GIDEON TAY YEE CHUEN - POEMS

Gideon Tay Yee Chuen is a young Singaporean poet, whose poems have been published in a number of literary journals in the US. He hopes that his poetry would inspire like-minded young poets.

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Temporary turmoil
​

​Red radiating,
Crackling and consuming
me. Fiery flames licking
with scourging
heat.
 
Into the refiner's fire and
Out. Ready to be sent in
Again. To be seven times
tried.
 
Moan and cry I did the first time I entered, but
that's no longer the case.               Now, I hold on, resolved, for
He looks over me.
 
Impurities precipitating,
surfacing sludge.
Purer and purer I grow, increasingly
showing His              smooth reflection
upon me.
 
Temporal is this hardship, but
Eternal is this perseverance and
this character and this
Hope.

Praise and worship
​

​Lyrics and tunes from our mouths,
poured out, flowing and filling
gaps among the crowds
 
Songs flooded all empty space,
but the hearts were void,
unlike this body-filled place.
 
Lips mouthed empty words,
devoid meaning, which floated and
soared like flightless birds.
 
An act, a play was witnessed,
It was a tragedy. A tragedy
That brings one sickness.
 
For these pleasant tunes,
These little words, mean nothing
Compared to the sincere mute
 
Who is the salt and light,
A lamp on a hill, shining bright.
 

​Arbitrary Lines

​Denominations--
Branches of the same tree,
Rooted in the same core,
Illuminated by the same hope.
 
Are we different?
 
We are
Stomach, Gullet, Mouth
Crunching, hydrolysing..
Muscle, Tendon, Bone,
Moving, contracting..
Noses, Bronchi, Lungs,
Breathing, ventilating..
 
We are different.
 
But the
Same blood flows through,
Same liquid love enriches,
Same redeeming blood
Cleanses and reinvigorates.
 
We are 
Parts of the same body,
Members of the same house,
Followers of the same Lord.
 
A house standing against itself, falls.
But a house
Unified, flourishes...

Rituals
​

​Raising hands: the worship culture,
Ev'ry week a solemn sermon,
Leads to response to the scripture,
and ends with the benediction...
 
Till the cows come home, we go through
Incessant weekly cycles: the
observance of routine rituals,
Never really knowing why--
 
Some say it's tradition, while others
hope to avert condemnation.
Is this but a religion? No,
peel off your blinds, and you shall see.