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Adam Adhistian Poem
Day has sunk and the old fisherman, like a well-trained athlete, rows his rugged boat.
Defying starry night's turbulent waves,
It cruises seaward, smooth and swift, like an agile proud fish.
Then, into his net a shooting star drops; hauls he a thousand delicate, bright starfish.
Guided by remaining stars, he comes home with a boatful
Of glimmering soft, fleshy crystals of hope to his daughter's eager waving
At the murky, starless bay. Her voice rushes out in tidal sound-waves.
She puts a finger in, fishing
One live hope, stellar and warm, out of what used to be a champion's sailboat.
Rocking the boat and making waves, their laughter splashes like a floundering fat fish.
(Form: loose tritina)
Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013
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Adam Adhistian Poem
In a utilitarian, profit-maximizing economy
Where supply only meets demand
And demand runs only for those
Willing and able; where the margin
Between total revenue
And total cost must be largest;
Where taxes are necessary evil
As they cause disincentive to work
And subsidies too as they
Breed the disgrace of inefficiency;
Where it is all about sustained
Growth and low inflation and
Low unemployment and
Healthy balance of payment and
Efficiency in resource allocation and
Maybe equity, but not quite
Equality, and perhaps standard of living
But hardly quality of life—
This is what is heard of them:
Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013
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Adam Adhistian Poem
I found a coffee shop where we can meet.
It’s within walking distance from your house
So you can’t complain nobody is there to drive you.
I found a coffee shop where we can meet.
It’s small and secluded, away from public eyes
So you won’t have to worry of paparazzi swarming.
I found a coffee shop where we can meet.
Its coffee and hot chocolate are reasonably priced
So don’t you tell me you can’t afford them.
I found a coffee shop where we can meet.
It does have a power socket, so you can bring
Your laptop if your work is really that urgent.
I found a coffee shop where we can meet.
(And don’t play dumb for I know that you know
Where to find it.)
So don’t make me sit here alone forever, honey:
Watching the sky weeps—for the warmth of coffee
Will never be enough to keep me company.
Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013
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Adam Adhistian Poem
"All animals are equal. But some animals are more equal than others."
—George Orwell
A dozen of chickens and a number of horses, a cat and a raven, a few cows and other hoofed ones—all of which are perfectly silent. Poor wolfie. He can't even find a voice to growl. "Your Honor, if I may request for a short recess," I whisper, humiliatingly like a dying dragon. But my timid voice is drowned by a sly-looking pig's pouring of whisky into Dis Honor's gilded cup.
"Have you no respect or have you no eyes?" Squealing, he deafeningly squeals. He reminds me of that scaled wyvern whose head now sits in my living room. It roared deafeningly loud but breathed no fire. "His Honor is having his brief period of refreshment at the moment!"
With eyes too dry to cry and throat too hoarse to howl, the defendant meekly weeps. But only I hear it; the jury listens to only the silence, loud as a baby serpent's inaudible hiss, of two semi-digested pigs in his gut.
Who on earth build houses with flimsy hays or sticks nowadays anyway? And was it my client's fault that the third genius Doctor Porkchop got killed when some stray earthquake crushed his oh-so-unshakable fort built brick by bloody brick? Just whose brilliant proposal is it again to have Napoleon presiding the trial of the so-called Big Bad Wolf? If only he was a dragon—a pig-dragon at least— I would fain put the beauty that is my sword into good use right now.
Countless charges of premeditated murder, culpable animalicide, et cetera. Of course, do sentence us all to another life. I turn to look at the audience right behind me: a mare, a goat, a donkey. A soft motherly neigh followed by an intelligent baa, then by an astute silence.
"Please, Your Honor," Ridiculous. This stupid courtesy reminds me of tiptoeing past a mother Couatl guarding her eggs. "Shall we resume—"
Slams of gavel.
"Objection! Objection! Objection!" Dis Honor oinks vehemently, his mouth reeking of poorly brewed whisky—and I thought Tiamat's droppings were bad. The way he repeats the slamming of his gavel with every disgustingly pronounced objection gives me a headache as if it was my head he keeps hammering on. For the first time, being hit by the Basilisk's tail doesn't sound so bad at all. "Here you call me 'Your Honor Napoleon' in full," Oh, believe me, the honor is fully mine.
Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013
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Adam Adhistian Poem
"My love is like a red rose
It may be beautiful now
But my sharp thorns will hurt you
My love is like a red rose
Yes, I may be fragrant
But the closer you get, the more I’ll hurt you."
-Lee Hi
Darling rose buds bloom
Newborn angel unsullied
Snow white untainted
Darling rose buds bloom
Wrapped around unwary hearts
Fangs of vampire
Darling rose buds bloom
Painted red with trickling blood
Crimson burning skies
Darling rose buds bloom
Clinging where they leak of oil
Unmoved by fire
Weeping to red death
Set aflame by those in pain
Darling rose buds bloom
Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013
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Adam Adhistian Poem
She lights her red lantern again today
Which midnight rain had reduced
To flimsy, gross paper.
Her previous lantern
Had blazed too strong, burning down,
Dying a red death:
She now dares not light fire
When sky promises no rain.
Wet lantern laid limp
Set aflame under the rain
Dead love laid unloved.
Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013
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Adam Adhistian Poem
Through the fog and filthy air—
Which hurts my eyes just to see,
I come with something to declare…
I bring no one but myself; still, beware!
Beware of what may come after me
Through the fog and filthy air.
I come with bad news laid bare,
I come with lost souls—mad and hungry;
I come with something to declare:
Build high the wall, let them flare;
Lest all of them break in, running free!
Through the fog and filthy air.
Believe me what awaits out there:
They are not what they used to be,
I come with something to declare.
And, oh, I see them rushing from there—
Legion of hell which no one can compare!
Through the fog and filthy air
I come with something to declare!
Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013
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Adam Adhistian Poem
"I like it when it rains hard.
It sounds like white noise everywhere,
which is like silence but not empty."
-Mark Haddon
And so it pours again
Tonight. Not champagne—
Just a cup of hot coffee
To drown what we used to be.
To the melody of white I weep,
Lying here so close to sleep;
With wet wings that can't fly,
Soaked clothes that won’t dry;
Rain that won’t cease:
Pain that won’t ease.
(29/5/2013)
Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013
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Adam Adhistian Poem
Overgrown by grapes
Gods’ garden fine winery
Mortals in rags toil
Overgrown by grapes
Gods’ garden fine winery
Brimful gilded grails
Overgrown by grapes
Gods’ garden fine winery
High angels crash down
Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013
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Adam Adhistian Poem
A stranger once offered me
A cup of hot chocolate.
He looked awfully familiar
So, smiling, I accepted it
As I gaze at the light drizzle outside.
But the boiling brew
Warmed my body not
Nor it unfroze my cold, lonely heart.
It was molten live coals. Furiously it burnt
On my tender pink.
Wincing, I
Drew back but, oh!
Too late.
Rich, milky, burnt-sienna
Had scalded pale pink
So badly it left a lasting
Sting
And an icy-cold heart.
I take no more hot chocolate
From any stranger ever since.
Tongues and lips heal
But not hearts.
Mine never thaws.
And what stings more
Than the bitter, dark, hell-brewed chocolate,
Bubbling-hot and vicious on dear lips,
Is how I now see that
Everyone is a stranger to
Me.
Copyright © Adam Adhistian | Year Posted 2013
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