Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Poetry 2018 | Page 107

Paper Lines
West Island School, Lai, Kenton - 17
Look how everything is white, how thrilling
the blankness be, how exciting-
I have nothing, yet, there probably would be nothing
Until inspiration crashes down on me
Whilst I lay in the snow, inhaling.
I decide to hug it, I need to feel its
heat, its kick I need it head first, my saline
like the ocean to mile-travelled gulls
a pint to the drunk,
alack, in the deep blue sky flickers the final gleam. A comet.
Inspiration like the aborigines that gave iron bars, it must stay be behind
Breathing talent in bloody breaths bad breaths
Whipping out on rows of ditches in the white heaths,
until I accidentally wrung too much. It was only for show
Thereafter the snow, still frozen calls us back to the somme.
Not a comet but a moth.
Follows the moon and maimed by dawn
How many carcasses should be thrown into the furrows
If I rocked too hard and out the crib before they could speak
I regret it all since in the silent snow
There are only needless wars, wars, wars and wars
Nobody expected from me, nothing comes from
nothing. The snow gleeked and girded woud describes it best
my palsified fingers should be freshly printing poems now;
How disappointing.
Their foiled ashes tarnish it all.
Ashes ablaze and the snow, thawed,
every tear sagittate every stream a corpse
every streak, a spot of sunshine
it ate my air and I didn’t resist. Puffing, wheezing.
I have a face
efface that smudged print,
bring in the photographer’s flash
Bring the press
Bring me a dais draped in yellow and gold
Bring to me, what I ought
For all, was it worth?
I bow
Wilted snow rolled the red red roses like a carpet.
who disowned our limbs in between.
(Sleep, Sleep, Sleep by with me)
I exhaled, the lines were still empty.
I place my pencil on
paper lines.