Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago
He saw an animal that liked to growl
Big furry paws and he liked to howl
Great big furry back and furry hair
Ah, think I'll call it a bear
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago
He saw an animal up on a hill
Chewing up so much grass until she was filled
He saw milk coming out but he didn't know how
Ah, think I'll call it a cow
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago
He saw an animal that liked to snort
Horns on his head and they weren't too short
It looked like there wasn't nothing that he couldn't pull
Ah, think I'll call it a bull
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago
He saw an animal leaving a muddy trail
Real dirty face and a curly tail
He wasn't too small and he wasn't too big
Ah, think I'll call it a pig
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago
Next animal that he did meet
Had wool on his back and hooves on his feet
Eating grass on a mountainside so steep
Ah, think I'll call it a sheep
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago
He saw an animal as smooth as glass
Slithering his way through the grass
Saw him disappear by a tree near a lake
(ttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TGjAjZ2TZKU. think a teacher uploaded it for some english lesson...)
Showing posts with label Hannah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hannah. Show all posts
Friday, September 18, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
The Planners- Boey Kim Cheng
They plan. They build. All spaces are gridded,
filled with permutations of possibilities.
The buildings are in alignment with the roads
which meet at desired points
linked by bridges all hang
in the grace of mathematics.
They build and will not stop.
Even the sea draws back
and the skies surrender.
They erase the flaws,
the blemishes of the past, knock off
useless blocks with dental dexterity.
All gaps are plugged
with bleaming gold.
The country waers perfect rows
of shining teeth.
Anaesthesia, amnesia, hypnosis,
They have the means.
THey have it all so it will not hurt,
so history is new again.
THe piling will not stop.
The drilling goes right through
the fossils of last century.
But my heart would not bleed
poetry. Not a single drop
to stain the blueprint
of our past's tomorrow.
filled with permutations of possibilities.
The buildings are in alignment with the roads
which meet at desired points
linked by bridges all hang
in the grace of mathematics.
They build and will not stop.
Even the sea draws back
and the skies surrender.
They erase the flaws,
the blemishes of the past, knock off
useless blocks with dental dexterity.
All gaps are plugged
with bleaming gold.
The country waers perfect rows
of shining teeth.
Anaesthesia, amnesia, hypnosis,
They have the means.
THey have it all so it will not hurt,
so history is new again.
THe piling will not stop.
The drilling goes right through
the fossils of last century.
But my heart would not bleed
poetry. Not a single drop
to stain the blueprint
of our past's tomorrow.
2 mothers in a hdb playground-Arthur Yap
ah beng is so smart,
already he can watch tv and know the whole story
your kim cheong is also quite smart,
what boy is he in the exam?
this playground is not too bad, but I'm always
so worried, car here and car there.
at exam time, it's worse
because you know why?
kim cheong eats so little.
give him some complan. my ah beng was like that,
now he's different, if you give him anything
he's sure to finish it all up.
sure, sure, cheong's father buys him
vitamins but he keeps it inside his mouth
& later gives it to the cat.
i scold like mad but what for?
if I don't see it, how can I scold?
on saturday, tv showed a new type,
special for children , why don't you call
his father buy some? maybe they are better.
money's no problem, it's not that
we want to save, if we buy it
& he doesn't eat it, throwing money
into the jamban is the same.
ah beng's father spends so much,
takes out the mosaic floor & wants
to make terrazzo floor or what.
we also go new furniture, bought from diethelm
the sofa is so soft, I dare not sit, they all
sit like don't want to get up, so expensive.
nearly two thousand dollars, sure must be good.
that you can't say, my toa-soh
bought an expensive sewing machine,
after 6 months,it is already spoilt,
she took it back but.....beng,
come here, come, don't play the fool.
your tuition teacher is coming,
wah, kim cheong, now you're quite big.
come cheong, quick go home and bathe.
ah pah wants to take you chya-hong in a new motor-car
already he can watch tv and know the whole story
your kim cheong is also quite smart,
what boy is he in the exam?
this playground is not too bad, but I'm always
so worried, car here and car there.
at exam time, it's worse
because you know why?
kim cheong eats so little.
give him some complan. my ah beng was like that,
now he's different, if you give him anything
he's sure to finish it all up.
sure, sure, cheong's father buys him
vitamins but he keeps it inside his mouth
& later gives it to the cat.
i scold like mad but what for?
if I don't see it, how can I scold?
on saturday, tv showed a new type,
special for children , why don't you call
his father buy some? maybe they are better.
money's no problem, it's not that
we want to save, if we buy it
& he doesn't eat it, throwing money
into the jamban is the same.
ah beng's father spends so much,
takes out the mosaic floor & wants
to make terrazzo floor or what.
we also go new furniture, bought from diethelm
the sofa is so soft, I dare not sit, they all
sit like don't want to get up, so expensive.
nearly two thousand dollars, sure must be good.
that you can't say, my toa-soh
bought an expensive sewing machine,
after 6 months,it is already spoilt,
she took it back but.....beng,
come here, come, don't play the fool.
your tuition teacher is coming,
wah, kim cheong, now you're quite big.
come cheong, quick go home and bathe.
ah pah wants to take you chya-hong in a new motor-car
Prayer Before The Cross- Eddie Koh
My gaze hangs empty on your cross.
Things I please and loathe come nailed in angles,
Your bleeding hangs cold upon the cross.
I'm left like broken pieces.
Left alone to breathe.
No reason left to speak.
Lord, you know I understand
But it's getting harder to keep belief,
Reasoning with these questions I give.
I cannot ask, not even 'why?'
Much of what I feel inside
Seems truth but breathes a lie.
Keep me in your strong hands
Though I'm dirty and unclean.
Though I wallow in self-sufficiency,
Stripped of my liturgy.
Things I please and loathe come nailed in angles,
Your bleeding hangs cold upon the cross.
I'm left like broken pieces.
Left alone to breathe.
No reason left to speak.
Lord, you know I understand
But it's getting harder to keep belief,
Reasoning with these questions I give.
I cannot ask, not even 'why?'
Much of what I feel inside
Seems truth but breathes a lie.
Keep me in your strong hands
Though I'm dirty and unclean.
Though I wallow in self-sufficiency,
Stripped of my liturgy.
A Poison Tree- William Blake
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine -
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine -
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
First Day at School - Roger McGough
A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.
And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they're to stop us getting out
Running away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.
I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)
Why are they all so big, other children?
So noisy? So much at home they
Must have been born in uniform
Lived all their lives in playgrounds
Spent the years inventing games
That don't let me in. Games
That are rough, that swallow you up.
And the railings.
All around, the railings.
Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?
Things that carry off and eat children?
Things you don't take sweets from?
Perhaps they're to stop us getting out
Running away from the lessins. Lessin.
What does a lessin look like?
Sounds small and slimy.
They keep them in the glassrooms.
Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.
I wish I could remember my name
Mummy said it would come in useful.
Like wellies. When there's puddles.
Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.
I think my name is sewn on somewhere
Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.
Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.
The Howrah Station- Boey Kim Cheng
To purchase a ticket out
I pick my way through the carnage,
sidestepping souls felled at one wild stroke,
reducedto withered stalks scattered
between puddles of excrement. The leveller
is working overtime here, tireless,
laing out a field of maimed mortals,
half0killed, untended, unfinished,
his indiscriminate scythe
littering with travails
the pilgrim's path.
Like an adroit footballer, I dribble
my laundered self past
the tackles, eluding the lunging pleas
for mercy, warding eyes
which draw the heart into their dark pits.
This is not a waiting hall; there is no destination
for these unfit for travel.
It is a terminal ward. Enoiugh revelation
to stop all seekers carrying urgent requests
for truth in beauty and beauty in truth
in their tracks. What are we doing here?>
Is this the right address? The capital
of God? Art's proper haunt?
If poetry could drum up courage,
correct the economists, reform the politicans,
and bake a million loavesm my presence
needs no apology.
But who eats poetry?
This morning I made a detour
to the museum. A man was on
the pockmarked pavement outside.
If you can call him a man,
you may as well consider him
an artist. Legs disappeared into the earth,
ande short clubs for arms, fingers
no longer than the broken pastels they held.
Oblivious to the scorching sun, wrapped
in clouds of fumes and noise, he laid out
our Lord Jesus with a scared heart, smiling,
peaceful on the uneven ground
Consummate attention. Necessity
fusing prayer and art in perferct calm.
What I lacked glowed in him.
He rubbed off the edges, precise,
exacting, insistent on clarity of vision,
and went on to produce a youthful Mary
from a soiled pciture given perhaps
by the sisters at the mission, to carry him
through and earn his daily bread with.
I tossed an offering. The rupee rolled
onto the bleeding heart, its dull gleam
settling almost soundlessly home,
waking echoes
in an unplugged conscience.
I pick my way through the carnage,
sidestepping souls felled at one wild stroke,
reducedto withered stalks scattered
between puddles of excrement. The leveller
is working overtime here, tireless,
laing out a field of maimed mortals,
half0killed, untended, unfinished,
his indiscriminate scythe
littering with travails
the pilgrim's path.
Like an adroit footballer, I dribble
my laundered self past
the tackles, eluding the lunging pleas
for mercy, warding eyes
which draw the heart into their dark pits.
This is not a waiting hall; there is no destination
for these unfit for travel.
It is a terminal ward. Enoiugh revelation
to stop all seekers carrying urgent requests
for truth in beauty and beauty in truth
in their tracks. What are we doing here?>
Is this the right address? The capital
of God? Art's proper haunt?
If poetry could drum up courage,
correct the economists, reform the politicans,
and bake a million loavesm my presence
needs no apology.
But who eats poetry?
This morning I made a detour
to the museum. A man was on
the pockmarked pavement outside.
If you can call him a man,
you may as well consider him
an artist. Legs disappeared into the earth,
ande short clubs for arms, fingers
no longer than the broken pastels they held.
Oblivious to the scorching sun, wrapped
in clouds of fumes and noise, he laid out
our Lord Jesus with a scared heart, smiling,
peaceful on the uneven ground
Consummate attention. Necessity
fusing prayer and art in perferct calm.
What I lacked glowed in him.
He rubbed off the edges, precise,
exacting, insistent on clarity of vision,
and went on to produce a youthful Mary
from a soiled pciture given perhaps
by the sisters at the mission, to carry him
through and earn his daily bread with.
I tossed an offering. The rupee rolled
onto the bleeding heart, its dull gleam
settling almost soundlessly home,
waking echoes
in an unplugged conscience.
HOLY SONNETS X- John Donne
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.
How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
SONNET 116-William Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
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