothing more than
a dehydrated mess
a mere sore to the eyes

a transience fills the gap
between the flowers
a string of luxury that helps
her to keep a sister close
to her hands, her heart

first jasmine, a sister's
smile, second jasmine,
a sister's promises,
third jasmine, another
sister's smile, fourth
jasmine ...every gap
she feels a quivering loss,
a love her fingers will no
more grasp and a sister
her eyes will no more hold

john tiong chunghoo

Criticism from ticket to write yahoo group:
John: This poem does create an essence of pain intertwined with the a fleeting beauty of the jasmine flower. This dictomy wrenchingly portrays the heaviness of death. Remembering her sister, the fantasy of the jasmine petals being a continual reminder of her sister and their life together, day after day. The stark reality of not having her sister with her conveys to me that the sister is just beginning to feel the impact of her sister's death. I also like the way you have constructed the poem visually, similar to Haiku poems. How beautiful and clean. Distinctive and precise you captured the feeling of this photomontage moment of quiet reflection. JJ
John - This poem you posted is beautiful. I appreciate how you bring us into the grief of this woman for the loss of her sister You do not show us some maudlin sentimentality, but the simple and utterly moving remembrances, images, that the woman has, interspersed with the gaps, the losses, the little losses that add up to the big loss. All this in the simple stringing of flowers. I'll stop there, because the retelling is always a feeble pretender to the actual work. Thank you for posting this powerful work. Rod aka albi
Tsira Gogeshvili (4/11/2008 11:10:00 AM) john, 'first jasmine, a sister's smile second jasmine a sister's promise third jasmine, another sister's smile.......Very delightful poems. I see a hand of the master... Thank you, Tsira
Will P. Litter (4/11/2008 10:20:00 AM) This was very pleasant to read :)

Autumn Haiku - A grand finale

autumn breeze
in a grand finale
the falling blossoms

autumn dance
in a grand finale
blossom in the breeze

autumn dance
a grand finale
blossom in the breeze

autumn breeze
the blossom in
a grand finale

autumn dance
in a grand finale
blossom in the breeze

john tiong chunghoo

Travel Cambodia Haiku - Walking round Angkor Wat

there it stands
angkor wat still
echoing a grandiose dream

there it stands
angkor wat
enchoing a grandiose dream

angkor wat
looks beyond its time
the complex

john tiong chunghoo

Fiona Davidson (1/9/2009 7:02:00 PM) So few words say it all...thanks for sharing

Sandcaslte

little children cheery
whitish teeth amid
chuckling faces
little hands, little legs
sunburnt sandblazed faces
on wind swept beach
a sandcastle taking shape

each tap, each chuckle
a new feat done
the rolling sea playing rhythm
to the orchestration
of a dream carved in
the stars and the moon

Sandcastle in a sandwall
a little muddy pool at the edge
little boys and girls shaping
their future on the beach
their parents playing cheerleaders

john tiong chunghoo

Peace Haiku

war memorial
in our silence
news of another war

war memorial
reccuring, late dad's words
war is a shame

peace march
i wear late dad's peace ring
for the first time

Nasra Al Adawi (3/25/2005 8:12:00 AM) war memorial reccuring, late dad's words that war is a shame in every war there is two side of it...no one wins at the point of war

Rain Reviewers

we were discussing rain
and thought that newspapers
should have rain reviewers
so that they can help people
like us whether to bring umbrellas
for the next bout of rain

whether we can have that
rare chance to walk softly hand in hand
with our love in light drizzle
rain that comes down cotton fleece
to lighten up the mood the manner of a waltz
two hips swaying and knocking at each other

or call home for mom to collect all her laundry
on the clothesline for the next bout would be
throwing cats and dogs. a quarrel where protocol
is thrown to the winds dogs and cats ending up in pans

or a slow and gentle intermittent rain
that cries for two days for happy times ahead
drops large enough to get everybody door locked
for the warm bed and silence except
the lonely trying time logging pitter patter

or rain that trails the wind you can see it
chasing lace up the hill on and on sweeping
the mountain clean and when it slows down
a young bride dances in her gentle frills
till everybody gives her hugs and the mountain
becomes a calm cool spot

or sunshine rain where each dropp falls,
slanted luminous yellow crystals, hot and
warm to the touch, yet sharp enough to sting us
back to reality that they are just rain
little lanterns falling off sky

we reckon there are
a thousand genres of rain
in spring, summer, in autumn, in winter
hot day, cold day, hot night, cold night
to be umbrellaed, to be unumbrellaed
to love, or make love in
for poets, non poets
one drops, two drops, three drops
or four drops at a time

john tiong chunghoo

Sandra Fowler (12/21/2006 9:39:00 AM) Rain is inspiring without measure. This poem deserves only the best reviews. Take care, Kindest regards, Sandra

A little Horror Poem - Dugout River

dugout river
a naked soiled doll
with only three limbs
and empty sockets
stare through me
i found stephen king and -
shiver

john tiong chunghoo

Old Well

the old well is
an old woman,
dispirited, hunched,
aggrieved

a dark realm
reigns over here
ever ready to throw
its vengeance
on unsuspectful
strangers

only the heaven has
the generosity
to give it grace
- the rain fills it up
and when the weather is fine
the sky plays with it
a gentle childful
game of master sun,
queen moon
and angel stars

nobody ever
greets the old well
a good morning
afternoon or
evening

all they do
is ungratefully
bend over and
in a callous manner
start robbing it of its
luminuous peace
and tranquility
- an unkind bucket
that goes splash
before riding the
blessed sanctum
for its vitality yesterday, today,
tomorrow, everyday -
always in such a hurry
the water slushes,
sloshes, splashses
to play out its grouses

the old well
is an aggrieved woman
overused and
worn out with hatred
a restless soul
filled to the brim
with vengeance
and chagrin

to pass by one at night
one would be lucky
if one's heart does not
stumble and race
faster than one's feet
for the well's ominuous mouth
with all its sober
and solemnness
will draw your spirit in
with its damp, dark
and cold tales
and selfishly hold it there
with the tenuous
grip of a viper for
a thousand years

by john tiong chunghoo

Ted Sheridan (9/6/2008 7:23:00 PM) I absolutely love the metaphors.
Chitra Lele (7/19/2008 8:14:00 AM) wonderful write, lucid flow

Flowering in Words

poetry is nature
dancing with mind

a verse would sprint out like
the most colourful bird
completely unexpected

we cannot but oblige
with another verse getting
into ourselves for a
riveting repartee to complete
the challenge thrown at us

out of our faintest expectation
nature might throw another verse

like a flower, the poem blooms

this goes on and on until nature
derives the stamp of a mind
working towards its plan

a poem is nature flowering in words

john tiong chunghoo

Chitra Lele (7/12/2008 1:26:00 AM) wonderful, brilliant poem
Goldy Locks (1/22/2007 11:03:00 AM) she doesnt pretend she tells them all to shove it and suck ass because her only motive is to be genuine.
Ivan Donn Carswell (1/20/2007 2:30:00 AM) John, a long Haiku - encapsulated in the last two lines. The song is still strong! Rgds, Ivan

Clothesline

at the clothesline
is hung the fun of
the whole family
when heaven affords
a blessing -a breeze -
the clothesline leads the way
for the whole family to
strut, boggie

sister's lace shawl
goes up in a straight line
turns hand of wind
flutters up, down
a choreographer
showing the way to
swing the hands,
legs and a well
endowed physique

brother's new jeans
well, like him refuses
to go unnoticed
- though pegged - as
is mom controlled
-left, right, right, left
the leggy pant turns
one leg ultimately gets
stucked to the line
if only they have taken
off the tackit (the pant) would
have flown right next door,
into the heart of his fancied girl

dad's tie does a non stop flight,
like his inspired mind
never at a moment, stops

working mom's long skirt, it swings
in the most gracious fashion as if
it owns the whole field
and the bras, wow, do they look obscene?
not at all, innocently, they fly a ballet dancer's
frilly skirt twirls

granny too joins in the fiesta
of colours, shape and style
her blouse with its heavy
pads maintains an edge like her
firm, strong and unperturbed
by the thermal circus going around her

john tiong chunghoo

Manonton Dalan (8/23/2008 3:04:00 PM) i could see the ballet on the clotheline i wonder when typhoon comes. i probobly could see you running for rescue... beautiful(maganda)
Anna Russell (11/21/2006 7:21:00 AM) A very enjoyable read and a great idea for a poem. It's funny the things that inspire us :) Hugs Anna xxx
Sandra Fowler (11/21/2006 7:05:00 AM) What a charming and winsome piece. Praise for your rich imagination. I used to think poems while I was engaged in hanging out clothes. It was a good experience. Thank you for reminding me of this. Warm regards, Sandra

After Basho's famous frog haiku

after basho's frog haiku
the garden pond speaks
more volume

after basho's frog haiku
each sight of the amphibian
the echo of a splash

after basho's frog haiku
every splash at the pond
eddies to the core of my heart

john tiong chunghoo

WILLIAM SIENES III (2/28/2008 12:40:00 AM) Where have you been lately, sir?

A virus has infected me

it stays on my top snugly seated
in a white boney case, hooked onto two
powerful lenses, a pair of sonar and smell detectors
and a bonus taste pad latched onto it
not to mention the central control that
takes messages from all in order to manoevre
the physique in the right direction
but the being that daily whispers?
converses? tiptoes over the corridors
of a hodgepode of mysterious terrains
which triggers fear as well as at times
the ironical blessed dose of courage,
in the chamber of the heart, causing machinery
to crash? is he a harmful virus we are still
learning to clear, or is he the master of a game
on a multi dimensional computer
he so cleverly designed leaving us
in the dark of our own whereabouts?
a new generation computer that works
on a programme fueled by nature

A Seed of all Religions

the dinosaurs did they know
their size forbode a great task at hand,
that they would one day drive the world?

humans, do they know their great mind
projects a great task at hand, that one day
their spirituality would expand the realm of heavens?
thatGod would take them with Him?

john tiong chunghoo

Ben Gieske (8/26/2008 7:40:00 AM) I found this poem a bit amusing. It begins with a seed, usually very small, and starts talking about dinosaurs, some of the largest creatures ever. They do compare, however, to the great task. Our minds do germinate ideas, the seeds of many great projects, so it is fitting to compare them to the great task. Dinosaurs are extinct now. I wonder when man, despite his great mind, will become extinct too. Maybe, religion is the saving solution of that.
Fred Babbin (8/23/2008 11:12:00 AM) Very interesting poem. But see my Arlington National Cemetary..
Palas Kumar Ray (8/6/2008 12:52:00 PM) Very Difficult to say.
Roland Bastien (6/6/2008 7:59:00 PM) God would take them with Him? --------- I do not think so. Jesus did that when he was deside a sinner- can a good will is enough- what about causality and sefect - so call karmas-? ? ? ?

A house on the Height

an abandoned house saps the spirit
with its nagging and chilling emptiness,
a black hole that sucks out the shimmering
warm sun to throw shadows and ice over
the hazy lanes of imagination

a broken empty house on the height
echoes relentless gloom and tales of woe
through each of its missing chilling window panes
missing pages of a horror story that solicit
entries from the haunted mind of
an innocent who has lost his way
in the dark of night

the overgrown grass strays haphazardly
and almost in a haste to doors, windows, walls
and collapsing roof to claim its static prey
they wake up a body of monks (ghost bumps)
with their reverberating aum aum chants
thathave the negative effects of sending
shivers down one's spine

a torn and soiled jacket strewn
across the menacing garden
a little baby's drum, holed and beaten
out of shape by the unkind weather
carry with them broken dreams

an empty house wears itself out sooner
than an occupied house a world shunning
loner, who eventuallydescends into despair,
a wretched soul losing all its charm and love

john tiong chunghoo

Callie Carroll (8/10/2008 4:28:00 PM) Excellent! Thank you for including your source of inspiration; I too use this technique (reading is my fuel) . What a perfect way to describe the way a decrepit house captures us, 'saps the spirit with its nagging and chilling emptiness.' You communicate perfectly the despair.

maggie and milly and molly and may

maggie was the girl interested in tom
but it was milly who eventually got
married to maggie's sweetheart

molly is the girl interested
in john but it was may who
eventualy tied the knots with john

six years down the road
milly and may found themselves
at the crossroads of their marriage
wallowing in pity of their husbands
in a cafe with maggie and molly
the latter's children calling
milly and may aunties
uncles in somebody's arms

maggie and molly couldnt
believe their ears
all the tears in milly's and may's eyes
could have been theirs
that their once sweethearts
could turn so lousy and dull

both said they would talk them out
friend pinkly cleverly asked whether
they are glad they were not married
to tom and john to which maggie and
molly laughed and said 'no'
in their hearts were these words:
'serve the two bitches right'.

john tiong chunghoo

Beverley Fredborg (1/3/2009 11:34:00 PM) haha! loved it! this is such a cute poem.

An Ode beyond the Graves

autumn
asphalt street
grey sky
cool breeze
affords a floor
of brown leaves
to dance and
settle on a spot

your leather shoes
an eagerness played out
by the leaves ealier

if i could just move
to welcome you
sweet heart
it would be agile
graceful as the
waltzing breeze
and the leaves
in their entrancing twirl of love

the museum and
my poems are nearby there,
your heart will flutter
like the dazzling blooms - in spring
your tears trickle in
the spirit of my verses

if i could just hold you
by the hands again
and warm you up
with my love

john tiong chunghoo

Sandra Fowler (10/12/2008 9:14:00 PM) What once was and can never quite be again. As fragile and elegiac as the autumn leaves that are poised to blow your poem picture out of sight. Beautiful... Kind regards, Sandra

Sunset Yogi

we chase the sunset to make sure
we dont miss the 20 minutes
the dazzling scarlet sphere hangs
in the sky like an enlightened yogi
who has achieved the highest point
of his meditation, a 360 degree concentration
of the divine energy that helps open his cakara
so that he now rises above himself to have
a clearer look of the world, a world
where desires like the winds and water
play twin devils to make the sun
a frayed and distorted copy of itself wavering
helplessly and mired in its own lightings

the evening sun is a yogi collected
and illumined in thoughts
a full confidence with unpretentious
shine brimming with contentment
it pulls a tide in us too lighting up
our face with spiritual fulfilment
a climax in a 20 minute that lifts
us above the sun in the sky
and the one in the sea

john tiong chunghoo

Remembering Langston Hughes - As I Grew Older

the sun is telling all
white, yellow or black
dark is the color that falls
on the floor under its glare

wherever one goes
light sends a message
chasing everyman

white, yellow or black
dark you become
under its reign

whether you accept
it or not one's own ghost
would chase for
the truth from us all
fairness is right
in the realm of light

the shadow follows us
wherever we go
whereever there is inspired thought, inspired light
run as we wish from it
never one be away from
the lesson light imparts to us

fairness is right under the realm of light
white, yellow or black
dark you become under light
a stamp of truth
everywhere we may go

john tiong chunghoo

I love you for no reason except because I love you

i love you for no reason except
because i love you as simple as
one times one equals one
yet if you have wished for
a hundred from that equation
i would not mind to toil to fill in
the missing figures - to prove
to you the volume of my love

you have moved away
called me 'mad sickeningly possessive'
publicly humiliated me
for my leaning onto you for affections

they are merely gusts of wind
that turn the wind compass
to the the right side of you
accentuate your wonderful
characteristics

i love you for no other reason
except because i love you
your happiness, mine
your injury, tears, mine

even if this love should
really bother you
i would that you find someone
to love you more even if it means
giving you a helping hand.

i love you for no other reason
except because i love you
your happiness is mine
and your injury, mine

by john tiong chunghoo

asma Jone (12/3/2008 10:46:00 PM) This is deep, like they way you write amazing,
Palas Kumar Ray (10/27/2008 7:08:00 AM) Love is as simple as that. Pure passionate LOVE cares for no reason to exist. Lovely Love Poem A10+++
Kelly Allen Vinal (11/13/2005 12:27:00 PM) It is good, but you should seek inspiration from within...
Mary Nagy (11/13/2005 6:55:00 AM) Very beautiful John. Sincerely, Mary

A woman waits for Me

a woman waits for me
to angle me in such a posture
it clears the brain, mind from
blotches, obstructions
oiling them for prime functions
flight between the planets
decipher the lines of einstein,
plato, picasso, van gogh
i find the extra mental space for poem
between the seams of her wear
delicate corners, curves that set the brain
on a different dimension
your voice, your hair, legs, bossom
a design to spearhead me
a rocket waiting to be launched
by your softness, scent, voice, gestures
my crystalised selves that come in jets and spurts

john tiong chunghoo

Haiku - Crisscrossing shadows

haiku one:

in criss-crossing shadows
we admire sunbathed
summits

haiku two:

in criss crossing shadows
of the mountains, we admire
sunbathed summits

haiku three:

tottering ballet dancer
the butterfly flutters
round a bloom

haiku three:

dead widow's bamboo bell
each chime echoes
a memory of her

haiku four;

dead widow's bamboo bell
forelorn the chime
has become

tanka:

dugout river
a nude doll stares
right through me
i discover stephen king and
- shivers

john tiong chunghoo

Fire and Ice

fire passion,
ice estrangement
ying the coldness
yang warmth
sun cheerfulness
moon melancholy reigns
between she and him
a lane each agrees
to walk negotiating
fire and ice
ying, yang
sun, moon
both knowing
the human world
has evolved in between
these opposites
and in between
they would survive

Michael Gale (11/12/2008 12:57:00 AM) Great poem. Gave it a ten. God bless all poets and their ying-yangs-MJG.
Adedolapo Olisa (10/1/2008 12:01:00 PM) there's beauty in slow movement
and grow, procreate

John Tiong Chunghoo

Do not Stand at My Grave and Weep

when i am dead, i am dead
the world goes out of me and i out of it
there is nothing anymore in between
do not stand at my grave then and weep
for these ears will not hear, and these eyes will not see
there will be only coldness in between
if you really love and care, show it all to me now
if you can for when i am dead, i am dead
the world goes out of me and i out of it
these ears will not hear and these eyes will not see
there is only coldness in between
warm me up if you can now when i am still alive
for tomorrow the sun may never rise again

john tiong chunghoo

Palas Kumar Ray (10/27/2008 7:05:00 AM) Wonderful philosophic write. We must live a day & say we lived. Indeed tomorrow never comes. Love or Hate whatever is due for me, show me regradless, in haste before it becomes too late for thee. simply wonderful. A10+++
Mamta Agarwal (10/13/2008 12:03:00 PM) John, this is a very touching poem. it should be read by everyone. people have no time for the living. our presence needs to be acnowledged with love while we are alive. very well composed.
Firoze Shakir Bollywoods Most Wanted Poet Of India (11/13/2007 6:55:00 AM) john one of the finest poems... that i have read at poem hunter.. reallly sorowfully sweet.. take care wish you good luck peace poet from mumbai firze shakir

New Child Haiku

new child
next door
comes alive

John Tiong ChungHoo

Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel Black (11/20/2008 6:08:00 PM) Wonderful poem about childhood and how true all the way to the end.

Haikus on loneliness and Meditation

loneliness
his childhood
warms him up

loneliness
he warms up to
his childhood

loneliness
childhood
his heaven

loneliness
his childhood
a repository of warmth

meditation
my heart in
a sea of sublimity

so lonely
a poem helps fill out
the emptiness

loneiness
the world
a graveyard

by John Tiong ChungHoo

Spring Wedding

love never grows old
like vintage wine
it acquires a taste,
richness and smoothness
that swirls on the stage
of a connoisseur's
discerning tongue
to lift the joy of his heart

as the days go by
only those with it know why
in the heartfelt smile
of Charles, Camilla
love shines bright as
the fresh spring foliage,
a sparkling rage over
dull weather beaten
branches and twigs

every bloom and leaf
is a renewal of hope
that seeps through every
royal vein today

now in charles' arms
lingers the charms
of spring that slowly
surely makes itself felt
after a frostbiting blizzard

a refreshing rose
greets the spring wind
twists gently to and fro
in a nuptial dance
to herald a new season

yesterday was deception,
a withered patch
taken over by snow
two persons left in the cold
living out other people's dreams

today a world comes true
for Charles and Camilla to
share their real selves
feeling with the world

the snow that slowly melts,
gives way to the beauty below -
a man and woman on a piece
of ground soaked with
their love for each other
a long cherished passion
that would see spring
spring into a riotious ring
of well wishes and joy

the rose that trails
the spring wind to fall
on Charles' arms today
god's gift after atrailblazing storm

John Tiong ChungHoo

Subbaraman N V (3/28/2008 3:17:00 AM) A beautiful write! A great poem! Thoroughly enjoyed!

Still I Rise

born to walk
to climb
to say i can
cannot even
remember
the day I strung
a comprehensible line
because i am born to do wonders
soaking in knowledge
the way i had learnt to talk
the brain energy
that seeps into
every frame of animals
every part of the universe
to uncover god's puzzles
and divine codes
to turn them into
jets that fly at
einstein's speed of light
and this physique
to work an eternal clock
the way a child learns
to walk, to dance, to talk

john tiong chunghoo
Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel Black (11/20/2008 6:06:00 PM) Triumph over limitations-reaching for the stars.
Adam Day (10/2/2008 1:54:00 AM) made me smile here john thank you

Hold On to Your Dream

hold on to your dream
it sweetens all your nights
brightens up your days
because dream is a compass
that shows only one aspired direction -
success, success and more success

by john tiong chunghoo

asma Jone (12/3/2008 10:42:00 PM) hmm..that's true just like they say in order to dream u must have one. nice
Pamela Lutwyche (11/2/2008 10:52:00 AM) Without my dream, my days would be dreary
Lilian Zhen (7/6/2008 12:38:00 PM) ugyuftguygub jhcgycfytfyfgydfcydfydrfytfu
Sos Olu (1/29/2008 12:30:00 AM) this is a clear piece of art 08056715160