Wayang Kata / (And we thought we were poets)

I’m not exactly a poetry kind of person, though I will say I was born under a corny star, inheriting that rare superpower to plague almost any earthling to submission with the most corny rhyme. Said in time. Worth a dime. How sublime.

Feel the power yet? 😀

Anyway, yesterday I tried expanding my appreciation for poetry by attending Wayang Kata at No Black Tie. A friend was amongst six poets competing for a spot to Singapore for some poetry competition, and I didn’t mind the impulse decision to go, spurred on by other reasons like the chance to hang with the twins a few days before their birthday(s).

On the whole, it was a rather different experience for me since I don’t usually go for readings of any kind. I really liked some, and got mildly annoyed with some others. But what I loved best was when Ciplak and Fahmi Fadzil performed an ode to our Angkasawan, which had me grinning till my cheek muscles almost cramped. Of course, their performance had nothing to do with poetry whatsoever.

In the LRT today, I pulled out the book of poems the British Council gave to make us feel better when we passed them our hard-earned admission fee of RM10. I’ve only started on a few pages, but it seems to promise a good read.

On another front, I was forced by my Mum to clear some childhood junk a few days ago. Besides some very shocking photos of me undergoing puberty the World must never, ever see, I came across my primary school autograph book, signed by my very own poet friends. They’re fantastic.


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2 Responses to Wayang Kata / (And we thought we were poets)

  1. thundered cat says:

    no bread,
    no bun,
    no siew lian,
    no fun.

    oh so cute!

    btw, i think your almost fluorescent pink/magenta/fuchsia towel material is funny.

  2. a passing cloud says:

    Funny?! Guess the towel is just plain talented, like me. Talents aside, we are faced with issues of bad lighting and inconsistent Photoshopping. I used it cos it’s plain and monotonous… which you might see as dry humour I suppose. (It’s actually my niece’s towel.)

    And my dear, it’s…

    No bun
    No braed
    No siew lian
    No fun.

    What revolutionary rhyming! 🙂

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