john tiong chunghoo Poems

dont call me a poet
instead treat me
like a poem
spring, summer,
...

each we and them
are heavy, especially
when used with
self indulgence
...

if there is anything
that needs to be clothed
it is one's ego
...

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

finding out that time
is just not to tell time
it is not on a self
gratification trip
...

New York City Central Park
on the ice skating rink
two teenage girls steal the show
...

the eyes of the condor
their ferocious stare resembles
a hook that holds our heart at ransom
they size us up over and over
...

snowy morning
he entertains himself fitting his feet
into other people's footsteps
...