Poetry Chapbook is out on Amazon

For all you readers who have asked about where to get a hardcopy of my poetry, thank you for appreciating my craft. In honor of you, the chapbook is now out on Amazon and clicking on the link below takes you there.

Thank you for reading. Much love and wishing you peace, joy, and comfort this New Year’s 2015.

I Want You to Be Whole



Bali, Jan 2014


Paper Pigeons



And no

Rilke in the


In          evitable           tragedies

are little boys and         little girls

Who live to
Tell and
weave     s     t      o

r   i   e


Of  needs  and               w


Shaped by

And words
gifts                                 trust
respect                            honor;

Watching                       bridges burn
As we

sink;                                singing


Once and


And yet, we
dance                               in vases

to                                      gether

and a


For                                    ever.

Suddenly I Remember

I was washed up
at sea, shell cocoon
born of a tiger and
a lamb, the sand that
came out of my nostrils blew
into glass, amber, fossils with bees
collecting nectar,
trapped in remembering,
and forgetting.

When my father hands me his eyes,
I burn them into
the palms of my hands,
yellow, ochre, gold.
He puts me on a cliff of eagles.
I jump.

Horns of Babel and civilizations
trumpet and spill into the ocean,
onto shore as people, ships,
and gardens;
Commerce comes pouring out.
My father runs, my mother follows
into the highlands and cries into canyons
when she cannot find him.

It’s not as easy as it seems,
they bellow;
I wipe earth off my face and pull out twigs
from the soft of my heel.
I hear her.
I hear them.

I feel ridges of wings pushing
through flesh and skin
like a wisdom tooth.
My shoulder blade bleeds and
baptizes daisies into birth.
I sing.

Honeycomb drips off my fingers,
we eat, we eat, we throw ourselves off bridges,
we rush forward and our faces appear as stars
drumming like hammers into the black nothing of nails.
Loose, loose, my oldest friend.
We bloom into mountains, into shrines.

Alicia Khoo
Signal Hill, California
Oct 2013

The Deepest Spot on Earth


When I was a child,

I was sent on a journey to

find the meaning of life;

or someone would die.

They told me,

“If you leave it out,

everything will be stolen

so cover it with a glass lid.”

I crossed the desert just to see

the Pyramids;

I wanted the answers

and found God in my hunger.

“Why are you scaring him?!”

He said that

my enemies taught me more

about me than I ever knew.

I see my reflection in a book

I wrote,

and the meaning of life stares

right back at me.

They were not satisfied with the

answer upon my return;

for it did not bring immortality

nor great wealth

(therefore, useless).

We’re dying Richard Parker.

Look into my eyes.

I lost everything.

I no longer owe you anything.

Capitalism is an Interesting Creature

Iraq-Babylon-Ancient-2In my armchair sits Philosophy
Regal in rags
Holding a cup of poison
Next to a perpetual fireplace

As the great thinkers of mankind
line the halls
Frantically writing shelves of books,
Arguing about whether God is dead,
Impotent! (a collective gasp!)
A figment of the imagination?
A moral judge who decrees that men and
children die for Him;
Or a moral judge who died for all?

Wisdom says I have to make my choice,
And if I choose to make no choice,
That is a choice in itself.

We discuss the pursuits of utopia,
How we threw Communism away,
(so many people trying to change the world):

States of Monarchy, Anarchy and Apathy;
the nature of humanity–
inherently good, or completely fallen,
Heading to maximum entropy
Or eternal paradise!

Are the wages a tool for freedom,
Protection and a common good,
Or are we just prostitutes to gold
And dust?

Traitor of my soul,
You traded me for thirty silver coins,
my brother.
Cut me out of the inheritance;
If I am to guard a den of robbers,
if truth be told, I am to inherit destruction;
You can have it all.

I throw my willpower in the fireplace.
I drink the cup of poison.
I fall asleep weeping, wailing and
mourning in a garden but don’t die.

© Alicia Khoo

NaPoWriMo Day 28

Back from Work

Vladimir Kush 11

 Did you find the Indian ocean

 in a pot of luck?

Or the love of cups and dice

in a gypsy’s trailer?

Dinner’s getting cold dear,

and some of us are too full

for knowledge;

Today I drowned in a field

of wild poppies,

fireworks like when we were

overnight billionaires

trading in emeralds,

silver spoons,

and treacling honeycomb.

© Alicia Khoo

 vladimir kush artwork

Day Three of NaPoWriMo

Prompt: Out of Luck

Night of the Murdered Poets


Murmurs swallow


they turn our room

           into an


Light the bushfire of our


money buys poetry

          frames them up

      in a fireplace


     a bathrobe on the Seine;

         my tongue

                         bleeds out the

window ;

              It is night.

Alicia Khoo
The Hague, Netherlands,
March 2012

In memory of the thirteen Soviet Jews in the Lubyanka Prison in Moscow, Soviet Union–tortured, beaten, isolated for three years and executed on August 12, 1952. Poets, novelists, journalists, translators, doctors, warriors.