Where the neighbourhood wives,
After a morning at the wet market,
Sit facing the breeze
To trade snatches of gossip
About leery shopkeepers,
The local louts,
(Like that fella who's always drilling his walls -
Gives me migraine)
And that mad woman
Who throws things from her window.
With careful put-downs they
Fashion boasts, about stubborn sons,
Lazy daughters ( Read more... )

My mother was just diagnosed with Non-Hodgkins lymphoma and has not been given much time left to live.  Please, leave poetry about deaths and losing family members or even getting over it or anything that can make me feel better.  I can't imagine poetry failing me now.

In return:
Why A Man Cannot Have Wings - Alfian bin Sa'at
Because he will crash ( Read more... )

Because he will crash land on his head, assuming it to be ( Read more... )

Like most of us, I can't remember how ( Read more... )