Le Morte d'Amour
(or, The Death of Love)

O cursed day! O cursed day!
My lady love has run away
I told her yea, she told me nay
O cursed day! O cursed day!

O cursed day! O cursed day!
With one fell word the lass did slay
And left me bleeding as I lay
O cursed day! O cursed day!

O cursed day! O cursed day!
As famished wolves do harshly bay
So must I howl, in great dismay
O cursed day! O cursed day!

O cursed day! O cursed day!
My crimson sins are flush as May
And heavy on my heart they weigh
O cursed day! O cursed day!

O cursed day! O cursed day!
Lord Father still this pain I pray
Lest I from thee should haply stray
O cursed day! O cursed day!

O cursed day! O cursed day!
My lifeblood swiftly ebbs away
My mangled thoughts in disarray
This love's a cruel game to play.

Just in case anyone was wondering whether this poem is autobiographical, it isn't. It was written for an anonymous friend of mine who had some issues with his love life. He seems to have moved on pretty fast, though. And as for me... well, if you don't have any love to begin with, it can't possibly die.

It's been a long time since the last post. Time to get all my poems from the last 3 months down on the site.

This one was inspired by Singapore's world-class public transport system, and partially by Thomas Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard".

Elegy Written Upon Missing A 156 Bus

The flowery fields before me spread
The radiant sun hangs overhead
My sleeping feet are roused to rush
Upon the sight of your chaste blush.

You charm me as the buds in spring
Or summer birds that sweetly sing
To me you are the autumn breeze
And crystal chill of winter's freeze.

For as the seasons come and go
Through rain and hail, sleet and snow
Still do I wait for you to come
To bear me gently, safely home.

But when you come, you rush on by
Ignoring such a worm as I
My heart, it breaks to see you when
My place is filled with other men.

Your ample bosom vast and free
Once held sufficient space for me
Yet you have sold yourself too cheap
And I, alas, can only weep.

Apollo rides his chariots bright
Across the heavens, thronged with light
Yet I, though spurned and shunned by chicks
Must take th'unhappy 156.

(A girl and bus share many traits
For both need cash and both come late
If you miss one, please don't dismay
Just grab the next that comes your way!)

Even my worst critics should admit, it was rather elegiac till the last stanza.

On a side note, I would love it if someone could do a practical criticism on one of my works. I do try to work in several literary devices throughout my poetry -- note the AABB rhyme scheme, the iambic eight syllable lines, the juxtaposition of the human condition against the greater background of nature and myth, and not to mention the personification of Singapore's most irregular bus service. Oh well. Don't suppose my poetry's going to make the A-level English syllabus anytime soon though.