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Columns by Artists and Writers

Bob Black / bq / Cem Turgay /

Fiona Smyth / Gary Michael Dault

/ Holly Lee / Kai Chan / Kamelia

Pezeshki/ Shelley Savor /

Tamara Chatterjee / Wilson Tsang

+ Z FICTION, a selection of 15

photographs (Lee Ka-sing)

MONDAY ARTPOST published on Mondays. Columns by Artists and Writers. All Right Reserved. Published since 2002.

An Ocean and Pounds publication. ISSN 1918-6991. email to: mail@oceanpounds.com


Fiona Smyth

Caffeine Reveries

Shelley Savor

Winter Treetops

Poem a Week

Gary Michael Dault

I saw Christmas burdening the winter.

there’s was a week or two

of logs in the fireplace

and public joy lifted into the air like sparks

the people wept fir trees

howled ribbons of tape

crunched their Christmas boots

over the hard chest of earth

A Post-Christmas Poem

Christmas is over

I hope it made people happy for a few


As for me, I dunno, I missed the Infant Jesus

on his straw bed, the soft animals gathered


I felt helpless about Ukraine

freezing and dying

I can’t have and don’t want

A Merry Little Christmas

I tried to look about me

I saw an old man

slide a slab of honeycomb

onto his head like a hat

the honey dripping down

like a choir’s song

over his shoulders

his tears falling like wax

coloured lights broke out on houses

vamping along eavestroughs

plastic reindeer are still feeding

on styrofoam snowballs

for me, Christmas sat in the corner of the


with the somebody’s trifle

and somebody’s fruitcakes

with mad black crows of glass

and peacocks of wine

peace be ours

cried everywhere loudspeakers

parking for your car

in the depths of your dreams

crumbs for the backyard birds

stuck to my fingertips

instead of dropping

onto the snow

From the Notebooks


Gary Michael Dault

From the Notebooks, 2010-2022

Number 159: To Malgorzata: Upper Meadowlands (March 13, 2021). For your mother’s sunny day, sitting

above the house at Czarnow, Poland


Kai Chan


paper, wire


Holly Lee

The Key

There are three fridge magnets attached to the door of her bathroom storage cabinet. It was K who

put them there. The items are: a clock tower, a red smiling mouth with sparkling white teeth, and

an Ultraman. Was it a random act, when K put them there? She wonders. For these three simple

objects always present, when she walks into the toilet, there’s the mirror on the left, and, the cabinet

on the right. They speak to her not in words, but conjuring up a pathway, a passage into the time

past. A set of strings. These trivial souvenirs, these small-time items.

She recalls a poem by the late Tang poet Li Shangyin (813–858) “A Fine Zither 錦 瑟 ”, and its

fifty strings. If each string, each strain evokes some vanished memories or things, then here, on

the cabinet door, down her memory lane, one string is the Kowloon–Canton Railway; the second

the Kowloon Walled City; and the third string, a superhero, a Japanese pop icon from the 60s

equivalent to America’s Superman.

The Clock Tower was once part of the Kowloon-Canton Railway Terminus in Tsim Sha Tsui–

overlooking Hong Kong Island, the Central District and Wan Chai. The Terminus was demolished

in the late 70s and only the Clock Tower remains on the spot, serving as a landmark and was

later declared a monument in Hong Kong. She had ridden trains in the old Kowloon Terminus

numerous times, but did not remember the station particularly well, except for the Clock Tower.

When she looked for a few souvenirs before migrating to Canada, this clock tower magnet was one

of them.

The last decade of the twentieth century might be the most exciting time of her life. This day, when

she looks into the mirror, how she wishes to have perfect teeth! Not dreaming of the pearly-white,

but the wholesome number of 32. Due to negligence, she has lost close to half of her teeth, and the

remainders are an odd lot. Where has the perfect smile gone? A long time ago, she & K roamed

around the peripherals of the Kowloon Walled City, and were struck with awe to see hundreds of

dental offices residing in its massive building blocks. Almost all between 10 and 14 stories high,

the tower blocks were packed tight against each other, forming an organic fortress, encompassing

ten thousand households, and more than 30,000 residents. The Walled City was demolished in

1993, but not images of the mouths and the teeth, and the delightful smile she thought she once


She is not a fan of Superman; she prefers Doctor Who, especially played by David Tennant and

Matt Smith. In fact, she is not a fan of science fiction in particular. But this Ultraman character

was huge from the 60s to the 80s. Every Asian kid seemed to be affected one way or the other. She

remembers her daughter calling it “salt egg superman”, for Ultraman’s eyes protrude like two salt

egg yolks, ridiculously out of its metallic face. They almost dumped this magnet, for it’s no longer in

vogue. She has no idea why it is still there, and picked up to be one of the few magnets on this spare

canvas. Then she notices another object, which is the key. A pair of them held together by a ring;

one fit in the lock, the other dangling in the air. It has a reason to be there, only that she could not

find the brand name, and so it remains, to be a key.

The Photograph

coordinated by

Kamelia Pezeshki

At 34 by Diana Bloomfield

Chlorophyll print made on a hosta leaf, 2021

Leaving Taichung


Bob Black

Returning After, a French Meal

The sky seams an exact fit to the alphabet of the steps

a solitary figure giraffes toward a distempered porch,

his posture a softened exclamation point,

his walk and recitation relearned in an up-tempo skip

when in the light cloven figures seemingly burst, suddenly

dark drapes scribble off black notes casually on the sky,

a musical score upon a downed dead wire

alone a single bat recumbent along the line of abracadabra,

a wayward letter dropped from the length of a word,

a dogeared page from the scattering sky

the physics of light meant to form and deform the creature V

shorn from its preceding vowel and sibling brush stroke:

neither mammal nor structured thought nor abacus of sound—

the flapping upward recalls his walk homeward the lambent night.

a day ago and the word it conveys to him now—

soundless as beast zips its way toward some long lone dropping,

as she was dropped into the grave and lacquer coffin.

The evening later off-slipping, the wings’ grammar adrift,

the evidentiary thought or a kite upending,

his solitary glide, the space left opened, and whatever recipe one invents:

the lungs of the land left standing skeletal

the sound of things falling--

the plane’s rev’d up backwarding, the glass sprinkling in its drop scattering toward-the-concrete


the malaprop drips like a spool,

memories gone misremembered, the katabasis of the awkward turn,

the plummeting toward the dandelion, the re-arrange’d bee swatted,

the puzzled shell shucked,

you that slipped away, a kaleidoscope braid:

don’t throw your hands up, constellation over consternation, just yet,

the small blip in the radar and the blue swirl above the hood

the you inside the me left behind,

the invincible summer seeded in the thorny stems found on the side walk of February, aflex

as she was dropped into the grave and lacquer coffin

With love comes strange currencies,

though he comes toward another hard-hurt, he thinks

the scattering dust mites raftering a bridge with the twilight, ajoist’d.

and he watches the bat go swinking away from the rest of the cloaked colony

and his heart recognizes that decisive turn, away

as she was dropped into the grave and lacquer coffin.

Remember that pivot, she once wrote,

the hinge more than the syllables you were fed or the stories long and lean you once kept.


Wilson Tsang



bq 不 清

彗 星 C/2022 E3 (ZTF)

COMET C/2022 E3 (ZTF)

曾 經 有 一 些 想 法 被 遺 忘 於 你 的 指 尖

曾 經 有 一 些 想 法 被 稀 釋 成 一 些 像

蒸 餾 水 的 東 西 , 使 熨 斗 的 壽 命

延 長 ; 曾 經 有 一 些 想 法 被 鎖 在 保 險 箱 裡

There were ideas forgotten at your fingertips.

There were ideas watered down to something

Like distilled water that made an iron lasted

Longer. There were ideas locked up in a safe.

對 於 多 年 生 植 物 , 冬 天 的 生 活 更 為 簡 單

它 們 熟 睡 著 , 夢 見 冰 淇 淋 和 小 矮 人

沒 什 麼 困 擾 它 們 , 也 沒 有 思 緒 被

沖 走 。 一 切 都 好 酷 , 正 如 不 久 之 前

For perennials, life is easier in winter; they

Are asleep, dreaming ice creams and gnomes.

Nothing bugs them and no thoughts get

Flushed away. It’s all cool as they told me

他 們 告 訴 我 。 然 後 一 顆 彗 星 走 近

帶 回 來 五 萬 年 前 未 被 實 現 的

願 望 。 尼 安 德 特 人

和 猛 獁 象 現 在 到 哪 裡 了 ?

Not long ago. Then a comet approaches,

Bringing back unfulfilled wishes from

Fifty thousand years ago. Where are

The neanderthals and mammoths now?

物 件 是 如 此 的 單 純

一 枝 鉛 筆 和 一 張 白 紙

真 摯 如 平 分 一 個 偶 數 但 又 不 用

用 過 時 的 計 算 機

Objects are simple.

A pencil and a piece of paper:

Fair like dividing an even number without using

An expired calculator.

Travelling Palm


Tamara Chatterjee

USA (November, 2000) – While the previous

trips were fantastic, the journey around the

Grand Canyon was majestic. We arrived

in Canyon De Chelly to mild weather and

blooming fruit trees, under a dusting of

snow. There was an atmospheric change as

we navigated our way into the canyon. From

the canyon’s inner sanctum surrounded

by petroglyphs and pictographs; the white

house ruins and sandstone cliffs, a brilliant

sight came into view, we watched a bird of

prey superimpose its shadows on the desert

varnished surface.


Cem Turgay


Holly Lee

Shinro Ohtake is one of the most important creative forces in contemporary Japanese art.

Ohtake’s oeuvre includes drawing, pasted works, painting, sculpture and photography, as well

as experimental music and videos.

Shinro Ohtake


(See also DOUBLE DOUBLE September edition 2022: Reality. Irreality. Augmented Reality)

Lee Ka-sing

Z FICTION series

a selection of

15 photographs

An excerpt from


October issue 2022
















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