Surprise from the United Kingdom and Canada

My poems have given me so many surprises every year I have been posting them on the net. This year, a Canadian designer took a line from my Memoir of a Geisha for the earrings she designed and sold on the internet. Someone also posted the poem on Marie Osmond Fan Site and along with it real beautiful paintings of Geisha at their best.
And I was also most surprised when two community sites in the United Kingdom took to promote my poems to the public there. Thank God, this would help the sales of my poetry collections when I eventually publish my books there. This community site in Scotland published one of my favourite autumn haiku poems depth of autumn/a few leaves on the tree/dancing on its poetry page:
Renfrewshire Community Website - Poetry
(John Tiong Chunghoo). A selection of poetry websites. BBC poetry page · Poem Hunter · Poetry Archive · Poetry Library · Poetry Society · Poets' Graves .
Sometime ago in July the Somerton Community Website (United Kingdom) also recommended its poetry society members to study one of my poems about the eerie world: ww.somerton.co.uk/page/thursday_17th_july The poem to study is "Of things Eerie" by john tiong Chunghoo. ... Issues, Courtyard Music with Gregory Wells King, Organ Recital by John Bodiley.

Of things Eerie, the Poem
-------------------------------
Of the unfrequented storeroom
Opposite the unlit kitchen you
Inevitably face while making
Your last drink for the night
Two unseen eyes staring at you
From the room that seems to
Have become the hideaway
For cantankerous spirits

Of the uneasy silence at early
Dawn in a forlorn lane near
An accident Spot which had
claimed a life, his soul crying
out for aids to fulfil his dreams

Of the minutes in a quiet
Moonlit night when the bus
Had stopped right in the
Shadows and gate of a vacant
House you know is haunted

Of the disturbed sleep in a
Small hotel where your bed
Faced a bathroom which
Seemed to harbour someone
Constantly watching over you

Of the swing in a lonely park
That moves and creaks in the
hairaising chill of a cold night

Memoir of a Geisha a poem
---------------------------------
between tokyo skyscrapers
her brilliant white powdered face dazzles
fancy of a thousand samurais
charming dainty seductive
unobstrusive sakura
first snow in summer
all year spring song

between the clinks of sake
heartstirring samisen driven ditties
she cheers up globe trotting
samurais now armed only with wads
of yen for ammunition

geisha a fragrant night bloom
opens tokyo to its riveting and
colourful past
her acuity is sharp as
a samurai sword
mellifluous vocals and
and dance gaits graceful
as spring swans

she softens the staunchest
of hearts warms, lightens up
their winter years
converting jaded souls
to a new morrow

her poems, haikus, tankas and
ancient tales put back the
lost souls into the modern samurais
in suits and ties

between jokes and heartfelt praises
her fame grows
between their laughters, joy
she rests her years

geisha.......geisha...her dainty steps
echo in the hearts of modern folks
her knowledge of old and new japan
should scales the sky

The Japanese kanji for “geisha” translate to artisan, apropos for the exquisitely costumed women who historically performed, sang, and danced for their male clients in 17th-century Japan. Today, Kyoto’s Gion district is one place where you might catch a glimpse of geisha apprentices, called maiko, as they wander narrow streets lined with craft shops, traditional inns, and temples. john tiong chunghoo

Comments about this poem (Memoir of a Geisha by john tiong chunghoo)
Sayuri Nitta (8/15/2008 6:05:00 AM) this is a wonderful way to describe a geisha. you can proberly tell i am a fan of the book, and film from my name. sayuri nitta, its not my real name, its the geisha name from memoirs of a geisha.
Ana Monnar (7/30/2007 8:52:00 AM) John, this is a beautiful poem. Thank you very much for sharing. I enjoyed it very much. The words are soooooooooo rich.
Raynette Eitel (11/21/2005 8:19:00 AM) This is lovely, John. The image of the tiny geisha with dainty feet juxtaposed with the skyscrapers of Tokyo is memorable. Good poem. Raynette
Max Reif (11/21/2005 7:40:00 AM) I know very little about Japanese traditions, but this is quite beautiful.

...Love was, Love is, Love will be, Love eternally

love was the lake in your two eyes
which you afforded me to swim in
taking me whole into your cherish
our joy jumped like fishes in spring waters

love is the road we have both vowed to
take hand in hand, heart to heart
spring, summer, autumn and winter
breathing in each other's breath
surviving on each other's strengths
and weaknesses taking challenges
like roses that bow and dance in the winds

love will be the maple each autumn paints
to celebrate a love tale in red blood passion
before they trail into divinity hands whispering
and sighing for an eternal blessing the joy of
two fishes jumping in spring waters

by john tiong chunghoo

I wander lonely as a Cloud

I wander lonely as a cloud
tip toeing eyeing with grace
the clear expanse of earth
a new blessing materialises
every second as friends join
me in scaling new heights

the sky's our limits we tell
ourselves as we rub shoulders
with grandest hills and mountains,
while the ever appreciative sun dresses
us up in a rainbow of colours

we dance light footed and determinedly
winning more friends to fire up the
azure sky with our glistening jewels

i wander lonely as a cloud forever
changing, hopeful, as friend earth
awaits an avalanche of goodwill
to spread far and wide for it to grow

by john tiong chunghoo

The National Anthems I like

I have been listening to lots of national anthems on the You-Tube and found that the following are some of the anthems I love very much:

Israel national anthem. Despite their violent history and at times, rejections by God as well as people in various parts of the world, the Jewish national anthem sounds like water in a lake, calm and shimmering with bright blessings. It goes into my top choice

Saudi Arab National Anthem. It is full of good energy and should be listened by those who want good fortune. I really fell in love with it.
The Czech National Anthem is also a favourite with its slow moving, steady and melodious sounds that make one float with it. The self assured
flamboyance of the Iraqi National Anthem makes me fall in love with it.
It is exactly opposite of the Egypt anthem which sounds quite full of pomposity (sorry Egyptian just an opinion).

The ratings for anthem according to my preference/liking
Sri Lanka (8), Japan (3), India (6), Pakistan (7.8), Bangladesh (8.3), China (7.8), North Korea (7.3), South Korea (6.9), United States (9), France (6.7), Spain (8.6), United Kingdom (8.6), Ireland (7.3), Hungary (7), Austria (7.3), Czech (10), Poland (6.7), Egypt (5.5), Iraq (8.6), Iran (9.3), Iran (9.3), Armenia (7.3), Switzerland (6.7).

Childhood River a Haiku published in New York's Chronogram

Phillip Levine
Subject: Chronogram Poetry Submission
July, 2008 (Chunghoo)

Hello John,
Thank you for submitting your poetry to Chronogram. As you may already know, I have decided to publish "Haiku/Childhood River..." in our July, 2008 issue. Good work.

Phillip Levine

The selected haiku;

childhood river
so Small
it has become

Being published is always a treasured experience for me. I was
overjoyed when Phillip, a literary giant in the United States, sent an email to tell me my haiku Childhod River has been published in Chronogram where Phillip is the Poetry Editor.

It is just a haiku but it means a lot to me to be in print and read in New York especially. Here is a biography of Phillip's work and achievements. I wish I could work more closely with him.

Philip Levine's Poems

Animals Are Passing From Our Lives
--------------------------------------------

It's wonderful how I jog on
four honed-down ivory toes
my massive buttocks slipping
like oiled parts with each light step.

I'm to market. I can smell
the sour, grooved block,
I can smell the blade that
opens the hole and the pudgy
white fingers that shake out the
intestines like a hankie.

In my dreams the snouts
drool on the marble, suffering
children, suffering flies, suffering
the consumers who won't meet their
steady eyes for fear they could see.

The boy who drives me along
believes that any moment
I'll fall on my side and drum my
toes like a typewriter or squeal
and shit like a new housewife
discovering television, or that I'll turn
like a beast cleverly to hook his teeth
with my teeth. No. Not this pig.


What Work Is
---------------------
We stand in the rain in a long line
waiting at Ford Highland Park.
For work.You know what work is--
if you're old enough to read this
you know what work is, although you
may not do it.Forget you. This is about
waiting, shifting from one foot
to another. Feeling the light rain
falling like mist into your hair,
blurring your vision until you think
you see your own brother ahead of you,
maybe ten places.You rub your glasses
with your fingers, and of course it's
someone else's brother, narrower across
the shoulders than yours but with the same
sad slouch, the grin that does not hide the
stubbornness,the sad refusal to give in to rain,
to the hours wasted waiting, to the knowledge
that somewhere ahead a man is waiting who will say,
"No,we're not hiring today," for any reason he wants.
You love your brother,now suddenly you can hardly
stand the love flooding you for your brother,who's
not beside you or behind or ahead because he's
home trying to sleep off a miserable night shift at
Cadillac so he can get up before noon to study his German.
Works eight hours a night so he can sing Wagner,
the opera you hate most, the worst music ever invented.
How long has it been since you told him you loved him,
held his wide shoulders,opened your eyes wide and
said those words,and maybe kissed his cheek?
You've never done something so simple, so obvious,
not because you're too young or too dumb, not because
you're jealous or even mean or incapable of crying in
the presence of another man, no,just because you don't
know what work is.

Phillip Levine a Biography

Philip Levine ( January 10, 1928, Detroit, Michigan) is a Pulitzer Prize-winning American poet. He taught for many years at California State University, Fresno. More recently he is the Distinguished Poet in Residence for the Creative Writing Program at New York University.
Levine grew up in industrial Detroit. The familial, social, and economic world of 20th century Detroit is one of the major subjects of his life's work. His portraits of working class Americans and his continuous examination of his Jewish immigrant inheritance (both based on real life and described through fictional characters) has left a monumental testimony of mid-20th century American life. It can be best found in books such as "They Feed the Lion," the National Book Award-winning "What Work Is," "A Walk with Tom Jefferson," and in his "New Selected Poems." Growing up, Levine faced the anti-Semitism embodied by a local celebrity, the pro-Hitler radio priest Father Coughlin.
Levine began to write poetry while he was going to night school at Wayne University (now Wayne State University) in Detroit and working days at one of that city's automobile manufacturing plants. Levine's working experience lent his poetry a profound skepticism in regard to conventional American ideals. In his first two books, On the Edge (1963) and Not This Pig (1968), the poetry dwells on those who suddenly become aware they are trapped in some murderous processes not of their own making.
In his first two books, Levine was somewhat traditional in form and relatively constrained in expression. Beginning with They Feed They Lion, Levine's poems are typically free-verse monologues tending toward trimeter or tetrameter. The music of Levine's poetry depends on tension between his line-breaks and his syntax. The title poem of Levine's book 1933 (1974) is a good example of the cascade of clauses and phrases one finds in his poetry.
On November 29, 2007 a tribute was held in New York City in anticipation of Levine's 80th birthday. Among those celebrating Levine's career by reading Levine's work were Yusef Komunyakaa, Galway Kinnell, E. L. Doctorow, Charles Wright, Jean Valentine, and Sharon Olds. Levine himself read several new poems. He thanked his students and asked them to refrain from asking for any more letters of recommendation.

Awards Won-

1995 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry - The Simple Truth"
1991 National Book Award - What Work Is
1979 National Book Critics Circle Award Ashes: Poems New and Old
1979 American Book Award for Poetry - Ashes: Poems New and Old
1979 National Book Critics Circle Award - 7 Years from Somewhere
1975 Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize "The Names of the Lost"
1987 Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize
Harriet Monroe Memorial Prize from Poetry
Frank O'Hara Prize
Two Guggenheim Foundation fellowships

A Virus has infected Me

it stays on my top snugly seated

in a white boney case,

hooked onto two powerful lenses,

a pair of sonar and smell detectors

and a bonus taste pad latched onto it,

not to mention the centre control that

takes messages from all in order to
manoevre the physique in the right
direction but the being that daily whispers?
converses? tiptoes over the corridors of
a hodgepode of mysterious terrains

which triggers fear and at times, the

blessed infusion of a dose of courage,

in the chamber of the heart, causing

machinery to crash? is he a harmful virus

we are still learning to clear, or is he the master

of a game on a multi dimensional new world

computer he so cleverly designed leaving

us in the dark of our own whereabouts?

by john tiong chunghoo

Roland Bastien (6/6/2008 8:06:00 PM) the post mumeric society created a so call transhumen being- verus from network devices can interfer with the subatomic consiousness but will never affected the De, which is that write substance into the brain- If your top chakra is open, no matter what that device can produce, the virus will die- Vajrapani will be beside your mind.

Candle in the Wind

Candle in the Wind
entrancing, entrancing
the way you flicker and flicker
holding on so tenuously
tenaciously to the light of life
to stage a shadow dance

you tiptoe your way so
effortlessly and subtly onto
my heart, my soul, evoking
memories of last autumn you
stepped out of my life, so sudden,
so abrupt, the leaves strained to
hold a a million of your smiles
gliding, trailing, twirling in the winds

your memories now flicker
flicker like the bristles of an
artist's brush and the candle
in the wind that infuse a pastiche
of warm and rueful pathos onto
our fleeting and fluctuating relationship

candle in the wind
I feel like a candle in the wind
holding onto its light fighting to
keep myself alighted, to make
my own existence relevant

candle in the wind
I feel like a candle in the wind
holding onto light fighting
to keep myself alighted,
to make my own existence relevant

The Real Snake

poor snake
life is equal
so God says
but look at the snake
look at the snake..
it cant even walk
but slithers and always
at the lowest of place
and everywhere the message is
it's evil, culprit of the Great Fall
everything the snake lowly humbly takes
cane, blows and all
you can swing it, you can stretch it
you can bend it in any angle because
it's just a snake

there is a snake too barely two inches long
yet it's the most pliable of them all
and that's the real one where the first divine curse should go
guarded all round in a red glowing ruby palace
and gleaming pillars of enamel the cunning and sly creature
in all smugness and warmth could never get enough of
the world sweet, sour, bitter, salty, hot or cold
it could make satan of god and god of satan
and turn the world upside down
without even having to leave home
effortless, treacherous as the Niagara Falls


Subbaraman N V (9/17/2007 2:15:00 AM) Absolutely great! That is why the great saint Thiruvalluvar, the author of the THIRUKKURAL observed 'Ya kaavaaraayinum naa kaakka - kaavaakkaal sokaappar sollizukkuppattu' Whatever you take care of or not, be sure to take care of your tongue, lest you will come to great grief!

Charles Chaim Wax (1/15/2006 9:58:00 AM) a poem of truth the grand snake a wonder and so beautiful the human really twisted and sometimes sordid words ripping up truth a fine poem

The flower blooms as the Universe

a million years for a flower to
unveil the art of divine creationto us
- fragrance, shades, curves, texture
and minute ingenious designs -
filamens, pistils, stagmens, pollen.
orchids, roses, crocuses, geraniums
petal by petal, inch by inch, second by second,
sun and moon, moon and sun a million other
universes accompany the bloom as it slowly,
surely digests the world to show us its beauty

as the bloom crowns us all at the apex of
its wonder - a million other universes too
have been born and move inch by inch towards
achieving a full bloom in the heavens

Flowers are Teachers

Flowers are teachers
------------------------
red, purlple, pink, orange
a million shades they bow
twist, turn, spiral, twirl, swirl,
out of nature's blessed hands to
liven up this realm an inspiration
to dancers to tap the talents in their system
for the steps to take audience's heart
the way bees and butterflies
extract heaven's juices from their
folds that always springs a frenzied
fluttering dance of estacsy

by john tiong chunghoo

Sandra Fowler (6/2/2006 3:32:00 AM) I can see your flowers dancing tuned to the music of the spheres. Lovely poem. Kind regards, Sandra

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
----------------------------------------------
a squirrel runs
across frosty evening
on a plain of white
carrying a cosy warmth
i would love to have
light greyish coat
impeecably patched
and stitched for the season

time runs across space
mindless as a clock which
has forgotten to crawl
everywhere the trees gently
whisper sweet nothings
and cavort away the evening
baring skeletons and bones to
the heavens to swear their love

snow falls like mannas onto
a million stretched hands
that grovel to receive every
trace of divine providence

breathless, breathless
the white glides and bounces
in an evening that holds onto
everything like forgotten time

by John Tiong ChungHoo

Theodora Steinbrueck-Onken (11/9/2007 3:37:00 AM)
I like it a lot, i really do! Theo

A Better Resurrection

A Better Resurrection
--------------------------
there is a larger life than life,
my life and i am glad to be a part
i am a torso that speaks out
when the water dries up
i would beat a step out
when the axis ceases to turn
i too would beat a step out
when the plants all make their exit
i too would follow suit
this creature called earth- the trees, river,
air, humans, animals -the laws that
govern it run this physique too
god turns the earth and pumps our hearts

Ravi Chandran (4/25/2007 11:32:00 PM) that was really a great poem. i really enjoyed it. please be kind to read my poems and feel free to comment it. it will be very useful for me my address: www.poemhunter.com/ravi-chandran thank you my friend.

Jim Foulk (12/16/2006 11:28:00 AM) very well done john. you do write good poems, keep it up.

Sandra Fowler (10/29/2006 4:31:00 AM) Inspired by Sylvia Plath, but written in your own unique style. Very eloquent, John. Kindest regards, Sandra

Meredith Creek (12/15/2005 4:35:00 PM) I really, really like this poem. I can FEEL every word...nice job! Meredith

Debbie Kean (11/26/2005 7:27:00 PM) This poem is very deep - I truly like theway you express yourself.

A House Upon the Height

I love this poem too which I posted on Poemhunter.com

A House upon the Height
-------------------------------
an abandoned house
saps the spirit with its
nagging and chilling emptiness,
a black hole that sucks out
the shimmering warm sun to
throw shadows and ice over
the hazy lanes of imagination

a broken empty house on
the height echoes relentless
gloom and tales of woe through
each of its missing chilling window panes
missing pages of a horror story that solicit
entries from the haunted mind
of an innocent who has lost his
way in the dark of night

the overgrown grass strays
haphazardly and almost in a haste
to doors, windows, walls and
collapsing roof to claim its static prey
they wake up a body of monks (ghost bumps)
with their reverberating aum aum chants
that have the negative effects of sending shivers
down one's spine

a torn and soiled jacket strewn
across the menacing garden
a little baby's drum, holed and beaten out
of shape by the unkind weather
carry with them broken dreams

an empty house wears itself out
sooner than an occupied house
a world shunning loner, who eventually
descends into despair, a wretched soul losing
all its charm and love

Ben Gieske (8/26/2008 7:53:00 AM) This poem is open to multiple meanings. I can read it as referring to one house (the sucking in effect) , or to two houses (the second one with forces echoing outward) . I like the “lazy lanes of imagination” and the vivid images that follow in the outdoors around this house.

Callie Carroll (8/10/2008 4:28:00 PM) Excellent! Thank you for including your source of inspiration; I too use this technique (reading is my fuel) . What a perfect way to describe the way a decrepit house captures us, 'saps the spirit with its nagging and chilling emptiness.' You communicate perfectly the despair.

A Celestial Stage

I really enjoy writing this poem which I titled The Celestial Stage.
It elicited very good review when I posted it on Poemhunter.com.

A Celestial Stage
-------------------
A grandiose theatre
stage our universe
The sky its backdrop,
The twinkling stars,
Its white angels
The Moon its alluring princess
And the Sun its master of ceremony
Honouring everything with a name
Giving each created a character and form
Pampering the windows of our souls
The lightnings and thunders
Are the drums and strobelights
Punctuating the climaxes and suspense
Of these celestial histronics
Raging through our heavens
And the cumulous clouds the scene parters
The gentle winds are to show directions
And the rains a bonus to calm
The audience's nerves and boost fertility
To beget flowers, greenery and everything lovable!

Comments by friends at Poemhunter.com:


Ben Gieske (8/26/2008 7:46:00 AM) Full of active and imaginative images feeding the senses and imagination. I like the ideas you create; ex., “the rains a bonus to calm” (very soothing) , and “Honouring everything with a name” (a great idea) .

Fred Babbin (8/23/2008 11:09:00 AM) Not my way of writing, but it's well done. I like it.

Penny Hemans (11/5/2007 3:55:00 AM) the contrast between our planet and the universe is superb john.. opens out a whole plethora of thoughts... xxxPenny

Cheryl Moyer (7/20/2007 10:55:00 AM) john - You paint a gorgeuos world indeed! I wish I could hang it on my wall like a Picasso! Check out my 'Birth bangs' sometime and see if you like it. thanks for this - Cheryl

Robert Howard (1/26/2007 9:13:00 AM) A lovely and gracious poem and a powerful affirmation of life. I love the driving metaphor of the universe as the greatest of all performances. It flows like beautiful music.
nn mn (6/16/2006 2:04:00 PM) Nicely woven - good optics.

Duncan Wyllie (4/14/2006 10:01:00 AM) Lovely imagery, colourful languge, thankyou for sharing your art, Love Duncan

Elya Thorn (1/2/2006 10:56:00 AM) Amazing imagery, 'Celestial stage' I never heard this word combiantion but now.... A very very good poem!

Gina PrettyBrownEyes (12/20/2005 3:50:00 PM) i love your descriptions and i like the idea of this poem. it was interesting

Chionh Zhe Wen (12/18/2005 7:19:00 AM) Very beautiful poem, I love it a lot

John Keats

This is said to be one of John Keats' best poem:

Ode to Autumn
-----------------

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cell.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,---
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Biography of John Keats
(1775 - 1821)

John Keats was born on October 31, 1775 in London. His parents were Frances Jennings and Thomas Keats. John Keats was educated at Enfield School, which was known for its liberal education. While at Enfield, Keats was encouraged by Charles Cowden Clarke in his reading and writing. After the death of his parents when he was fourteen, Keats became apprenticed to a surgeon. In 1815 he became a student at Guy's Hospital. However, after qualifying to become an apothecary-surgeon, Keats gave up the practice of Medicine to become a poet. Keats had begun writing as early as 1814 and his first volume of poetry was published in 1817. In 1818 Keats took a long walking tour in the British Isles that led to a prolonged sore throat, which was to become a first symptom of the disease that killed his mother and brother, tuberculosis. After he concluded his walking tour, Keats settled in Hampstead. Here he and Fanny Brawne met and fell in love. However, they were never able to marry because of his health and financial situation. Between the Fall of 1818 and 1820 Keats produces some of his best known works, such as La Belle Dame sans Merci and Lamia. After 1820 Keats' illness became so severe that he had to leave England for the warmer climate of Italy. In 1821 he died of tuberculosis in Rome. He is buried there in the Protestant cemetery. ..