SPRING
Despite the storm,
Spring's herald makes it through:
Scent of plum blossom.
SUMMER
Abundant fireflies
This year, but this morning
None are to be seen.
AUTUMN
Autumn sea:
A boat moves, leaf-like,
In the floating world.
WINTER
Winter rains
Cross the mountains
On rising clouds.
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.
In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.
You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.
When early morning sunlight warms
The vibrant lakeside greenery,
All of those cave-like lakeside trails
turn psychedelic scenery.
The leaves become so translucent
Butterfly and bee silhouettes
Stretch out at distorted angles --
Beasts beyond being caught with nets.
Despite being sober and fresh
The mind reels or seeks to reset.
A culture is a vehicle
we use to move
through
this world.
And like all vehicles -
be it truck or bus -
it
has blindspots.
Everyone in a given
vehicle has the same
blindspots...
That's why we travel.
budding limbs:
vibrant growth unseen from
the city beyond.
"The ignorant speak, while the wise keep silent."
I read the words of Laozi.
But if Laozi knew the Way,
Why did he write those five thousand characters?
wildflowers sway
over the creek's cool water,
stirred by thermals.
I shall die, but
that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;
I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,
business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle
while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself:
I will not give him a leg up.
Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,
I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall, die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
I am not on his pay-roll.
I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends
nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much,
I will not map him the route to any man's door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living,
that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city
are safe with me; never through me Shall you be overcome.
swamphens strut
at water’s edge, and
i’m a farmboy again.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 