Music Works

Arrangements:

Like_I'm_Gonna_Lose_You
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_edWJPLU9OQzB2M0E/view?usp=sharing

Love_Yourself
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eeDNWSUpsMlVDQ1U/view?usp=sharing

Locked_Away_(Excerpt)
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eNzJJNTNLbDdpQTQ/view?usp=sharing

Shake_It_Out/Skyacraper/Stay_With_Me
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eLTVTUDdOdmJjN2s/view?usp=sharingng

Little_Things
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eYmxNWFRnT0w5dTA/view?usp=sharing

Lay_Me_Down
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eUWhaUGREWDFHbUk/view?usp=sharing

Thinking_Out_Loud
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eVGttYzFTOHdEN3M/view?usp=sharing

When_I_was_Your_Man
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eS3hYWTgzdGhYNk0/view?usp=sharing

The_Man_Who_Can't_be_Moved
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eVGttYzFTOHdEN3M/view?usp=sharing

Gimme_Gimme_Gimme/Voulez_Vous
(Sang_by_NTU_CAC_Choir/Singapore)
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eSnNGRUNmWllLVnM/view?usp=sharing

Happy_(Excerpt)
(Sang_by_NTU_CAC_Choir/Singapore)
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eb3d0RWlwOWIxZ2c/view?usp=sharing

Fly_Me_to_the_Moon
(Sang_by_NTU_CAC_Choir/Singapore)
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eYmNZRUJfZnRqRjQ/view?usp=sharing

We_Are_Young/Hey_Soul_Sister
(Sang_by_NTU_CAC_Choir/Singapore)
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_ecEJKTDE2cjZyMHc/view?usp=sharing

If_I_Ain't_Got_You
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eWEllU19scS1RN1E/view?usp=sharing

Compositions:
Nightmare_of_a_Daughter
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B8w8E4NVMW_eRUh4ZnFWVEhLZkU/view?usp=sharing

When She Speaks

Cause'
you can hear the crickets chirp
and listen to the song of the rattlesnake,
the rush of the majestic waterfall
and the welts decorating your forehead.
You feel the drop of Fahrenheit
and the stillness of the wind.
You taste the sweetness of dawn
and the saltiness on your skin.

The world speaks to you with the ole' familiar tongue,
drawing its passionate energy from our one glorious sun.

From the smell of morning dew on each tiny blade of grass,
to chasing after dandelions dancing beside you fast,
from the trees that sway indulgently to the rhythm of your beat,
to the ground that twirl uninhibited to the music of your feet.

You see,

the flowers, they bloom, for just that sparkle in your eye;
exuding parallel magnificence as the milky way in our dark night sky.
The stars, they glow together, with the warmth oozing from your heart,
bringing soft serenity as the dreams begin to start.

And as our little earth falls quietly in slumber,
the glitter magic burns vibrant,
secretly,
silently,
under.

Goodnight Grandma

A tribute to my mama

Goodnight Grandmama; sleep tight tonight.
Let your dreams take you away.
Let them take you to a far away land with
clouds beneath your feet. Yes, your feet Mama,
your feet! Throw that wheelchair away, you need
it not. Not then, not ever.
There will be no more suffering and no more pain.
You are being upgraded;
your voice more melodious, your nose sharper,
your bones stronger than your stubbornness,
your mind quicker.
But your eyes will stay the same. Those hazels
exude such warmth and wisdom, they have reached
the epitome of perfection.

I miss you Grandmama.

I miss you Grandmama. Rest your precious heart.
Your amazing heart, filled with love, was never
once too full. Every rhythm had a purpose;
you embrace the world on every thump.
Kindness and empathy always by your side
as you touch the lives of the babies and the grandkids,
the girls and the boys, the women and the men,
the father and the mothers, the friends and of course,
the husband. I wonder if it had ever beaten just for you.

They told me your heart had a condition, Grandma.
They told me it was what brought you to sleep.
I think it was just weighed down by the gold it holds within.
You carried so many of us in there, it's incredible
how big it is.

I love you Grandmama.

I love you, Grandmama, I love you! Do you hear
our cries, Grandmama? Grandmama, I am screaming
up to you! Can you hear me? Grandmama!

I love you.

I miss you.

I want you.

Why did you leave?

Goodnight Grandma; I'm going to bed too.
It's still early so I'll send up a prayer, wishing
my dreams will take me away to a far off land
with my head in the clouds.

And through my pillow, I shall meet
the memories of you and learn to beat
the tempo of compassion and song d'amour,
the dance of affection and how to grow room for more.

Congratulations

I can hear the glitter.
Do you hear the glitter?
Gold yet transparent, it's in the air.
I can breathe it on every strand of my body.
It's under my skin. I stand on it.
It cheers.

My mouth gaping, teeth rejoice.
The furrow suspicious but the eyes hopeful.
The tears drown,
The feet fly.
I'm above ground.

My heart stops; the crowd beats for me.
Arms shaking, flailing, squeezing, raising.
The noise silent.
The time replays and rewinds.
Cameras obsolete.
Spit confetti.

Do you hear the glitter?
It was from my soul.
I left it on the stage, now it's in the air.
Tears of the infected; it's under their skin.
I bask in it, I sob in it, I cry for it.
I hear it cheer.

Forgiving Yourself

You drown that voice out with white noise.

Pay close attention to the lady in the talk show

or the fat guy dancing. Beer in hand in belly in mind.

Do whatever it takes to drown her!

You fight her like a rebel in an uprising. You speak

speeches of battles and sing songs of war.

Don’t you know most revolutions are snuffed?

Let’s not get too ambitious, she mocks.

Listen to the silence around you. Hear how they scream.

The crickets rubbing their palms in evil laughter, the

frogs croaking for help. Hear the disapproval of the

lake as the light breeze disturbs its peace.

Hear the symphony of nature – the seamless blend

of untainted voices. Pure tones that work in

perfect dissonance. Their lyrics touch your heart

as they touch your skin.

She smiles loudest.

Look at yourself in the mirror. You witness her

critiques through your eyes. Your mouth shaped

wrong and your music’s fogging up the audience.

Do you see the conviction she has?

The conviction to succeed is the same one that

sees you as a non-entity because she does not recognize
failures. If the just world does not acknowledge

the tears on your pillows, Why should I?

You have to believe in salvation; the past should not

define you as much as she makes you think it does. It's not

easy to put so much faith in something so insubstantial but

Acceptance, they say, is the first step.

The Living Progression - breathe live reflect touch

(the living progression sound)
Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm –

the sound of her love.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm,

red flashes in her face.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm –

the sound of his passion,

red flashes on his face.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm,

red flashes in my face.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm –

the sound of my thoughts.

Dm mm, dm mm, dm mm, dm mm,

red flashes on your face,

the sound of your cries.

Purple Guitar

G chord for starters. Let me sing you a song today.

It’s about love, like how all good songs are, for you, of you.

It will tear you apart and touch your heart. You will beg

and plead and cry. May mercy be bestowed.

Maybe not.

E minor to spice things up. Let us go on a ride to space.

You shuffle amongst the stars. They burn so radiantly, like how all good stars do,
  for us.

You flush with the envy of success, wondering
the intensity of enduring pain they mask to feed the fire.

The molten stomachs that do not churn in the face of fear.

The evaporated veins that do not bleed emotions
but empty promises once made by self to self, aged twelve.

The crumbled bones, shrapnel from war, with nothing left to break,
leaves no trails of cracks.

Yet, a 7^th, you flush in the vacuum you stand, for the vacuum they are within.

You crave for the constellations, trophies of achievements displayed
in the palm of your hands, bright red and searing.
Your artist speaks for yourself.

You drink through your windows, savoring each sip,
never letting cherry lips taste a drop of iced gold.
Your masterpiece of failures built on failure speaks for you.

See, you feel. Feel, you hurt. Breathe, you live.

The ticking at the corner has no meaning to the girl dying inside.

Time stops only for the poor unfortunates to cherish regrets.

Hear, the critics, yourself, muted, so loudly.

Guts twisting to the scribbles pending pen.

Embrace the moon, reflection of your light, as time pauses.

Stars too brilliant implode to massive darkness.

Hold on to yourself, do not get lost in the cadence.

D major.

The stage speaks

Silence. Listen to the stars. They shine
so bright under the light. Look at her.
Admire her grace as she
maneuvers the riffs
and the slides
and the turns
and the
steps.
See how she manipulates
your body.
Your eyes start to close
and
your muscles
tense.

Silence.

The seats roar
with fervor. The hall stands
and lifts her up higher into the stars.
The circle cheers. The bottom pleads for more,

She hums a tune ever so familiar to keep them
longing. You see, she makes music with her mind.
Her hands dances and her mouth sings but it is your heart that plays along
ever so sweetly, ever so exclusively in a frequency
only both of you register.

Thinking of you

Checking my phone again,
again. Still no notifications.
Checking my phone again.

Open up Facebook on my browser and
I see no reds on the top right.
Close it. Time to do work. Open up
Microsoft. Type in the header of my essay.
Open up Facebook on my browser.

Do you think of me as much as I do of you?
Of course not. You are amazing, but so is she.
She is kind and caring and broken just for you.
You love her and I... I think of you.

Your hands are magic; the way they move -
dynamic. The music you produce, the music
you command, you capture the heart of
songs and songbirds alike, your voice
resonates the world and makes it
pause

for a minum.
You sang for me once. The keys engraved in my soul.
I still feel the trills and they bring me gliss.
I can't believe it.
I don't believe it.
I cannot believe it.

You are like a work of art; so abstract.
Your heart beats to the rhythm of a dance.
Your alluring eyes amazes me every time -
seamlessly symmetrical like periodic alliteration in a poem.
Your smile, your comforting smile,
bends like the smirk of a quaver rest.
Your clef, sexy as always, tugs on
the bold hard strings of my stave.
Sharps and flats everywhere.

But you are hers and I am not yours.
Those lips belong to her.
Those hugs belong to her.
You belong to her and I am behind the
lens of this happy moment captured indefinitely.

Let me check Facebook one more time.
Do you think of me as much as I do of you?
Of course not. Your dream is her.

Music Makers

I closed my eyes and I
soared through the clouds and the mist and the
light of the man-made sun.

Streams; streams flowing from my eyes
as my gut clenches on every note and every
pause.

Steams flowing from my mouth
as I channel them to the house; full of listeners.

I am a performer.

Streams; streams flowing from my heart
as I opened myself to the individual critics.
Feel me. Feel my music. Feel my soul.

Streams flowing down my forehead,
coursing through my arms as my family channeled me.
Channel me. Feel so I can feel. Feel so they can feel.

We are performers.

Our hearts thumping as we stole- first, their ears,
then, their minds, and finally, their whole selves.
Manipulate them like we are puppet masters.
Make them excited, make them fear, make them cry
and feed off their cheers.

We are nothing without them.
They are nothing without us.

We are whole together as a musician and song.
We are whole together as a singer and the choir.
We are whole together as performers and audience.

We are whole together as friends and family.

I am your prisoner

Chit chat chit chat…

Maybe I’ve talked too much.

Maybe you’ve talked too little.

Maybe you don’t want to speak at all.

Sing. Louder. Higher.

I hate that cord.

Let’s redefine it.

“No, it was meant to be written this way.”

Look at me.

My eyes are red with your tears and anger that hide the

jealousy that doesn’t exist.

I imprison you with chains that are my hands and they clutch

tightly to your face.

Look at me.

I’m sorry.

“I’m sorry.”

Echo is a verbal exchange of a dance

that we know by heart.

We have spoken too much

but it is never enough.

I Love you.

“I Love you.”

Our foreheads pressed against the other

but I feel beyond the physical.

I was sure, there and then,

I am your prisoner.

Deafening silence

From a mother's diary about her deaf child

Tick tock. Tick tock ring.
Ring. Riinng. Riiinnng!
Yawn. Splitting headache.
Riiiinnnng! I jump to my feet,
Rub my eyes and wipe the
wetness on the ends of my gown.
Birds are chirping outside, mocking
me; mocking her and her lack of sound.

She sleeps peacefully beside,
a smile on her face.
I use one so often, it's a tool
just a hand stretch away.
I stroke her hair and carcass her cheek.
I smell her scent; she smells
like the soap I use. I listen to her
breathing, as sweet as church bells.

She used to be special, not abnormal, until
her certified protector went insane.
My ring represented his promises but
now embodies her suffering and my pain.
I regret the first push that gave her
life. I regret the final push that took
it. Her piercing scream; her last word
eloped with my ability to look
through dry eyes. Sniff.

I snapped out of my daze. Riiinnng!
A myriad of noises all around me.
Yet, her silence is most deafening.

strucked

I feel like a tight string in a violin:
Playing chords I never knew I could;
Didn’t think I’ll ever lay hands to;
No clue such a thing would exist.

Dead-livingly stuck.

Being the nylon one, segregated from the rest.
Strung into a bassoon, wired and fixed,
Unmoving, oppressed and sick.
No leadership I’ll ever dream to manifest.

Only plently prickly simple vibrations- pluck.