I'm a poet, and I didn't even realise that I was one

Something I never thought in school,
was that poetry could ever be cool.
Endless words, verse by verse,
all of them verbose, none of them terse.

I hated Donne, Keats and Dawe,
Shakespeare too. My, what a bore.
The only time that I could smile
was hearing Seuss, written with such style.

I never really handled words
with the cool dexterity of those nerds
who sat around, and made bad bad puns,
and scathing comebacks like "ya mum"!

But I grew up, and learnt a thing
or two, that helped my understanding.
It made me appreciate the thought
and time put in by creative sorts.

I thought that I could do it too,
it can't be that hard to put two
lines together that also rhyme
while still getting my point across the line.

But it's much harder than you think,
keeping the rhythm at the cost of sync-
ronous thoughts and similar ideas,
just picking words that rhyme, like tortillas.

Poetry is pretty cool,
a highly expressive writing tool.
I really think I like it now,
others expressing what their minds allow.

It's not all good, there's poor poetry,
written by literary tragics like me.
Just accept the facts, verse after verse,
some poems are better, some poems are not as good.

Strange Encounters

We went out for my mum's birthday last nite. We just went to a local restaurant in Hurstville, then decided to get some dessert. Being the cheap Asians that we are, we ended up at our local Coles, picking up a few groceries along the way. Anyway, my dad was in charge of the trolley, while the rest of us started puttering around the fresh food section. We naturally convened, I think we were in the vegie department, when I looked around. Mum, sister, dad, no trolley.
"Dad, where's the trolley?"
He looks at me blankly, blinks once or twice, then turns around, looking for the trolley. There are a couple of them strewn around the place, each with a few items sitting in them. My dad takes a step towards them, to seek the empty trolley that he had abandoned only a minute before.

There was a man - probably in his 50's, with a crew cut, polo shirt, shorts and sandals - who was standing around. He must have overheard us, because when he saw us glance in the direction of his trolley, he stepped up, pointed at the trolley, pointed at himself and then uttered a single menacing word. "Mine".
My brain was suddenly overloaded with potential comebacks and pithy lines (well not really - it was overcome with the fact that a good response would have been really funny) as the man proceeded to push his trolley away to the next aisle. I think my dad was equally as stunned by this little incident, but as we looked around we realised why he had responded so strongly.
"I think that guy stole our trolley!"

To this day (ok, it's less than 12 hours later) I still can't work it out. Who enters a grocery store, ignores the plethora of trolleys sitting just outside the entrance and then steals an empty trolley - and when the potential of being found out arises, proceeds to engage in intimidation tactics?

Help Needed

Oh no! Let's get out there and support a struggling business!
http://www.smh.com.au/news/Business/Krispy-Kreme-posts-loss-stock-down-17-per-cent/2004/11/23/1100972359053.html

Busy as a Bee

I'm just starting to realise how busy I'm gonna be in the next week or two. I'm not really looking forward to it, but in a funny way, I am.
I don't even want to begin to think about next year - although ironically that's what some of these meetings I have is about.
Yes, I'm bored. Yes, I have nothing better to be blogging about. Yes, I'm going to bed now.

Big Trouble in Little Chinese Eyes

May be it won't be so bad if I can't read articles like this - after all, ignorance in bliss.
http://www.smh.com.au/news/Breaking/Heavy-computer-use-linked-to-glaucoma/2004/11/17/1100574499404.html

While I Was Sleeping

The weirdest thing happened to me today on the way home.

Town Hall: I get on the train as usual, casually observing the people in the carriage.
Central: people get off, and I assume my typical position at this time of the day - leaning against the carriage door, thankful for the support it gives my back.
Redfern: not too many people getting on, maybe 2 of them. I close my eyes and tilt my head back so that it too leans against the door. As we pull out of the tunnel, my eyes flicker open to catch a glimpse of the sunlight. Ah sunlight, it's been so long. While I'm staring out the door opposite me, I notice a girl sitting a little to the right of my gaze. She's sitting there, looking at me, with half a smile on her face. I turn to look at her, at which point she reveals an impish grin. I begin to lose confidence in my assertion that I don't know her, so I politely smile back, close my eyes, and then lean my head back once again against the door.
Sydenham: I have to stop leaning against the door for fear of falling out when the doors open. But we are soon on our way again, with me once again greedily taking as much sleep as I can get. My eyes open once again to see how far the next station is. "Are you ok?" I turn to see the girl still looking at me, still smiling, but with a look of concern in her eyes. Too lazy to speak, desparately not wanting to waste any energy that I have so carefully gathered, I manage to give her a quick smile and a nod. She smiles as well (actually, I don't think she ever stopped) and nods understandingly. "Oh, you're sleeping". I continue to smile and nod, as my eyelids return to their familiar position.
Wolli Creek: People alight from the train, and I notice empty seats on the other side of the screen. No-one else is interested, so I decide to take all of the 3 steps between my current position and the closest seat. I sit and resume my self-prescribed course of public snoozing.
Rockdale: I'm sitting directly across from her, her gaze unwavering, her smile perpetual. She sees me open my eyes, and begins to talk. "So, are you Korean?" I promptly proceed to introduce myself as an Australian, and explain to her the intricacies of my background (dad's from HK, mum's from Indo, I'm from here) while she explained her knowledge of Asian languages (it was quite impressive, especially since she claims to have learnt it off the internet). My guess is that she wanted to try out her language skills for her upcoming tour of Asia, and I didn't fail to disappoint.
Kogarah: We kept on chatting. I found out that she was born in Sydney, then moved down to Victoria before coming back here. We paid out the AFL.
Hurstville: This is my stop. I got up to leave, waited patiently during that awkward silence between when I got up and when the train actually stopped. Again, my polite smile. "Well, have a nice... life" she said. Curses. My departing remark was "It was nice to meet you". Unfortunately my premeditated message was already half-way out of my lips before I could register what she said, and generate an equally appropriate response. Oh well, like I'll ever see her again. I step off the train, and proceed up the stairs. How bizarre, how surreal.

Well, even now, I still don't know what to make of this encounter. I'm still a little freaked out. Oh well, I'm sure there's a sermon illustration in there somewhere.

Sleep Mortgage

It's been shown that an increasing number of Australians have been accumulating what researchers are calling sleep debt. In a world where time is money, people have cashed in, and are sleeping less than they used to, and less than what would be considered healthy.

From the last 36 hours, I think it would be safe to say that I do not have sleep debt - I have a sleep mortgage. For a time period where I have spent 4 times as much time driving than sleeping (8 hours of driving, 2 hours of sleep) I am suffering suprisingly little side-effects. Unlike previous occasions where I have been assulted by a vast array of symptoms from a deprivation of sleep, I am currently feeling none of those related feelings. I don't have a headache, my mind is as clear and sharp as you would expect on a well-rested day, and my body isn't overwhelmed with a desire to just collapse.
The only explanation I could think of is this. At most banks, if you have a relationship - be it debit or credit - with them worth more than a certain amount ($20,000 is the figure quoted by a large Aurtalian bank) then you are exempt from all account keeping fees. Well it appears that I have finally reached that point. All those naggling little fees like tiredness, poor concentration and blurred vision no longer apply to me, so great is my relationship with the Sleep Bank.
And the great thing is that you get to pay them back in little installments. Just today I made 2 micro-sleep repayments. My favourite quote from this weekend: "Ah, the microsleep. It's like thge ultimate power nap".

Wow Again

ok, this one requires reading, but still... wow.
http://www.smh.com.au/news/News/Electric-shock-its-faster-than-a-Porsche-911/2004/11/11/1100131165414.html

Like Wow

*picks up jaw*
Beats my Camry hands down
http://media.smh.com.au/?rid=15055&sy=smh&source=smh.com.au%2F&t=2I5BT0&ie=1&player=wm7&rate=376&flash=1

The Greed Garden

Well it's Melbourne Cup day today. People are happy. Clothes are bright. And hats are being passed around. Not the hats with big feathers stuck into them - I'm talking about the sweeps. Offices across the nation (except in stupid Victoria, where they get a public holiday) are passing around the hat, putting in their money, and pulling out a ticket with the name of their horse.
As a known conservative, there is no question in my mind. It is not OK to gamble. But I guess the question that's been popping up in my mind is: is this really gambling?
If the bad characteristic of gambling is greed, does that mean you can gamble as long as you're not greedy? Can it be justified as "getting involved in an activity with colleagues"? Surely as long as you're not doing it with the expectation of winning money, then it's OK. And if you don't, it will alienate you from the other people in your office. Is it really worth it?
But then greed isn't necessarily something that lives fully-grown in people. Isn't it like all sins, something that exists in our hearts, but only proceeds to take root as we begin to feed it?

Watching a race isn't bad, nor is supporting one of the racers. Putting money into something for no return is bad business, but possibly a good social activity. After all, there can only be one winner, and if it's not you, then you can bond with the others who didn't win. But it's fertilising an ever-present seed. It's watering the garden bed of greed. I don't think I know enough about gardening to extend this analogy any further. But you get the idea - the results may not be evident straight away, but the roots are working their way in to establish a firm grip. It may be slow, it may be subtle, but it is happening. No matter how thin that layer of mulch, it's still contributing to the growth of something - no matter how well you dress it up - totally and utterly selfish.