Sibu town maternity museum
as loud as their silence
the labour instruments
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sibu town maternity museum
everybody born on
the same beds
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Silence Is Loud
The pain I feel in my heart is loud
Your once tasteful kisses are silence
The repetitive affairs you have are loud
Holding your hand when we walked is silence
Your naive verbal paroxysms are loud
Gentle ado we gave each other is silence
Your parents disapproval of us is loud
When I first say you is silence
The way you broke my heart is loud
The role i played as your guardian angel is silence
All the lies you told me are loud
Our last kiss is silence
The way we ended the relationship is loud
The good moments we shared is silence
poem by Tahj Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Loud
Loud songs
loud colours
loud gossip
loud drummers
loud fragrance
loud worship
loud laughters
loud roar
loud snore
loud thunders
sink into the waters of silence
Silence is louder than loudness
Silence is the sister of death
Have you heard the breath of silence
Have you heard the noise of death
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Sound Of The Crowd
Put your hand in a party wave
Pass around
Make a shroud pulling combs through a backwash frame
Find the copies in a carbon mount
Pass around
Stroke a pocket with a print of a laughing sound
Get around town
Get around town
Where the people look good
Where the music is loud
Get around town
No need to stand proud
Add your voice to the sound of the crowd
The shades from a pencil peer
Pass around
A fold in an eyelid brushed with fear
The lines on a compact guide
Pass around
A hat with alignment worn insde
Get around town
Get around town
Where the people look good
Where the music is loud
Get around town
No need to stand proud
Add your voice to the sound of the crowd
Get in line now
Get in line now
Stay in time with the rhythm and rhyme
Get around town
Get around town
Where the people look good
Where the music is loud
Get around town
No need to stand proud
Add your voice to the sound of the crowd
Get around town
Get around town
Where the people look good
Where the music is loud
Get around town
No need to stand proud
Add your voice to the sound of the crowd
Get around town
Get around town
Where the people look good
Where the music is loud
Get around town
No need to stand proud
Add your voice to the sound of the crowd
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First Encounter - Tan Sri Tiong Hiew King
Tan Sri Tiong Hiew King
he sizes me up to know whether i know
how rich a sarawakian can be
first me in the mid 80s at the Rimbunan Hijau office in Jalan Mission, Sibu. I was working with the Holiday Inn Kuching and was paying a courtesy call. Holiday Inn Kuching was then the only five star hotel in Kuching.
Tan Sri Datuk Sir Hiew-king Tiong (simplified Chinese: 张晓卿; traditional Chinese: 張曉卿; pinyin: Zhāng Xiǎoqīng) is the Malaysian Chinese founder and chairman of the Rimbunan Hijau Group, a timber company founded in 1975. Its overseas timber operations in Papua New Guinea is the largest in that country. He also has interests in logging operations in Russia.
Tan Sri Datuk Tiong resides in Sibu, a town in Sarawak, of Borneo island that belongs to Malaysia. With a reported net worth of about US$1.1 billion, Tiong is ranked by Forbes as the 840th richest person in the world.- Wikipedia
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Baby's First Day Out
Government General Hospital
Maternity Ward No. 42
authorized intake : 65
actually admitted : 97
most busiest LABOUR ROOM
in the district
every 18 th minute
you will hear a new born cry
birth rate is higher
on Sundays and Holidays
24 x 7 Industry - very great service -
in the large pre-natal hall
there hangs a small, old sign board
both in Hindi and vernacular
' Beware of Thieves
Keep your belongings safe'
with an ugly insertion, as a last line,
‘Protect your child from being
Stolen or exchanged'
as if, the restricted labour ward is
just any other market place.
poem by Santhana Louis
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Husband's Song
the night is getting late
and i am inside my car
the cd player is off
the silence is too loud
to be ignored
at this hour the roads are clear
except for the checkpoint
at the boundary between
this town and the other town
the rain starts to drizzle
it is cold
but he is confident that
to the place of his destination
it will be warm and cozy
his wife is waiting for him
to be home again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Silence 1.
Most times when I'm hurt,
My silence speaks for me.
She speaks very loud;
Even louder than a megaphone.
I choose to be silent, -
When most things happen,
Not because I cannot speak;
Nor that my words have evaded me,
But because in my silence-
There's a challenging power.
Sometimes in my fears,
When my heart is filled with love,
And my eyes with tears;
I learn to love, just like a dove.
My mouth moves to speak,
But is suddenly cut short by silence,
Silence in love, silence in fear.
Silence in tears, silence in joy;
And when I'm in this mood,
My silence stands so tall-
Even taller than a giant;
She makes her way; -
Even more than spoken words.
Spoken words of loud emotions,
They meet my silence-
And they tremble in awe.
I could hear those words;
They say to themselves,
'How art silence so mighty? '.
poem by Echezonachukwu Nduka
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That the powers of labour, and of the other instruments which produce wealth, may be indefinitely increased by using their products as the means of further production.
quote by Nassau William Senior
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We cannot suppose therefore that God has made an order of beings, with such mental qualities and powers, for the sole purpose of being used as beasts, or instruments of labour.
quote by Thomas Clarkson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Remembrance
When the loud day for men who sow and reap
Grows still, and on the silence of the town
The unsubstantial veils of night and sleep,
The meed of the day's labour, settle down,
Then for me in the stillness of the night
The wasting, watchful hours drag on their course,
And in the idle darkness comes the bite
Of all the burning serpents of remorse;
Dreams seethe; and fretful infelicities
Are swarming in my over-burdened soul,
And Memory before my wakeful eyes
With noiseless hand unwinds her lengthy scroll.
Then, as with loathing I peruse the years,
I tremble, and I curse my natal day,
Wail bitterly, and bitterly shed tears,
But cannot wash the woeful script away.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Foggy Day
I was a stranger in the city
Out of town were the people I knew
I had that feeling of self-pity
What to do, what to do, what to do
The outlook was decidedly blue
But as I walked through the foggy streets alone
It turned out to be the luckiest day I've known
A foggy day, in London Town
Had me low, had me down
I viewed the morning, with much alarm
British museum, had lost its charm
How long I wondered,
Could this thing last
But the age of miracles, hadn't past
For suddenly, I saw you there
And through foggy London Town,
The sun was shining everywhere
For suddenly, I saw you there
And through foggy London Town,
The sun was shining everywhere
Everywhere
Everywhere
Everywhere
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald, music by George Gershwin, lyrics by Ira Gershwin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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New Potato Caboose
Last leaf fallen bare earth where green was born,
Black madonna two eagles hang against a cloud,
Sun comes up blood red wind yells among the stone,
All graceful instruments are known.
When the windows all are broken and your loves become a toothless crone,
When the voices of the storm sound like a crowd,
Winter morning breaks, youre all alone.
The eyes are blind, blue visions, all a seer can own,
And touching makes the flesh to cry out loud
This ground on which the seed of love is sown,
All graceful instruments are known.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Museum of Nothing
Although the museum had nothing on exhibit...
The people not believing this,
Would still come in droves to visit.
They would stand in line to wait.
And pay their fee to gain entry.
And inquire, once inside...
Why was nothing there,
To sustain them with pride.
And from room to vacant room,
They walked behind the tour guide!
So the board of directors,
Decided to please them all.
And changed the name of the museum!
The museum was renamed,
The Museum of Nothing.
And people came in the Winter,
Spring, Summer and Fall.
And 'nothing' it was affectionately called.
Although the museum had nothing on exhibit...
The people not believing this,
Would still come in droves to visit.
They would stand in line to wait.
And pay their fee to gain entry.
Some adjusting to the nothingness.
While others stood for hours,
Just to stare as if in disbelief.
Addicted to anything said to them.
And clearly easy to deceive.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I listen to the silence
I Listen To The Silence
Darkness about me
In the somnolent silence
The silence has substance
As thick as can be
silence about me
as loud as a scream
In a nightmarish dream
It can terrify me
Silence has a feel
Of darkness in velvet cloaked
As a desperate cry being choked
Phantasmic, yet real
As Quiet surrounds me
The silence has substance
The absence of presence
is deafening to me
Sounds whispery as paper
Things scurry about me
Sounds, soft, sad and scaly
Like venom and vapour
Silence is sound incomplete
Silence whirs, silence hums
Silence throbs, silence thrums
Silence has it’s own heartbeat
Quiet has movement,
Tho’ever so slow
Quiet has substance
and how do I know?
I listen to the silence...
as you do also
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Museum Of Idiots
They built this whole neighborhood out of wood, out of wood.
I guess I'll still be around when they burn, burn it down.
I will be standing around when they burn it down.
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
Honey, I'm there when you need me, please believe me, please believe me.
I'll still be right where you left me, if you manage to forget me.
Where we met is where you may forget.
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
If you and I had any brains, we wouldn't be in this place.
Chop me up into pieces if it pleases, if it pleases.
And when the chopping is through, every piece will say, "I love you."
Every piece of me will say "I love you."
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
Every piece of me will say "I love you, you you"
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Malaysiana - Rejang River
POETRY IN PROGRESS
I never knew you are a giant
until i went around the country
i saw the Klang and Gombak rivers
in Kuala Lumpur and and were surprised
to learn that they even called them rivers
arent them really just little rivers or streams?
the ones we put pavements over at the old market in Sibu
malaysians should see the Sarawak and Rejang Rivers
to know what Sarawakians mean by rivers
that would be a real integration of
geographical standads and how we see things
when after a rain and the sun begins to set,
a walk at the Rejang Esplanade does feel like
on a beach, the water lapping and splashing
the cool and fresh air revitalising the lungs and body
at sweet and pulpy pineapple town Sarikei
and sugary green orange town Bintangor
and at Kerto where vases and colourful pottery
are moulded out of the Rejang quality clay
Poetry in progress
(to be continued)
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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visiting Hiroshima
1>Peace Memorial Museum.
two buildings
the museum surveys the history of Hiroshima
and the advent of the nuclear bomb.
main focus August 6; the dropping of the bomb
and its outcome in human suffering
personally it upset me
2.Cenotaph for the A-Bomb Victims
Between the Museum
and the A-Bomb Dome
an arched tomb
for those who died
because
initial blast
and then
of exposure to radiation
3. The Register
Below the arch is a stone chest
holding a register
of these names,
there
are over 220,000
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Endless Poem
In a modern museum
In an old synagogue
In the synagogue
I
Within me
My heart
Within my heart
A museum
Within a museum
A synagogue
Within it
I
Within me
My heart
Within my heart
A museum
poem by Yehuda Amichai
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A day will come when there will be no battlefields, but markets opening to commerce and minds opening to ideas. A day will come when the bullets and bombs are replaced by votes, by universal suffrage, by the venerable arbitration of a great supreme senate which will be to Europe what Parliament is to England, the Diet to Germany, and the Legislative Assembly to France. A day will come when a cannon will be a museum-piece, as instruments of torture are today. And we will be amazed to think that these things once existed!
quote by Victor Hugo
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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