DAILY PHOTO: Highrise Hong Kong
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Sleet and rain, as if the pot were boiling.
Winds whack like the crack of an axe.
An old man, an old man,
At sunset, crept into my hut.
He sighed. He sighed as if to himself,
"These rulers, so cruel. Why, tell me
Why they must steal till we starve,
Then slice the skin from our bones?
For a song from some beauty,
They'll go back on sworn words;
For a song from some tart,
They'll tear down our huts;
For a sweet song or two,
They'll slaughter ten thousand like me,
Like you. Weep as you will,
Let your hair turn white,
Let your whole clan go hungry...
No good wind will blow,
No gentle breeze
Begin again.
Lord Locust Plague and Baron Bandit Bug,
One east, one west, one north, one south.
We're surrounded.
NOTE: This the J.P. Seaton translation found in The Poetry of Zen (2004); Shambhala Publications: Boston, MA, pp. 67-68. For the author’s name, Seaton uses “Kuan Hsiu,” the Wade-Giles romanization of the name.
All of them. As a traveler, I am more an anthropologist of traditions than a practitioner of them.
Old Master Q Chinese Idioms LOL 5 by Wong ChakTo have known him, to have loved him
After loneness long;
And then to be estranged in life,
And neither in the wrong;
And now for death to set his seal—
Ease me, a little ease, my song!
By wintry hills his hermit-mound
The sheeted snow-drifts drape,
And houseless there the snow-bird flits
Beneath the fir-trees’ crape:
Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine
That hid the shyest grape.
At some level of granularity, you could slice it that way.
Public beach:
10am on a Tuesday.
It's peaceful --
Peaceful in a depressing
Sort of way.
It's desolate.
There are gulls and crabs,
But not a human in sight.
It's like the scene in which
A solitary survivor --
Having endured
Disease,
Starvation,
Outlaws,
&
Zombies
While crossing the
Continent on foot --
Realizes he has reached
The end of the line, &
The rumored sanctuary
Does not exist...
But at least the view is nice,
And -- for the moment --
It's Zombie free.