eyeing the mountain
like it’s defeated you once,
and may again.
Distant Stare [Senryū]
Reply
Category Archives: poem
Yielding [Senryū]
the grass sways,
while skyscrapers stand stiffly:
so impressive, the grass!
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
Gray Day River [Haiku]
Skirmish Line [Haiku]
rainclouds crawl nearer,
like a battle cruiser
inching towards war.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
In the Shadows [Haiku]
Morning Glories sit,
coolly, in the shadow of
Mexican Sunflowers.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
“Grass of the Ancient Plains” by Bai Juyi [w/ Audio]
Lush grass covers the plains.
One year it withers; the next, it thrives.
Wildfires burn, but not to eradication.
With Spring winds, it's rejuvenated.
Its aroma floats in to subdue derelict paths.
Vivid green overtakes the ghost town.
I say farewell to departing friends
as intense feeling swells within.
In Chinese [Simplified]:
离离原上草 一岁一枯荣
野火烧不尽 春风吹又生
远芳侵古道 晴翠接荒城
又送王孙去 萋萋满别情
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
Sunken Forest [Haiku]
white pillars, once trees,
stand above the water:
record of what was.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
“Trees” by Joyce Kilmer [w/ Audio]
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose busom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
Cormorant Stitching [Haiku]
a cormorant weaves
into and over water:
no trace but ripples.
Share on Facebook, Twitter, Email, etc.
Introduction to Myth Making [Free Verse]
From the hilltop,
one can watch nature reclaim:
green grows up the glass,
tufts sprout from each crevice
and the man-made world is crevice-laden,
one seed blown into a mortar crack
will become a wedge --
a sprout that splits stone.
Concrete and steel prove
digestible:
time, water, oxygen,
the enzymatic requirements are few.
Fungi blooms from a pile-full of dung.
I don't know whether it's a desirable meal,
whether our trappings & vestiges are
haute cuisine,
or merely a meal
of convenience.
This place was once with us.
Now, it's hidden so well
that it's become a myth,
a once firm and tangible thing --
now invisible & conceptual.
Nature swallowed our world
and farted our mythos.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 