Went for the Poetry Slam. . .and Won!

I can't believe it! I actually did well!. Hmm. . .

Here are a few poems I did. As I said on Facebook, don't say anything, Arief, David, Seng Kit, Toby, or Zhen Zhu.

First one:

True Treasure


For-ever we quest for true treasure,
In search of things once-gained, but lost,
In search for a source without measure,
In search, no matter how dear its cost.

For-ever, our silent souls still wander,
For what or whom we hold as our prize,
And sojourn to many lands, o’er and under,
To find what we pursue, and where it lies.

For as many who go, fewer will gain,
Many might search, for life and desire,
For as many who look, few will obtain,
Many youths go, yet too many tire.

They search in hopes of finding,
In knowledge and riches and pleasure,
But see not these things are blinding,
Deceiving the Searchers of Treasure.

I place no trust in folly’s tales,
For all that glitters is not gold,
For much called solid oft will fail,
For blades rust; wealth does not hold.

I place stock in this that remains:
In the words of the Wisest of Kings,
That time and death may not stain,
Untarnished as the mountain’s springs.

In light of the Wise One’s insight,
Most truly our treasure must be,
In the wisdom of He, brighter than light,
Herein is the key:

Here is the place that all may find,
Youth regained, Death defied,
The fulfillment of spirit and mind,
The life by which I will abide.

For-ever I‘ve quest for true treasure,
In search of things once-gained, but lost,
Now I have found this Source without measure,
And will not let go, whatever the cost.


Beach

It is good,
Standing here,
On the lonely beach.

With the feel of soft sand between your toes,
And the little pulsing tickles
Of sea-waves splashing against your feet.

No other soul here,
Just God and me.
No one but gulls and crabs to hear us.

It is the silence
And beauty that is good,
On the beach.

All the kite-playing children have left,
All the people, except me,
Are far, far, away.

Here I hear
The sound of the steady
Beat of the ocean,
And taste the salt
As I lick the tip of the Wave.

And the quiet sensation of sand,
Like so many little pearls,
Lovingly caressed and smoothened by Time.

The air is fresh and new here.
And your mind is dwelling on good things.
And you meditate thoughtfully on
Words and sights you’ve seen.

Or observe the silent hobbling of hermit crabs,
Like pious priests on pilgrimage.
Wrapped in their
Bulky shells.

And at last,
I see the sunset,
All pinks and oranges and blues and indigoes and violets.
Before the great golden orb sinks,
Beneath the watery horizon.

It is good,
Standing here,
On the lonely beach.