Too late! Too early!

Dream

Somewhere in the distance
An evidence of existence
Like a sound in the mind
Surely, one of a kind
Weary and pleading
Perhaps bleeding
I hear a faint voice
And I made a choice
Since I could follow it
I would follow it
But I can’t forget the lady over there
So I shan’t leave my memories here
‘Twas sweet! Sweet it was! This dream
So I retreat under the cover of this stream
But somewhere in the distance
There’s an insistence
Like a sound in the mind
An evidence of existence
I hear a call for assistance
Too late! Too early!
Too early! Too late!

Like it’ll last forever

Wahoo-1

This valley
Seemingly endless
So full of life
Its own strife
Surrounds me
Beautiful as ever
Like it’ll last forever
When I look at you
I know twas a lie
Now I can’t fly
I don’t want to
But like the valley
And its alley
It’ll remain beautiful
As long as I perceive it

Listen

Crying child

Crying child

Listen to my brain
Can you hear the pain?
It’s in my eyes falling
Like a brown leaf in the storm
All over my face

Falling in the rain
Softened by a complain
It’s in my groans
A faint and distant voice
Constantly drowning

Listen to my heart
Can you hear two worlds apart?
They’re in my eyes decaying
Like logs in the storm
All over my face

Sweeping in the wind
Congested with hushes of my kind
It’s in their tones
Faint and distant voices
Constantly drowning

He who has ears, hearken!
She who has eyes, observe!
Is it not a burden?
Do we not deserve?
Listen!

Lady in white

Poetry piece dedicated to all the men and women who must work in remote places to earn a living. Even in atrocious conditions.

FOG-GIRL

Lady in white

In a white robe, at my door she stands
Don’t want to mess up, still she demands a glance
It’s hot in here, cold out there
To turn or to burn, I have to decide
She awaits, offers a chilling embrace
Silence of her chill hovers ever closer
A vast blanket! Ghastly white!
It’s hot in here, cold out there
Her chill is pure for sure
Tonight she offers a chance, must make a stance
Surely heavenward she rises in the morn,
And I can’t to heaven rise at dawn,
To turn or not to burn, I have to decide
Blinded by firmness of her whiteness
Oh Moran, you moron!
In a white robe, at my door she stands
While the aircon unit slumbers into a coma

Protecting my essence

Image

This is a protest to the ONE who copied my style and used KEY WORDS from my piece in his poetry piece.

——————————————-

 

So you modeled your jewel
Carefully like I did mine
Perhaps heartily like me?
Thinking I’d let you be
Oh you paved a walk to a dual
In my palm it ain’t a glass of wine
You heard of a pint of blood?
I bled many a great flood
So my jewel can grace this page
With its meager presence
So please be a gem and tell me now
Need I ask you to tell me how?
Know ye this isn’t me in a rage
Rather it is me protecting my essence
Please tell me
That I may be

Tang Juice: Our favourite juice, it’s a way of life

Tang_juice_Powder_strawberry

Tang juice

Tang juice

Tang_juice_orange
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Packed in small packets as powdered juice, they come in different flavours: orange, strawberry, mango, pineapple, and etcetera. They make good refreshing drinks. Orange, and pineapple flavours are popular with consumers.

They are served at barbecues, picnics, feasts or mumus, and at meal times.

Kids love it. It’s a student’s favourite lunch time drink, and buai (bettle nut) sellers and chewers preferred mouth rinse.

On good days playful children through gaps in their front teeth would spit projectiles of this juice and are scolded by their mothers, who would threaten to pour the remainder on their heads.

Occasionally when a mother or father or both, whilst hustling their way to a game of cards, would scream at their children to stop nagging them and buy something to have with the money they’ve given them. More often than not the juice is implied.

A mother who has been loosing money would persist on playing cards and opt to feed her child this juice as she barks orders to her elder daughter(s) to cook something quickly. But it becomes a heavenly seep when she has lost all and ends up with a throat that feels like a desert that misses the rain for a thousand years.

Steam Bodies – slang for people who consume Steam (alcohol produced from illegal backyard brewing) – use it to dilute their brew. This group’s noise making skills, albeit without the aid of musical instruments, is unrivalled.

Often a drunk would use the juice as a matter of convenience, to sprinkle over the heads. This act of baptism, in an attempt to ease the tight embrace of the brew with its chill, often works well. A sweet and sticky residue however, which attracts honey bees to their faces, remains after all had dried up.

Picture a Steam Body in his/her drunken stupor, fights off honey bees. It is funny as it is serious. And if beaten, disregards the pain and continues to drink this precious fluid with a swollen face.

Owners of roadside markets make money from thirsty pedestrians, many of whom would have been loitering in and around shopping centers or government offices and are on their way home in the afternoons with their last kina in pockets.

Often up to four or five days a week, poor families in Port Moresby’s squatter settlements have it with a piece or slice of baked barn before laying their heads to rest. How tomorrow feeds them is another saga in their wretchedness.

Imported from Asia, a packet is going for fifty toea – it is cheap, and makes juicy and refreshing drinks for the whole family. It is called Tang juice.

This product has become the beverage of choice for the masses living around the fringes of Port Moresby city. It is and will be a favourite as long as it can be obtained cheaply.

It is part of us now – it is a way of life.

Come to think of it; what if a factory in the country starts producing Tang juice or its equivalent? Isn’t there a business opportunity when the demand is huge?

Well, this is for the money men and the government to think about. However, until these bastards start behaving selflessly, importation of this fine product will continue.

For now I shall pour myself a glass – orange flavour – and slowly seep my thoughts to slumber.

The Crocodile Prize: More than a literary competition – it’s a learning centre

To promote the Crocodile Prize 2014 competition – see flyer, I have used my own experience in the article below.

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croc flyer 2
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I entered the Crocodile Prize competition in 2010 on the premise I could write and write well. Upon reading other contributors’ work, I immediately realised their superior inherent talents.

They knew how well to use words, and did quite eloquently. As I read their works, words maneuvered seamlessly into beautiful phrases and these phrases began to dance to otherworldly tunes and conjure up memorable images. This is the power of their raw talents. Talents that only thinking people will comprehend their origins.

In short, the quality of work that appeared on PNG Attitude was astounding. I knew right away there is more work to do in order to elevate my writing skills.

Then it dawned on me: Crocodile Prize presented me with a precious mine of literary work I could use to learn. Henceforth, I have been learning whilst contributing my own articles.

It has been more than three years and I must admit I have learnt quite a lot – about both the writers and issues they write on.

Enlightenment from poetry and short stories were spellbinding. Other works offered additional insights into politics, international diplomacy and some social issues I take for granted.

Soon I began to judge the world around me and its goings on with more caution and restrain, sometimes overdoing it.

My awareness level in general has taken a great leap – thanks to the Crocodile Prize, PNG Attitude and all the regular contributors.

Anyway, through Facebook, emails and my blog, I have been promoting this wonderful competition every year to my wantoks in order to arouse interest. Their responses however were not so modest – at least from what I know. Perhaps I am wrong. But only two brilliant individuals I know of have participated so far and their works are published in the Crocodile Anthology.

If everyone takes the competition as a venue to learn and fine tune their writing skills, the organisers will be overwhelmed with entries. But I think paranoia about not writing well because English isn’t their first language discourage many.

Perhaps only a few can see a light of opportunity to learn beaming from the Crocodile Prize Competition, so it will take a lot more to drive this message home. And if this reluctance is any indication, many Papua New Guineans are genuinely reluctant to help improve their apparent incompetence in English.

As a country in a world that is fast embracing the English language as preferred business lingua franca, how will we cope?

Many a time I have read pieces of writings from university graduates and they are always riddled with child like mistakes. Worse, these mistakes are repeated time and again. Even on social media where potentially their friends around the world would read their posts, mistakes are common sight.

Now don’t get me wrong. I also make mistakes. But if a university graduate repeatedly makes the same mistakes, then something somewhere is seriously wrong.

So who is to be blamed: our education system; or graduates’ lack of interest to continue to improve their English writing and speaking skills outside of the classroom environment; or the Papua New Guinea mentality and the way it thrives on ignorance and consequently promotes reckless complacency?

I’d rather blame graduates and their general lack of interest to take English seriously.

Learning English has been my journey and I relish it to a point it sometimes takes up my time for other things and become a nuisance, especially household chores.

As a suggestion, Papua New Guinea should start measuring its progress by levels of improvements in our collective proficiency in English. And also use it to measure how well our schools are doing in educating our children.

This is important as our own languages cannot be used sufficiently and effectively as modes of instructions in schools.

Take me for example: I got through four years of university education through sheer hard work and dedication, without fully understanding many of the concepts taught. And it isn’t because I was dumb. Rather, the language of instruction was English and as I wasn’t good in English, I spent most times trying to understand the words and meaning of instructions and less time on the concepts the words were explaining.

Many students face this problem. And those who cannot cope simply fail their courses.

With this experience, I have advised many I have had the opportunity to converse with. Often telling them to read a lot and of course try writing. And what better place to start then with the Crocodile Prize writing competition which promotes Papua New Guinea writing.

Potentially, the Crocodile Prize competition could teach many students with a keen eye the ways of writing. And with a lot of information being shared, one could learn much thereby increasing one’s own awareness level.

The competition and PNG Attitude has been a revelation to me and I hope others too will come to find its worth.

In ending, the Crocodile Prize is more than a competition – it is a learning centre. So join us now to write and learn.

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