Ahn Wee

“The pendulum of the mind alternates between sense and nonsense, not between right and wrong.” – Carl Gustav Jung

Category: Poetry

A students on exchange


so they pad their bossom-resumes
with napkin-leadership positions,
and faked grace under pressure over well defined shoulders—
of a flesh-tender and tense underneath,
their expensive 40s navy blazers.
Its a trade that demands to be done
for you to cross the treadmill and be gone!
For the secret is in the proof of the pudding,
you burned all calories for all traces to disappear,
So as not a single clue was left behind,
as to doubt your seemingly “substantial” credentials.


Weird Al Yankovic

So where’s Weird Al?
I heard he’s on
sodium pentothal
rolling like a skater boy,
Smiling like Sir Tomato Cheeks.
Suddenly, he’s here! He’s here!
Weird Al sings like a Surgeon,
singing “My my this here Anakin guy”
and you knew he ain’t talking
about Star Wars or Hayden Christensen,
when he said “maybe vader someday later
right now he’s just a small fry”
but rather someone like Bruce Lee,
who looks like Tirso Cruz,
who might be Mr. Frodo Baggins,
with the body of a faunlet.
So here’s Weird Al,
on Sodium pentothal,
rolling on a skateboard,
making a new satire:
a song about you,
and someone else–
you don’t want to know.
Good thing Weird Al’s on TV,
and just on TV.

Echo to Narcissus


How many adjectives,

verbs and nouns

do I have to rhyme

or syllables to drum

to win your inaccessible heart?

Or to be finally more than enough

To be who you want me to be?

How many times do I have to chant

Your beautiful name,

as if to assess your capability

for recognition,

or to simply know

if I already exist enough for you,

to be mine and be yours,

but then you can’t,

because you won’t.

So I’m pinning away

Till nothing is left

But the voice of the past,

a wave of affections,

I  silently burn in air

with my matchstick.

Insert name here

Your name is a mantra,

a word or two or three in full,

of five numbered syllables,

delicate vowels and crispy consonants,

like lasagna and garlic bread,

to my anorexic soul.

Desensitize Me

A Smile, wrinkles a frown or two,

Warps a long face drenched in exhaustion,

And thwart the flow of hidden tears.

Forget not to improvise with laughter,

In a chilly disheartening sigh,

A trace of sadness must not escape you.

For an affliction of no history,

One must not flinch to sentimentality,

Emotions rouse irrationality.

A shot of apathy or prudence,

Is enough to expire a mood,

Or to pass the time untroubled

Of a future waiting in regret.

Graphing Paper Rhythm


Your smile feels like

an effortless breeze,

an uncontrollable shiver,

down to the spine,

as it rhymes with your name,

so religiously chosen,

yet unintentionally artful,

so coincidentally fitting—-

you’re a saint in disguise.