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Helen Cheng Poem
When I was a little girl,
mama put me in a silky pink dress.
I was the princess of the family.
Their glory.
When I am a little adult,
I remove everything and lay myself bare.
I am the mouse in the household.
Their shame.
When I was a little girl,
papa carried me on his shoulder.
I would reach for the highest flower
and pick it for him to smell.
When I am a little adult,
boys carry me to the bedroom.
I would reach for the faintest lamp
and trace a smile on his back.
When I was a little girl,
me and brother shot nerf guns.
We splashed, swirled, swam
in the magnificent pool.
When I am a little adult,
brother would shoot me piercing glances.
We smack, whack, spank
louder than the kitchen sink.
When I was a little girl,
I was posed to take the best photo
from morning till night.
I thought I were once an immortal statue.
When I am a little adult,
I run naked in front of the mirror
from night to dawn.
I thought I were a beast gone wild.
When I was a little girl,
they called me little miss sunshine.
I radiated with joy,
beamed with laughter.
When I am a little adult,
they call me troubled thunderstorm.
I break down with tears,
scream with hysteria.
When I was a little girl,
I was not afraid.
Things happened, good or bad,
I forgot and went on skipping ropes.
When I am a little adult,
I am so afraid.
Everything has happened, good and bad,
I caught each one of them, glued to the past.
When I was a little girl,
I was a little adult;
When I am a little adult,
I am a little girl.
Copyright © Helen Cheng | Year Posted 2016
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Helen Cheng Poem
Words slip from your cracked lips unbound,
spilling over my chest without a sound.
My limps then writhe with a flair,
teeter-tottering, feet bare.
Do carouse me on this merry-go-round.
Copyright © Helen Cheng | Year Posted 2015
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Helen Cheng Poem
When the unforeseen mistrel swipes the land,
tiny warriors trudge against the force.
“Back down! Retreat!”, the general commands.
The musketeers recoil back on course.
Then the torrent readily disembarks,
the entire army rolls up horse and foot.
A few lucky ones hop on Noah’s ark,
their chiseled armors soaked with sludge and soot.
When many lightning bolts descend to strike,
the runnel puts on a golden brown cloak,
keep spinning to show and tell, like a tyke.
Unheeded, the beast goes berserk and croaks.
Then emerges an ugly tsunami,
too marred, the canoe gives in to this strife.
Unyielding, the orts repair unity,
primed to take it down head-on with their lives.
When the wreckage is wrecked with such a flair,
then their raw thumbs stands upright in the air.
Copyright © Helen Cheng | Year Posted 2015
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Helen Cheng Poem
Unwanted laughter spills out in unexpected times.
Unmatched destinies cross paths once in a while.
Unwonted qualities introduce themselves as mimes.
Unceasing affections refuse to travel anymore miles.
Flip the unforeseen anxieties inside out.
Strip the reserved tenderness from curbs.
Dip the concentrated senses into a drought.
Grip the unyielding fervor until it burps.
Copyright © Helen Cheng | Year Posted 2016
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Helen Cheng Poem
The Big Ben chimes thrice
The chime letS go of its wings
and swallows a bee-sting--
it sprays its spine with spice.
The printer reboots in haste
The fruits play hide-and-seek
and collide with a geek--
it munches them into paste.
The vacuum sucks some mice
The cooker burns my vermilion
and stir fry a reptilian--
it leaves a slime not too nice.
The platform leaks bits of ice
The mattress sweeps and weeps
and sleeps on a floor too steep--
it engulfs it alive, sliced.
The keyboard taps this one dice
The toilet gurgles more bubbles
and the pain itself chuckles--
it flies me to the paradise.
The chess set gleams bice
The nylons claw like spiders
and squeeze me into drips of cider--
it splices my nerves, enticed.
The cupboard scatters with rice
The mittens hold your gem
and you roll the gritty hem--
it costs your skirt beyond price.
The window pane kisses a firefly
The lens and specs frown
and pout like a sad clown--
it seems hard to purify.
The curtains drown in cries
The hair clips bend their backs
and have their teeth crack--
it no longer denies your demise.
Copyright © Helen Cheng | Year Posted 2015
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Helen Cheng Poem
Ain’t I coward no more? Forsaking everything to be myself again.
None of it is what you wanted? You said so because you are at a loss than gain.
Tell you what? You are no longer my master for
I swore I could take it no more. Do you want more?
Some whispers are very annoying. Want to knock me down?
Organize your plots again before striking. I am still the one with the crown.
Clusters of you bond together, thinking fellowship means power?
Itchy skin everywhere, because you are with them every hour.
Almost becoming a part of me, why still struggle?
Lie to yourself that you are sociable makes me giggle.
Copyright © Helen Cheng | Year Posted 2016
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Helen Cheng Poem
Cicadas squeak in unutterable frequency
out in the wilderness. There is one pallor
face overlapping with the foliage. Tousled
hair and sloppy shoulders--she frees her
girdle. It kisses the cigar in her hand.
Willows weeping, washing her image
away. Her silhouette slips through anything
that forgets to seal their lips. Nothing can
desist her limpid temptation, they all
succumb under her voodoo.
An umbra of a scythe hung from the
ceiling, sundering the arms and legs of
the spiral staircase. Her raw toes print
melodies and paint elixir--calming those
reverberation of the broken timber.
She smells a burr from the nadir, leaps
onto the chandelier and into mid-air.
Both balustrades arise to cradle her till
she is swooned and slow, too slow to
savor the subterranean casket.
Copyright © Helen Cheng | Year Posted 2015
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Helen Cheng Poem
Neon lights penetrate into the curtains and shed a colorful blast on the darkest of canvas. Leftover food scattered all over the ground. Random newspapers crumbled into a ball at the corner of the room, with dead cockroaches’ legs sticking out. The stained blanket leaks a smell that suggests a combination of pickles and licorice. We wrap that blanket around our naked bodies to withstand this lingering night.
In your iris, I catch a glimpse
of a crimson hell
awaiting in soft
moonlight.
Flies rest on our eyelashes, probably laying eggs as well. As we blink, they fly off and kiss every wasted part of you and me. A long-standing peace breaks the moment you crash the fly on my face. Its black guts spill and spatters on my filthy strands of hair. Perhaps there is a power shortage because all lights and colors are withdrawn since the last sight of you leaning close to me.
“Thank you.”
I wish you felt my voice in the air.
Copyright © Helen Cheng | Year Posted 2017
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Helen Cheng Poem
{He}
Moisture wells from in to out
The sky drapes its dress
Quiescently, you tilt your head and pout
Your shoulder kisses a tiny tress
Vapor is breathed on the glass
A tantalizing blaze flaring from behind
Fumbling your hair into a clump of morass
Skintight, our souls entwined
As we sublime seconds quicker than a blink
your heart throbs, I flutter
and let out a soft whine in sync
I remember you like the taste of butter
{She}
An icy hot bath melts
our raw hearts transpire
roses are planted all over your svelte
body as my undying desire
Gases gushes out from my pore
as we boil ourselves a temperature too high
my teeth still sizzle and I am ready to roar
hereby you lean in and charge my oversupply
Maybe I need a cup of water
to dilute the enkindled fire,
or else a lamb to the slaughter
could be me stuck with a liar
Copyright © Helen Cheng | Year Posted 2015
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Helen Cheng Poem
The gravity above bends all curvature.
Rusty creases smooch the downpouring nectar,
leaving hints of shaky aches here and there.
More of it can split smiles and slit tears.
Nails intrude into the forbidden territory.
Drill repeatedly to fill air in, get gas out--
until no substance is not depleted.
Why stuff nothing to inflate the shell?
The washing machine spins berserk,
flopping the entrails into some somersaults.
Chemical reactions unwilling to take their time off.
Sparkles flared bubbles into troubles.
A brisk smack rescinds any signs of oomph.
The breeze materializes itself into blasts of fireworks--
strips of hair whirled into a pirouette,
rotating an infinite ninty degrees on the wasted one.
Copyright © Helen Cheng | Year Posted 2015
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