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Chew Hung
SKYPE: Chew Hung
Facebook: Chew Hung, Chang
E-mail: chewhung@hotmail.com
My Poetry
In November 2007, I read my teenage poems to my friends at my birthday dinner. My memory of the reading was marred by the dark events that happened two days after that. My father passed on while on tour in China and I brought his ashes back home on my birthday itself. It took me a long time to decide if I would like to share my poems again. What held me back are the unpleasant emotions a reading would potentially stir.
By sharing them on this webpage, it reminds me of dad’s passing. Of course, I still have an irrational fear of whatever ominous events that might follow. But no one knows for sure what will happen tomorrow. So instead of living in the unhappiness of the past, I have decided to share slivers of my thoughts and experiences in the form of poetry with you.
Recently, I shared my favourite Shakespearean sonnets with a few friends. Someone commented on how the rigidity of structure and the economy of syllables, of the use of iambic pentameter in particular, did not limit the poet’s ability to express his thoughts. This inspired me and I have written a couple of sonnets, reflecting on some extrapolated imaginings of my life.
On this page you will find oddments of sonnets and a few still life poems of everyday objects.
Chew Hung
My Poetry
A Flame
a flame whispered
as she felt him burn beside her
a fragile passion kissed by
the love that touched her parched lips
a desire to desire him
a gentle whisper of delicate need
the flower fell with her
the lover rolled gently
she cried
the heartbroken rose gave way to the noisy flower
2007
———
Regret
I would that I were steadfast in my love
Or I would never have been in this plight
When eyes that smile and kisses that warm
Are not directed to the one self that sighs.
Will she ever forgive me for the deeds?
Will she remember all that I have tired?
Is this but a wish that should time allow
Resolve all that she feels wrong about me.
O love, do direct me as to what I should be
In her presence, should I send her roses
To set her mood onto higher grounds?
Should I give her letters sealed
By the golden point of cupid’s arrow?
And yet when all is done
I see her face,
Drawn without smiles .
8 Aug 1987
———
Sonnet: Upon the blocks of red and brown baked mud
Upon the blocks of red and brown baked mud,
A wall obstructs the gleaming eye of day.
Between the cracks of bricks, I see a bud
Of tulip, dancing in the golden rays.
What creed is this that calls to me
With sweet warm smiles, my heart it found.
Before my mind could pause and start to see,
My eyes have sought to find a way around.
For miles I walked along the wall, to learn
And find a place to climb across the snag.
Alas, I failed at every try and turn.
Resigned, I knew my heart began to sag.
So why hang on to that which cannot be.
But know not I, my rose is here for me?
2009
———
Rose
Grow smoothly like a scarlet bud.
Why does the rose endure?
Grow quietly like the maroon bloom.
Oh Life!
All roses grow, age and die.
All blossoms fight time
Petals endure.