harvested fields
sit dry and barren
as trees flower.
Mixed Messages [Haiku]
Reply
Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day,
As they go lumbering across the sky,
Squawking in joy of feeling safe on high,
Beating their heavy wings of owlish gray.
They scare the singing birds of earth away
As, greed-impelled, they circle threateningly,
Watching the toilers with malignant eye,
From their exclusive haven -- birds of prey.
They swoop down for the spoil in certain might,
And fasten in our bleeding flesh their claws.
They beat us to surrender weak with fright,
And tugging and tearing without let or pause,
They flap their hideous wings in grim delight,
And stuff our gory hearts into their maws.
When one makes god of wealth,
Light glows from yellow "gold,"
But the lavish withers --
Even as its deeps take hold.
Fog at the river's edge.
Red apricots, woods enfold.
Moon shine on bower's flowers.
Painted bridge in green shadow.
An old bowl full of wine,
As a friend's lute song unfolds.
Make your bliss of such things,
And they will be your true gold.
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 crude translation of the ninth of the twenty-four poems. This poem’s Chinese title is 绮丽, and its translated titles include: “Beautiful,” “Intricate,” and “Embroideries.”

gusty winds
write a hilltop puddle
into chaos.

rocky landscape:
under gray clouds as far as
eyes can see.