Who the Fakawi

Who the Fakawi?
Cried the lost tribes of Galilee,
There were twelve at the start,
Ten were left when two lost heart,
Four got bogged in loose terrain
And were never seen again;
Of the six remaining,
Four showed lack of training,
And the trek their energy draining,
The last two, one headed east,
The other headed west,
One ceased to exist,
Leaving the twelfth the best
Fakawi among themselves.

Anna Mastura: Charge Of The Light Foodage

Sticks and stones may break bones,
But for Anna, six,
A fork and a spoon is the fix,
To separate fish flesh from bone;
By cheek in jowl,
Soup in bowl,
She attacks the food in her plate:
Elbow to the left,
Elbow to the right,
Anna piles the rice and pries the fish,
Filling grains and fleshy fillet,
Fork to the fore, spoon an added boon,
In the swoop to the dish of health;
In goes a sliver of flesh and a mound of rice
Into the mouth and jaws of death.
A klink now, then a klunk,
As fork misses the chicken
And slides off the bone
Follows the spoon
On the heel of the fork
As metal scrapes the dock.

Zain Azrai Zaharan

Jai, Jai, his Papa's son,
Comes home at half past one,
In the rain or in the sun,
Straightaway asks for lunch,
Is it ready, is it done.

Jai, Jai, his Papa's son,
Look at the way he runs,
Over a clean pair of heels,
Knocking a pair of buns,
As he disappears into the hills,
That is how fast he runs.

A Land Hog and a Sea Cucumber

Who says a dog and a cat cannot be friends?
Who says a land hog cannot make it with a sea cucumber?
Who says a pedal bike on land
Cannot hitch with a paddle craft on water?
As the Malays say, a rind of tamarind from the tree,
And a pinch of salt from the sea,
End up in the cooking pot,
Or, as in the case of the folder
And the hardshell in the picture above,
In front of the rider's front porch.

Ah huh, ah huh, I like it ...

Late Pilate

I'm late, I'm late, says Late Pilate,
Koyak pisang makan kulit;
Late to bloom,
Late to blog,
Pilate comes lately -
Can't say yet,
But at the rate he's always late
He may even die late!
Now that is one slate
To elate late Pilate.

Al-Maari: Ronin, Rodin, Khayami

A ronin samurai out of kilter
goes in search of a new master
and found one, a Sufi
in the person of Al-Ma'ari
who is ronin, rodin and khayami.

A Woman, A Kayaker, In A Storm

When a storm brews up
In a woman's heart
She seeks an outlet and an entry;
When a paddler senses a storm,
He makes for the coast
Seeking an inlet
To point his kayak and enter.

Sara the Sixie, Bully to the Brontosaury

Sara, year six and a half,
Hold your back straight,
Keep your chin up,
Lock your eyes ahead,
Plant your feet square;
Mind your manners, maid,
Keep them fine and fair.

Of the mess you made,
No cause for fright,
Angels will clear in the night,
But you march off to bed at four,
And wake up past noon to
Make for the bathroom door!
Of the little crab I caught, if it is still alive,
A little brine water it don't deprive;
If it has died, give it a proper burial rite -
Here a stick green, here a petal bright.

Crabbie, can we turn off the tv now?
It is already past midnight -
But ...
Crabbie, can we turn the thingy off now?
It is already past three ...
But ...
Crabbie, last call, it's four!
About time you get it right, Papy!
Cries the bully
To the brontosaury -
Dimming the telly.

Class 64: Oink To The Oi

Brayed Oi United to Oink FC:
Oi, Fulsome Cowboy,
Long time no see!
For a daily dorky,
A day awol,
Is cause for worry.

Whassup? No more hawing at the Club?
Whatsa jazz? You running outta gas?
C'mon in, grab some grub!
WAH, YA, SZ and I,
Are worried and wondering why.

Altho the tip of your lance-in-pencil
Is at times sharp, at times limp,
We, members of the Tribal Council,
Are in no trance, being
Neither a zombie, nor a wimp.

We have sensitivities a few, you Fing,
So go easy on the Malay thing-a-ling,
On this, the Net Forum,
Mindful of tribal decorum,
We frown on any hokum-pokum;
We are here primarily to say Hello;
Occasionally warn of non-halal products, Lo!
A virus or two, maybe worms too,
While passe are jokes leached from the loo,
Golf and dinner invites are okay too,
That's all that are comfortable, Yahoo!

So no, we don't have to sit cross-lapped,
Holding a cup to your crap;
What to you are carps and complaints,
Not even profound, just plain profane,
Are to us a yarn, held in disdain;
To the head, heavy; in the butt, a pain.

Ever wonder why JoeK, TA and AI,
And the rest of class 64,
Perched on table high,
Don't dang deign the padang turun,
And with one another interact?
Even if the padang is only the Net?

No, not because they lead busy lives,
Grasshopping down the Green,
Or being Lounge Lizards at a Resort,
But you've turned this once merry hive,
Into a burial site that is barely alive,
With many a sting, many a sigh,
And raised the bar a notch,
The heat a degree, too high.

Not that we engineer, captain, school dean,
Private practitioner, exporter-importer,
Political aspirant and tin-miner,
Mostly ex, some botak, others botox'd,
Are lacking in might and means,
But we find your demeanor,
Obnoxious in the extreme.

Our sacred cows tribal,
You denounced as inconsequential,
Trivial; our Cause Celebre,
The need of the Murid for a Murshid,
You deemed as lacking in merit;
A Taksub Terrible,
Not at all cerebral;
Our best barb pro September Eleven -
Even Steven, contra Americum -
You scoffed off as schoolboy tantrum;
How not to be sore on that score.

So go easy on the cheesy Lizzy,
Cicak, ciplak and cheapo cc,
Spare your old mate, the venom of hate;
Stave off your tirade,
From this Forum, small grade,
On to a bigger parade;
And maybe, fain,
We shall meet again,
Over tehs tarade.

Otherwise we will in chorus,
In unison, vociferous,
Cry Oi to your Oink,
No less.

Neofeudalism, you say?
Oi by a ruler of yesterday?
Reserved for his gundek and gecko?
Recalled here for its cili echo?
Nerd, geek, wacko and cracko,
All melded into one, watcho!

Bluster and bustle,
Hive off to the hustle,
Dorky for the day,
Blather to the bray,
Boy oh boy,
Oink to the Oi.