NEW YEAR
New Year's Day:
the ancient voice of a
nightingale.
SPRING
idyllic nights
and quiet days:
spring rains.
SUMMER
cold water, and
a couple of rice cakes:
it's summertime.
AUTUMN
morning glories
are tousled by
Autumn winds.
WINTER
lingering wind
and snow fall
upon me.
Inside -- Outside...
Is there an outside?
I don't know.
I feel I can breathe into
Infinite space.
But how far beyond
My reaching fingertips
Must the cage walls be
For me to feel that I'm
In a cave of unknown
Circumstance?
a crow alights
on a slender, bare branch,
riding the bounce.
There once was a player of the banjo
Who took out his act as a roadshow.
A tour by demand,
(The demand of his band.)
Crowds felt the same and suggested he bongo.
Evergreen woods and a rough-hewn shack.
The sun sets through clear sky.
I shed my hat as I walk alone,
Listening for songbirds.
No wild geese are flying
From whence my beloved lives.
But in my mind, we are close --
Close enough to touch.
Dark clouds stand over the sea,
But in moonlight river isles gleam.
My eyes and my words stop at
That great river that sprawls ahead.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a translation of the fourth of the twenty-four poems.
There once was a Taoist from Taipei,
Who knew all one could know of the Way.
When asked for directions,
He'd state his objections,
"The way that can be stated is not The Way."
canna lily blooms
catch the light of sunrise as
stems sleep in the shade.
Sometime not too distant,
There will come a day
When you will return to
A frequent state of play.
When that day comes around,
You'll have lost all concern
For the adults' belief that
Frivolity must be spurned.
You'll take to tossing balls
And climbing up the walls,
Just like you used to do
When you were one or two --
Before that human zoo
Got its hooks in you.
Slowly, silently, the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.
trailside chicory
waves on a windless day:
a long-gone cyclist?
Tiger Riding for Beginners 