A Quiet Geometry

On By Meiling CheungIn Free verse, Poetry2 Comments

Two wanderers find each other
where neither meant to stay.
One leans closer,
the other yields,
and something new is born between them.

I remember only the shape of their meeting,
not the faces they wore.

Three quiet secrets
keep me company—
one belongs to each,
and one belongs to neither.

I have a house with no doors,
filled with footsteps that never speak.
Those who live there
arrive in whole numbers
and never quite leave.

Sometimes the house is turned,
sometimes its walls are made to look different,
yet I recognize it still.

I have been called beautiful
by those who see patterns
where others see only marks.

I hide in plain sight:
in a page of numbers,
in a dance of symmetry,
in the space between
what changes
and what does not.

Do not ask me what the travelers are.

Ask instead:

What is left behind
when they meet?

🔎 Spoiler — Answer A quadratic form — specifically, in the intended Conway-inspired sense, an integral quadratic form / quadratic lattice.

The Scouring of the Shire

On By Meiling CheungIn Poetry, SonnetLeave a comment

The lanes lay stripped of colour, raw and bare,
their hedges broken into ragged lines.
Smoke drifted low, a thin, exhausted air
that clung to doors once bright with simple signs.

The mills were louder now, a grinding ache
that bruised the river’s long familiar sound.
Trees stood like ghosts, their absence hard to take,
their stumps a tally carved into the ground.

The folk moved quietly through the altered day,
their faces shadowed by a muted grief.
No battle thundered here, no grand array—
just slow undoing, theft without relief.

So home returned, but not the home they knew—
a Shire reshaped by hands it never drew.

The Courtesan Blues

On By Meiling CheungIn Free verse, PoetryLeave a comment

我唱住呢支情歌，甜一半，苦一半；
你話愛我，我就笑——信一半，唔信一半。

紅燈照住我條裙，
夜風掠過我香肩；
你話情深過海咁深，
我笑：海水本來就鹹。

玫瑰我收，情話我聽，
你講永遠，我斟杯茶；
入口甜甜，回甘帶苦——
我飲晒，唔問真假。

我唱住呢支情歌，甜一半，苦一半；
你話愛我，我就笑——信一半，唔信一半。

男人最愛買月亮，
捧到手上先知會溶；
昨晚仲話天長地久，
今朝已經各自西東。

我唔嬲你，我唔等你，
門外馬蹄已經響；
銀鈴一搖，裙襬一轉——
有錢有夢，照樣行。

我唱住呢支情歌，甜一半，苦一半；
你話愛我，我就笑——信一半，唔信一半。

愛情唔係米飯，
餓嗰陣最容易睇穿；
可若有人半夜真心，
我仍然會替佢留盞燈。

我唔信永遠，唔代表絕望，
我只係學識睇清楚；
月亮今晚仲掛得咁靚——
咁就夠我笑住跳舞。

我唱住呢支情歌，甜一半，苦一半；
你話愛我，我就笑——信一半，唔信一半。

I sing this courtesan blues—half sweet, half sour;
You tell me that you love me—I believe half an hour.

The red lamp lies upon my dress,
the night wind brushes my bare shoulder;
you swear your love runs deeper than the sea—
I smile: the sea was always salty.

I take your roses, hear your vows,
you promise always; I pour the tea.
It tastes of honey at the lips,
then leaves its little bitterness with me.

I sing this courtesan blues—half sweet, half sour;
You tell me that you love me—I believe half an hour.

Men do adore buying the moon,
until they learn it will not stay;
last night you swore we’d last forever—
this morning, forever walked away.

I don’t resent you. I don’t wait.
There are hoofbeats beyond the door.
My little bell, my turning skirt—
I still have dreams, and I still have more.

I sing this courtesan blues—half sweet, half sour;
You tell me that you love me—I believe half an hour.

Love isn’t bread upon the table;
hunger makes certain things quite clear.
Yet if somebody means it at midnight,
I’ll leave one little lamp burning here.

I don’t believe in forever now—
that isn’t quite the same as despair.
The moon is beautiful tonight, my dear;
so let me dance while it’s still there.

I sing this courtesan blues—half sweet, half sour;
You tell me that you love me—I believe half an hour.

And if tomorrow proves you faithless,
well, tomorrow may have its say.
Tonight my lipstick’s bright, my glass is full—
and I intend to have my wicked little way.

星期三・算啦

On By Meiling CheungIn Free verse, PoetryLeave a comment

鬧鐘響咗兩次，
我同佢講：
「你自己忙先啦。」

咖啡已經凍咗，
杯仲喺度，
所以——
算係飲過。

窗外啲人行得好快，
好似遲到會有獎攞。
我唔參加。

今日嘅大計
暫時得一個：
唔好將星期三
搞到太有意義。

晏晝食咗件餅，
當午餐嘅副作用。
陽光照入嚟，
我冇郁開張椅。

如果人生一定要向前，
今日可唔可以
向前少少？

星期三啫。
唔使咁認真。

The alarm rang twice.
I told it,
“Go be important somewhere else.”

The coffee went cold,
but the cup remained,
so technically—
breakfast happened.

Outside, people hurry
as if lateness
comes with a prize.

I’m not competing.

Today’s grand ambition
is simply this:
not to give Wednesday
too much meaning.

I ate a biscuit
and promoted it
to lunch.

Sunlight crossed the room.
I did not move the chair.

If life insists
on going forward,
could we perhaps
go forward
by half an inch?

It’s Wednesday.
Honestly,
let’s not overdo it.

兩種風

On By Meiling CheungIn Free verse, PoetryLeave a comment

我用廣東話講自由，唔使翻譯。
海風由維港吹到獅子山，
吹亂旗影，吹醒人心；
我唔懷念昨日——
我只認得今日嘅我。

我鍾意廣東話嘅硬淨，
一句「唔該」可以有禮，
一句「算啦」可以斬斷糾纏，
一句「你講咩呀？」
已經足夠守住尊嚴。

英國教我另一種自由：
唔一定要大聲，
可以飲茶，可以沉默，
可以講一句乾脆嘅「No」，
然後照樣行自己條路。

我唔揀邊一邊。
廣東話係我把刀，
英式幽默係我把傘；
一把劃開虛偽，
一把遮住荒謬。

維港唔需要我懷念，
佢有船、有霓虹、有潮汐，
有人成日問我從邊度嚟。
我笑一笑：
「我自己行嚟㗎。」

我係香港女仔，
講廣東話，心入面有山有海；
我亦係英國人教識嘅嗰種人——
禮貌唔等於服從，
安靜唔等於投降。

所以，畀我行。
唔使替我揀方向，
唔使替我定義身份。
兩種風一齊吹，
我就向前。

I speak of freedom in Cantonese, without translation.
The harbour wind climbs Lion Rock,
disturbing flags, clearing the mind;
I do not mourn yesterday—
I recognise myself in the present tense.

I love the hard edge of Cantonese:
a m̀h-gōi can be courteous,
an suen-laa can cut a knot clean through,
and one raised eyebrow
can defend a kingdom without a gun.

Britain taught me another kind of freedom:
you need not shout to be ungovernable.
You may take tea, keep your silence,
say one perfectly civil No,
and continue down your own road.

I choose neither side.
Cantonese is the blade in my hand;
British wit, the umbrella overhead—
one cutting cleanly through pretence,
the other sheltering me from absurdity.

Victoria Harbour needs no nostalgia from me.
It has ferries, neon, tides,
and people forever asking where I came from.
I smile and tell them:
I walked here myself.

I am a Hong Kong woman,
Cantonese on my tongue, mountains and sea within me;
and I carry something British too—
the knowledge that courtesy is not obedience,
and silence is not surrender.

So let me walk.
Do not choose my direction for me.
Do not define me before I speak.
Two winds are blowing through me,
and I am going forward.

眉間一寸春

On By Meiling CheungIn Poetry, SonnetLeave a comment

畫罷蛾眉月未沉，
香風吹袖夜深深。
欲將玉骨藏懷內，
更把芳心鎖夢陰。

唇上微言如酒暖，
燈前半影似花吟。
誰言是我牽君手？
原是君眸困我心。

We paint each other’s brows while evening falls,
And incense drifts where loosened silk is stirred;
I say, Your jade belongs within my walls,
Yet every vow dissolves before it’s heard.

Your lips keep secrets warmer than red wine,
Your shadow bends the lamplight to your will;
I reach to make that secret wholly mine—
And find my own impatient heart held still.

Tell me, who claims whom beneath the screen?
The hand that gathers silk, or eyes that burn?
The hunter wears the smile of the serene;
The hunted knows too late there is no turn.

So take my heart, since hearts are not possessed—
And leave me wondering who undressed whom of rest.

Back to the Grind

On By Meiling CheungIn Free verse, PoetryLeave a comment

The holiday’s barely left my sleeves,
the alarm clock screams, “Believe!”
“Five more minutes,” I beg the air—
the ceiling says, “Dream on, dear.”

The coffee’s black. The Monday’s grim.
The laptop waits. The light goes dim.
My body’s here, my mind’s away,
still chasing sunshine, dodging grey.

The emails breed. The deadlines grow.
The spreadsheets ask, “Ready to go?”
I smile, I nod, I play the part—
while quietly falling apart.

Back to the grind, back to the wheel,
back to pretending work is real.
I fix my tie, compose my face,
and fake a vague sense of workplace grace.

But lunch still comes. The kettle’s hot.
There’s hope, apparently, in the pot.
And somewhere past this office light,
there’s a pub, a pint, and Friday night.

So roll up sleeves. Let’s play the game.
The tasks may grow, but so can I.
I won’t conquer the world today—
I’ll just leave on time. Hooray.

青樓夜曲

On By Meiling CheungIn Free verse, Poetry2 Comments

紅燈照盡半窗紗，
玉盞微溫酒未斜。
袖底春風偷過指，
唇邊夜色欲成花。

客來莫問心中事，
月落偏憐鬢上霞。
一曲唱完門半掩，
留君猜我幾分差。

Red lanterns gild the silken screen,
My wine stays warm, my lips stay keen.
A spring wind slips beneath my sleeve,
And leaves one blossom up its sleeve.

Ask not what waits beneath my smile;
The moon may answer after a while.
I sing one song, then half-close the door—
You may guess what I was singing for.