Andrew Lee

Two roads diverge in a mellow wood
with rugged paths and uphill roads further ahead
that are dim or half-hidden.
When I try to glimpse ahead, the paths snake away
...

In the middle of the night, a poem walks into a London fog,

watching a train that runs along a grey track.
...

Blood dripping from the pages of history books,

wartime pictures, dried bones, graveyard stones,
...

Much depends
on recalling,
seeing
those times and days
...

Twenty grey pigeons, swallowing raw rice, half-staring at me?

Twelve long-necked swans, basking in the sun, ignoring me?
...

The bougainvilleas become molecules of memory with red petals.

They run around like our ancestors' blood.
...

Let us go then, you and I.

Let us go then, you and I...
...

A few friends jokingly label me 'John Donne of Singapore.'

I wish I can qualify, in some small way.
...

Our eyes dark with hunting, we ignore the place

where the sidewalk ends. But the green garden rests quietly there,
...

Something hits the green pond and repeats the froggy plops.

Please don't hear things, unless they are snarling
...

I hugged my young child closely.

Tears dried the dirt
...

May She keep close.
Closer than our translucent skin.
She comes from the sky within,
consoling, faceless, but appreciates more faces
...

Part I

The pebbles have no names or status divide,
and appear religious in their special way.
...

Somewhere inside is another world,

not witnessed since the Bright Flash or Big Bang.
...

Can you feel and touch a voice that's trailing behind

a gray sunray, almost like a twin of e. e. cummings
...

Did I regret letting the moonlight burn

my haiku hut, changing it into a strange place
...

It's rumoured that the world of Finnegans Wake is nightmarish and messy, crumpled up like a huge strawberry pie, which insomniac children love to dip their thumbs into... until I become headless while mating.

Yes, you read correctly. I become headless while making love. Sounds more surreal and terrifying than the dreamscape of Finnegans Wake...
...

Can an iron-proud haiku convince himself
to quietly blossom in the middle of the night
into self-effacing jasmines
that dance in a ripple of laughter?
...

I was browsing the news reports via Channel News Asia
and was shocked to find a news article on a 24 year old girl
afflicted with serious Brain Tumour and bedridden,
leading a near-vegetative existence.
...

It rests idly, half-twisted,

somewhat weird and contorted
...