We have become a nation now, though not without sweat and blood on our brow. We celebrate our heroes, we bury our demons, but in our festive throes, have we forgotten our women? We are not merely maidens, mothers and crones, we are not merely your mistresses or your amorous milestones; we are more, oh …
. You attract boys like a pack of bees to honey Though not all of us gentlemen, you see We do know we’re in the presence of a lady For whom we aim to please, to keep always happy. O! For the charms of your womanly warmth We’d wilfully be wanton; we’d arrest and alarm! …
. This is wine country. Adelaide was where Dionysus laid down to rest, they say, his warm genitals nestled amongst her verdant valleys. The god of wine spills abundance all over the land. A stranger would never thirst here nor be lack of good cheer, her people are friendly to the point of amusement. Neighbours …
. We disguise ourselves. This isn’t the colour of our skins. Our flesh betrays only our ethnicities, not our ambitions nor our answers (for what questions? we sometimes wonder). These clothes we wear, they do not make us. We are not nylon and polyester, linen or wool. We would like to think we’re silk perhaps, …
. You lie in bed, worn out from your fight “Rest and recover,” says he, “from your plight.” You barely understand a single word The dreams and shapes come and go with the lights This is a hospital bed, this is where angels fear to tread This is your quiet daze, have his grace instead …
1. The Promise Brothers and sisters, lend me your dreams. There is time yet (but not much) before they fade away for good. Do you wake up at dawn to a grey morning, downcast and devoid of life? Have you lost all desire to rise and reap your rewards of the day? Is your alarm …
You’ve been invited. To an exclusive soirée. Behave. We know how it will all end, of course. Everything falls apart, it’s the thing these days. So I begin to gently decline when she informs me it wasn’t a request. You’ve been invited. You will come. And in the pause, in the alarming silence, there hangs …
Kenny Mah believes in the good in people. He has been blogging for over ten years. No, his hands aren't tired. Yet.