apparently, once I get started I have problems with stopping.
A descriptive on a Chinese immigrant's take on Chinatown way Down Under.
A solitary figure on a sidewalk.
one.

***

An oasis of Asian hubbub, contrasting sharply with the clipped garble issuing from the tongues of white skin and fair hair; China had invaded Down Under. Oversized dragonflies halted in motion on the sidewalk, representations of immigrant bilingual hopes of financial success manifesting themselves in loud garish, shades of neon- calligraphy in fluorescent. Liberated day workers thronging the streets, sheltered by supernaturally red lanterns, dangling joyously from a threshold festooned with glaring, invasive white bulbs, Chinese characters, and the oft-quoted spirit of festivity. Intricately carved butterflies flutter, enveloping concealed speakers blasting Chinese anthems of overwhelming, all-encompassing happiness. A lone, bespectacled man pauses by the sidewalk, drowning in the very Asianness of it all. An ocean away from family, but still; home. Home, compressed into a few thousand square feet.

Upon mention of One, what came to mind almost instinctively to me was the looming solitude of time. Time is all-encompassing and has us all in its grip, and is always a singular, always alone. One could say it has no counterpart.

In this poem, I made little or no attempt to include words imbued with deep meaning or require much mental processing. It was intentioned to be simplistic in its register of vernacular, but (hopefully!) with an impact not dissimilar to a slap to the face.



A MISSIVE FROM THE DESK OF TIME'S STEWARD

Just a little note
To inform that
Time is on its way.
It is not late
nor is it early
but as the Pen flows across paper
so does it approach
And with every Step.
It informs of its arrival.
Impassively . Uhurriedly.
but will not come till it will
it is silent, relentless, not understanding
Preoccupation;
and rules over preoccupants
with a Face of
Twelve.

One: it speaks of exclusivity, of solitude, of conviction. Aesthetically it might represent the ephemeral; it might connotate simplicity, purpose, efficiency. Hopefully these pieces convey some of these ideas.
 
Poem:
 
Winter night
 
Only the company of an orange lamp
and faint constellations here --
everything balances on the edge of touch,
the tip of dark foliage reaching toward the sky.
 
A wall of rust stands,
looking down at the snow --
a ground of snow marked only
by a pool of light.
 
Here, where people are far away,
where the keys to the celestial planets
are held in a drop of moonlight,
here where the stars describe the sky,
the night…was.
 
Prose-poetry: 100 words
 
Morning sunlight: these roads are long and still, stretching into noon. Weeds and flowers are by my feet as I watch a butterfly enjoying her Saturday morning, her paper-thin wings soft-softly beating the air, being warmed by the bright sunlight filtered through deep green leaves. The air was hot but not close, mugginess being kept away by a dry gentle breeze. I walk slowly, looking at the mottled patterns on the pavement made by the shadows of leaves, and every now and then the road would curve, a car would pass. Such is a pleasant morning: free, affectionate and solitary.
 
Haiku sequence:
 
this fresh green scent,
as fleeting as the fragrance
of a knife-cut fruit
 
**
 
in the spring air
a flush of fragrance --
newly fallen rain
 
**
 
a brew for company --
on this pale blue evening,
I don't ask for more
 
**
 
monsoon tea drinking:
rain; all the sky held
in a brimming cup
 
**

Hi everyone, Sherilynn here. Sorry that this is late. Here's my piece on the title "One". Feel free to comment ya. Hope to learn lots(:


Her world was now divided into two, and she was unceremoniously forced to choose between the two halves. The right brain could not function without the left part. How could she ever choose between the two halves and live a lie that she could slip easily back into the old routine. Sighing, she fingered the worn cloth, and held it to her face, allowing it to caress her, reassure her. She peered through its translucency, marveling how everything seemed hazy yet clear at the same time. Oh how she hoped that everything around her seemed that way, how she wistfully wished that she did not have to face up to the crystal clear truth, so fraught with love, so fraught with hatred that it seemed to cut right through her being...

She got up and started packing up her stuff. No use pretending that her world was perfect, no use pretending that her once perfect world was now shattered, she told herself bitterly,. In a fit of anger, she started throwing everything into the open suitcase, not caring if she broke anything. On the contrary, she wished she could just break everything that her past life was built on. All the dolls with cold smiles permanently etched on their faces, the huge bed that was all hers, the bare floor, void of any warmth. In this mentally frenzied state, she knocked into the mirror and watched as it dropped, slow-motion, and smashed onto the ground, each of the shattered pieces carrying her reflection. She was mesmerized. She was there in every piece, yet the pieces would never form a whole again.

The cranking of the car engine broke through her thoughts, shaking her out of her reverie. The sun was shining with all its might, yet dark clouds was on the horizon. There was no way she could ever know what the future held for her. The only way was to jump straight into it, living one day at a time amidst the uncertainty. She got up and walked towards the unknown, towards the future. One family, two halves, three individuals, tussling in the web of the past...


Haha, this piece is about a child going through the divorce. Got to admit, its kinda vague

 

Mirror, mirror, what do you see

The truth inside a person

The truth inside of me

As waves so strong ride through the sea

To the only place I really want to be

Yet the image I see is scattered and cracked

Only you can reflect the emptiness I have left

As reflection in the glass

Turns slowly into dust

I watch myself melt away behind the shadows of dusk

Disappear, as my soul has already done.

What do you guys think? :)

Hello J2s and J1s!!

ANNIA HSU, your WRIC Secretary, over here;)

I know that most of the J1s probably don't know me, but please do accept my FRIENDly invitation okay!  I'm your always absent senior exco member. :/

Not the best impression, but I have reasons!  As you all know, you guys have probably experienced your virgin FULL DAY in VJ recently (Friday, 12 March 2010) and it's because of ME.  Haha just joking, I'm taking the credit.  But I had a part in it!

Dancers came back from ITALY, MILAN with 1st in Contemporary, 1st in HipHop solo, 2nd in HipHop and OVERALL CHAMPION!

It's actually bad habit to promote other CCAs in other CCAs.  If you get what I mean.

ANYWAYS, it's already 1am in the morning (my bedtime's 10, btw) so I'm a bit hyper excited due to lack of sleep.  I don't have ADHD, I swear.

But I'm really glad that this online community is well underway, and I'd like to scroll through more constructive criticism and praise thanks!  I'll be posting some of my works (I accumulate a lot of them when I'm stressed) so do critque my pieces!  Whether it makes you think, makes you feel, or makes you wanna fall asleep, I'd like to know.  But try not to do personal attacks ;D

Cheers
Annia

P.S. My com's response is really SLOWWWW today so I'm not getting the satisfaction of typing away at the computer at all. :( ARGH.

 Hello!(:

This is Catherine, from 09V15.
Here's my very very amateur-ish poem. 
(As you can tell from the a-b-c-b rhyme scheme :/)
It's about loneliness, which is the first thing that came to mind when I thought about the word 'one'.
More specifically, a lonely student.
I know I have so much to learn from all you other awesome writers!
I'm open to comments, but please don't be too harsh, it's my first time writing.:D

Lonely
Five times a week
we have to leave and come
out from our homes
and away from our moms;

To an awful place where
we learn and play
and supposedly mix with
'friends' they say.

But that one term
I never understand
because they stay away
though I don't offend;

Two's a company
three's a crowd - 
I get their message
clear and loud.

I don't know why
but I never seem to fit
and when I'm in a group
I'd rather hide in a pit;

They love to rattle on
about alien affairs
while I sit and pray
God evaporates me to air.

Sometimes I wonder
if they notice I'm there
whether they're just too happy
or unwilling to share;

I've since given up
on people and 'friends'
and I'm slowly accepting
that alone, I stand.

I suppress every smile
and fight back every tear
whatever thoughts and emotions
I keep them up in here.



Cheers!

Just a little something I wrote when I was bored. I'm all for comments.

Going, going...

Clear day. Blue skies. Great time for a drop. Smile. Grin. Talk to friends.

Jump master stands. Goes through the routine. Stand. Stop smiling. Stand. Don’t push.

Hook up. Hook to the static line. Stand. Hook up. Equipment check. Check equipment. Check –

Sound off for equipment check. 19 OK! 18 OK! 17 OK! 16 OK!

Stare at the red light. Red. Not green. Red. Don’t go. Wait for green. Wait for green. Wait for –

Green. It’s green. Go, go, go! Push. Shove. Out of the door.

Freedom. Flying like a bird. One, two, three. Jerk. Parachute opens. White blossoming flower. Take a look around. Thousands of white blossoms in the air. Swing back and forth. Laugh. Free. Free as an Eagle.

Land. Hard. Good landing. Take the chute off. Roll it up. Take off Mae Wests. Don’t know why life vests are needed. Drop zone’s safely inland. Ah well. Time to assemble.

Find the Sergeant. Sergeant’s not there. Lieutenant, then. Lieutenant’s not there either.

Weird. Walk to a copse of trees. Lots of birds there, flying around. Stop abruptly.

A glider is in there. Dark. Broken. Reeking of death. Walk into the glider. Dead men inside. No Sergeant. No Lieutenant. Walk out.

Don’t notice the briefcase left behind.

Walk to the DZ. Company’s already set off. That explains it. Chuckle. Hurry up, slowpoke. Rush off to catch up. Blow, bugle, blow. Frost blows the bugle. On to Arnhem, boys! War’ll be over soon!

Shake head. War’s not to be over. War’s never over before Christmas.

***

Cheering civilians. Orange flags. Wine. Bread. Song and laughter. Good food. Chocolate. Cigarettes. Fantastically beautiful. Dutch are grateful. Dutch are the best.

But.

Boos. Jeers. Women. Hair cuts. Shaved heads. Mud swastikas. Crying. Begging. Pleading.

Seek out a civilian. Women are collaborators, he says. This is the punishment, he says.

Vindictive. Angry. Cold. Satisfied.

Move on. Germans all over. Duck. Run. Scramble to the side. Raise the rifle. Fire.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Krauts dying. Brits dying. Friends dying. Everyone dying. Get up. Run like hell. Boots pounding. Pain.

Huddling in the house. Clear out, Dutch. It’s the Brit’s stronghold now! Dutch don’t want to go. Fine. Shrug. Too bad if they die.

Set up positions. Pick up rifle. Check. Clean. Load. Look at bridge. Jerry’s coming! Jerry is coming. Aim rifle. Wait for orders. Don’t fire until told. Hold fire. Hold. Don’t press. Don’t fire. Hold fire.

Krauts are coming closer. Nearer. Anxiety. Fear. Nervousness. Tension. Hold fire. Don’t press. Hold.

Open fire! Sweat. Raise rifle. Squeeze off the rounds. One. Two. Three. Man down. Adrenaline. Exhilaration. Man down! Shots ping off. Coming closer. Jump. Turn. Blood.

Medic! Medic! Screams. Cries. Blood. Gore. Don’t stop. Reload. Continue. Fire.

Sudden silence. Everyone stops. Look around. On the bridge. Burning wrecks. Smoldering. Krauts are dead. Friends are dead. Tension gone. Adrenaline gone. Drop rifle. Exhausted. Listen to the screams. Listen to the dying. Can’t listen to the dead.

***

Night time. Right time. Time to go out. Carry flamethrower. Whisper to friend. Going out. Pitter patter. Boots on rubble. Loud. Look around. No Jerry yet.

Onto the bridge. Trembling. Bet on the bunker. Friend finds it first. Two quid gone.

Flamethrower. Raw power. Hungry flames. Deadly flames. Flamethrower. Hold steady. Don’t move. Ready. Set.

Blaze. Missed. Curse. But.

Explosions! Ammo dump right behind. Friend celebrates. Whoop. Cheer. Jerry bunker enveloped by the exploding dump.

Run back. Boots make a lot of noise. Crunching rubble. Crushing debris. Don’t care. Don’t give a damn. Explosion loud. Can’t hear anyway.

Back to the house. Chaps are happy. Yay. Drink into the night.

Prepare for the next attack, next morning. Stop partying. Silent. Resigned. Sad. Quiet.

Ready.

***

Back. With a vengeance. Tanks. One drives past. RPG. PIAT. Whatever. Bring it out. Don’t complain, damnit. Just bring it.

Load a round. Panzers. Damn top brass. Never had accurate information anyway.

Fire once. Miss. Heart rate going up. Tank turns. Doesn’t fire. Keeps on going. Bloody hell.

Fire again. Tank halts. Just in time. Round misses. Tank continues. Sweating. Cursing.

Surrounded. Just like that.

***

Time to charge again. Under the bridge. From house to house. Dodge. Weave. Small arms fire. Not dangerous. Not immediately fatal. Not like 88s.

Friend goes first. Friend runs. Friend almost makes it. Almost.

Shell lands. Friend dies. No time for grief. Turn’s arrived.

Run.

Pressure rising. Breathing hard. Grip rifle hard. Knuckles turn white. Standing out.

Whistle. Shell. No. Run faster. No hope. Shell lands. Almost made it. Almost.

Going…

Going…

Gone.

Hello Writers, this is my cross-form experimental piece in progress. Let's see what kind of responses it will elicit. It's currently 622 words long, so take your Time. =D

This is not a story of Ir, Somebody, They and Time. This is a figment of the writer’s imagination. And in this imagination, there was a boy who lived in a regular house, with regular food and regular toys. But he does not like living the regular life. He has irregular thoughts. Sometimes, this boy speaks when he is not asked to, and when They ask him to speak, he overdoes it and strays completely off tangent with the required response that They wanted to hear. But he has to live the regular life. Because They told him that is how Everyone lives. They call him “Ir”. Ir is unpredictable, unpolished and unacceptable. Especially after he self-published his self-titled poem:   Ir am the arbitrary, raw, I defy convention and categorisation to define my convention and categorisation Ir am the raw, arbitrary that is playful and a mouthful of empty cracks and open canals. Ir am raw, the arbitrary speaks on my behalf for want of a better half - Ir am arbitrary, the raw fine lines of the limits of the graph find me, just me, with a shadow and a half. _____________________________________________________________________________________ Ir has a personal grudge against Somebody. Although Somebody does not know Ir because he is too busy listening to Their instructions on what to do for everything, Ir has been watching Somebody in school and has decided he will wage war and declare him his nemesis. One day, Ir has completed his daily dose of schoolwork and decides to take the long bus ride home. He crosses over to the other side of the road and begins to experience Time bearing down on his shoulders. Ir sees Time too often, the both of them meet so regularly that Ir has had too much of Time. Time is growing sick of Ir and wants someone new for company. And it is in that moment, that Time spies with his little eyes, Somebody who is crossing the overhead bridge at a furious pace. Somebody is carrying his bag on one shoulder, holding his notes with his left hand and two pens in his right hand. He is performing the common act of the age: Multi-tasking. Somebody is striding so quick towards them with short, sharp, agitated movements of the feet that he might as well break into a mad dash. Somebody must go home for dinner because his brother Nobody has cooked the usual porridge and baked beans and after he eats that it means he must go and bathe then he must settle properly at his desk to finish his readings and his tutorials and his assignments and his projects and replying emails and reminding himself he wants to score straight As but to do that he must first go to sleep and wake up the next day for school where he can study and study and study and process new things and examples and copy the workings and the solutions to the questions and have all the answers and once that is done he must go home for dinner because his brother Nobody has cooked the usual porridge and baked beans and after he eats that it means he must go and bathe then he must settle properly at his desk to finish his readings and his tutorials and his assignments and his projects and replying emails and reminding himself he wants to score straight As but to do that he must first go to sleep and wake up the next day for school where he can study and study and study and process new things and examples and copy the working and the solutions to the questions and have all the answers and once that is done –

I haven't quite decided what is going to happen between Ir, Time and Somebody when Somebody reaches the busstop though. Haha, but I'm having fun with this weird piece of writing!