Patchwork of Poems: December 2024

Thursday, December 19, 2024

Ascher & His Adventures

ASCHER & HIS ADVENTURES

Ascher had a toy robot and ambulance.

He laid down on the floor, placing the robot across his tiny body.

His ambulance was parked nearby.

He called out. “Help, Grandma, it’s an emergency.”

Ascher stood on short stool, peering over his cot. He fancied he was on the bridge of a great sailing ship.

“I'm on a ship, momma. I'm a pirate,” he said.

“Look over there,” he continued, pointing his finger.

"It's a whale."

One afternoon, Ascher struck a pose with arms folded and wearing a pair of goggles.

With kung-fu kicks and flailing arms, he announced "I'm Action Ascher."

Ascher imagined himself a firefighter, he created a fire hose from a toy vacuum cleaner.

He stood over his toys scattered on a table, hose in hand with the swishing sound of water, pouring over it.

When asked what he was doing, he said, "I'm a firefighter. I'm a firefighter, momma. There's a fire on the roof."

Those who are kind and considerate to Allah's creatures, Allah bestows His kindness and affection on them. Show kindness to the creatures on the earth so that Allah may be kind to you. (Hadith - Abu Dawud and Tirmidhi)

Taffy the cat is gray and white and tiger striped. He's the pet of one little girl with brown curls, named Zulaikha Elsbeth.

He's an aristocrat, old Taffy the cat. Though he comes from a long line of alley felines, he's regal through and through.

Zulaikha sees to that. Nothing is too good for her cat. She gives in to his every whim -- strokes under the chin and gourmet tuna from a tin.

Taffy the cat is equally well groomed and perfumed. Never a hair nor a whisker is ever out of place. And ribbons and bows dangle 'round his face. Suffice it to say, it's Zulaikha's way of keeping her Taffy preened and cleaned.

Even when Taffy the cat scrapes up a fight with a rat or another cat, Zulaikha fears one nasty bite might well do him in. So she always shouts to him, “Taffy, come! Come here!”.

When for days it appears Taffy has gone away and is napping nowhere near Zulaikhha's bunk or her daddy's car trunk, she often misses her little dear.

But when he reappears at the neighbor's house next door, it's all hugs and kisses for him.

The same was true the day Zulaikha stepped on Taffy's paw and he scratched her with his claws. Zulaikha cried, “Ow!” and off he fled.

Only to later return and meow. “Sorry is what he meant,” says Zulaikha. Now all is on the mend and the two are great friends again.

There is no end to Zulaikha's love for Taffy the cat. Nor would there be if he were a gnat or a dove. Because she knows Allah commands her so, to care for them all, no matter how large or small.

©1997. "Zulaikha and Taffy the Cat" by Timm Breyel. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be copied, broadcast, reproduced in print or electronically represented without permission from the author.

Ascher & His Machines

ASCHER & HIS MACHINES

There was a young boy named Ascher. He was a toddler of two.

He liked to make machines from his toys. His machines were not really real machines, just make-believe ones.

One day Ascher made a mixer.

He turned an empty plastic pail into a mixing bowl. A pedal from the front wheel of his tricycle became a whisk.

For flour, eggs, milk and what-not he used small blocks. He put these in the pail.

While swirling the pedal in the pail, round and round, he made the whirring sound of a mixer.

What was the inspiration for Ascher's machine? It was his grandmother's electric mixer.

Another time Ascher made a camera.

He took a pair of toy binoculars. He took the lenses from it.

He found a small block of wood from a pile of boards. It had a large hole and an uneven shape.

He placed one of the lenses in the hole, lifted it up and said "A camera".

What was the inspiration for Ascher's machine? It was his daddy's camera.

Ascher even made a water pump.

He cobbled together a toy steering wheel for a valve...

...a small water wheel and a couple of trucks for the pump itself...

...and several baby bottles to form the piping.

What was the inspiration for Ascher's machine? The water pump in his parents' house.

Ascher made a water fountain too.

He took a stopper from a kitchen sink. Placed it atop a few wooden blocks, then announced to all present, "A fountain".

What was the inspiration for Ascher's machine? The water fountain in his grandparents' garden.

Once while playing rescue-and-emergency with his police car, ambulance and firetruck, Ascher picked out two pieces of plastic from his toy box.

He pulled out a small scoop and the lid from a mini-milk container.

He joined the two pieces, placed it to his mouth, and said "Speaker."

What was the inspiration for Ascher's machine? It was a bullhorn he had seen in a cartoon.

Month after month, Ascher continued to make more machines.

When he fancied a thing of his liking, he would build it and imagine himself in this make-believe world.

It made him happy and happiest to know people liked his machines.

Sunday, December 15, 2024

House Pest

HOUSE PEST

There are lizards that leap and lizards that creep. There are some with horns and many more camouflage born. But methinks in all this world there's only one worth any mention at all.

You might say he's an orang bunian , this lizard no larger than the hand. He prowls by day. He stalks by night. But should you sharpen your sight, you just might see he's a tiny creature as colorless as sand and malleable as clay.

You might even say he's an acrobat, a trapeze artist on the crawl. That's if you consider catching insects from ceiling to wall a death-defying act.

For certain he's not the sumpah-sumpah , the princely lizard one wizard turned into a chameleon. But were the legend really known it might well be shown he was the jester of the court the day the spell was evoked,

Oh, he's a jester alright! He's a prankster of the highest rank. Why, were you to hear his knock -- the sort of sound he makes -- you too might think of nothing more than to check the door. But I tell you now, it's just a gimmick, another knack with him to go and mimic the neighbor next door.

I've even heard it said he has the curious of habit of slithering into bed when we, humans, have wrapped ourselves in sheets and fallen off to sleep. So should you be caught unaware of something squirming in your underwear, do not for a moment presume it is a louse or your amorous spouse. It might well be that little fellow, the cosymbote platyurus .

No matter what his name is -- and I might add cicak rumah (house lizard) -- he's still the four-legged menace that roams up and down every Malaysian home. And were it not for that very fact, he might easily be the family pet. But alas, you see, he is but a simple household pest!

Wednesday, December 11, 2024

Rainy Day

RAINY DAY

Spent the afternoon measuring time with so many raindrops. It's monsoon season.

No different than years past when rainfall tap danced across tin roofs, like it did half a lifetime ago in an old kampung house.

Or the time rain drummed a mesmerizing pitter-patter atop a solitary Japanese teahouse, way up in the central highlands of Malaysia, while slowly sipping a warm cup of matcha.

Except that today, Khatijah and I were at hospital, having lunch in an al fresco cafe when the rain began to pour. As it rained and rained and rained, we watched healthy and not so fortunate souls pass by.

It made me think how wonderful the rainfall was; how nice it was to be healthy; and how blessed I was to spend this moment with my beloved.

Time Passages

TIME PASSAGES

How uncanny it seems to be stuck in the past and present at one time.

And yet, the juxtaposition happens more often than perhaps we realise.

Certainly the trio of boys with cellphones in hand had no idea. They did not see that they were actually time-tripping betwixt the trishaw and red phone booth -- two relics from another age.

I, myself, stood nearby waiting for Dr. Who to appear.

Boatman

BOATMAN

I'm just a humble soul waiting on the shore.

The boatman's not coming, not today, nor anytime soon.

I may stay here a spell, no more, no less than an hour or so.

The boatman knows.

He has heard I still have unfinished business on the isle.

Tuesday, December 10, 2024

Pak Haji

PAK HAJI

Perhaps you have seen the pak haji. Even know of him, this grandfather of a man. His head is kupiah capped and his chin beard is grey and neatly cropped.

He peddles a rust-eaten bicycle, a black and white Raleigh, through the kampung. His plaid sarong and lightly hued Baju Melayu always seem to flow at a pace that belies his age.

Always smiling and kindly too, he raises a hand to greet and wish the passerby, "Assalamu 'alaikum."

By all appearance he is a man of modest means. He has little care for cars and new fangled gadgets. Never is he a man given to fancy Western dress. And never is he given to frivolous chatter.

Everyday in clockwork precision -- long before the bilal can announce the azan -- he mounts his bicycle, sets the gears in motion and cycles towards the masjid. For his life is a time that belongs to none but Allah.

Freeborn

FREEBORN

about a lamplight

a moth flew freely

within a niche

a spider stalked hungrily

against a web

the moth lies struggling to to be

out of the night

the spider comes feeding to be

Haiku

HAIKU POEMS 1972-2025

the fireflies i caught

lit the eve in yellow jars

and kept the sunset

floating embers glow

in a firefly fandango

they sparkle through the night

the sun kisses

and smears the morning sky

a passionate red

aspen leaves floating

down a mountain creek wash

in a miner's pan

heaped together

american bison graze

the black hills

no longer soulless

blackbirds nest in the straw

of a scarecrow's head

ants climbing crawling

a sunflower inch their way

to the gaint's castle

me jungle spider

reeling on gossamer vines

tarzen by cobwebs

the wind whispered

and grains of wheat waved

as a combine whisked by

blackbirds have flown

leaving the strands of barbed wire

that once held them

stars in the window

sprinkled across a winter sky

frost the panes tonight

i saw red

when ants crawled

along the watermelon

we scramble to a pond

to watch golden carp

fight over bread crumbs

a misty valley

steeped in green tea

steams from my cup

caught in batik

the fisherman's haul

netted from the sea

masjid an-nur

glistens in afternoon sunglow

and the azan radiates

lantern-lit fishing boats

float on the south china sea

under a starry horizon

red hibiscus blossoms

dangle amid a japanese garden

full of paper lanterns

flame-of-the-forest

blossoms carpet the ground

in firecracker red

a bonsai tree

sits in a dockside window

overlooking the yard arms

blue and cloudy.

i've tried to read between the lines.

why skywrite with invisible ink?

clouds, trees and lotus

awash in watercolours --

taiping lake garden

monarch butterflies

aflutter in a field of milkweed

on black-orange-white wings

morning mists float

cattails quiver on a breeze

monastery matins linger

fireworks at midnight

paint a charcoal sky in bursts

of noisy colours

tall and mighty trees

bare-boughed skeletons

stand still in the night

reflections of koi

caught between heaven and earth

swimming...flying

the moon cannot hide

its pale glow shines from afar

peeking through clouds and trees

City Limits

CITY LIMITS

Sitting at the wheel

of a black AMX

you throttle the engine

pulling away from a traffic light

on the edge of town

windows rolled down

to air your mind

random thoughts pass by

as images blur and fade

in the rear view window

pistons rocking

with the radio

at 110

you cruise

the prairie highway

a cowboy

riding the range

with no particular destination

you break free

like tumbleweed on a breeze

troubles behind you

great plains

on the horizon

everything is clear

on eternity road

Sunday, December 1, 2024

Aphorisms

You break a nation, you own it. But how can you fix it when you can't even fix your own?

Bittersweet is the remembrance of people, places and things that are no more. They are days of heaven eclipsed by longing for a past that can never be, ever again.

How wonderful is the fragrance of a distant memory summoned to bloom anew.

Although I cannot see you,

I sense your presence;

you are the shadow of the wind

reflected in the dance of trees.

The earth opened its mouth

and swallowed my leg.

Now I understand what it means to have one foot in the grave.

There is no lesser of two evils,

real or imagined.

Truth be told a good many people never fact check the truth.

May our graves be more comfortable than our beds.

May our sleep be without nightmares.

May we awaken to wondrous dreams.

How is it a lamb can be vigilant when a wolf is near, yet the shepherd may be the one who consumes him.

Synchronicity

SYNCHRONICITY

Somewhere, faraway from one another, we sat on the shores of the universe.

Lines of thought cast on streams of consciousness, we fished, carefree, without concentrating on any specific idea.

As our lines bobbed and floated in that vast cosmic ocean, we hooked onto similar thoughts, as though we had read each other's mind.

Patchwork of Poems