She's slender hands and pretty lips,
And seafoam and rosemary.
Her ears are pointed at the tips,
She stayed so long in Fairy.
“Chemical Analysis” by Stephen Vincent Benet [w/ Audio]
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DAILY PHOTO: Incheon National Maritime Museum & Wolmido Lighthouse
“Impromptu Lines Written on a Spring Day” [春日偶成] by Cheng Hao [程颢]
Towards noon fleecy clouds waft in the gentle breeze;
I cross the stream amid flowers and willow trees.
What do the worldlings know about my hearty pleasure?
They'd only take me for a truant fond of leisure.
Note: This is the joint translation of Xu Yuanchong and Xu Ming found in the edition of Golden Treasury of Quatrains and Octaves on which they collaborated (i.e. China Publishing Group: Beijing (2008.))
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PROMPT: Music
I’m not one for favorites; I think it’s a form of experiential laziness. That said, there is music that has particular emotional resonance for me because it’s what was playing where I was when I was when I was younger — mostly rock and indie rock.
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DAILY PHOTO: Sunrise on Victoria Harbor
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“We should not mind so small a flower” by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]
We should not mind so small a flower
Except it quiet bring
Our little garden that we lost
Back to the Lawn again -
So spicy her Carnations nod -
So drunken, reel her Bees -
So silver, steal a hundred flutes
From out a hundred trees -
That whoso sees this little flower
By faith, may clear behold
The Bobolinks around the throne
And Dandelions gold.
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PROMPT: Memorable Vacation
The one I remember most at the moment is the most recent one, South Korea and Hong Kong. Beyond that, everything is in a slow fade.
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Dance, Dance, Dance, Surrender [Free Verse]
Moving through the Great Spontaneous,
Blender blades barely missing --
In fact, sometimes nicking.
The accumulation of those nicks
Is aging.
It takes an ever-defter dance to keep
The damage buildup to a constant pace --
Not letting it blitz one,
Or pull one into the turbine:
Like a goose through
The turbofans of a 787.
A goose may kill a plane,
But becomes dust in the process.
When one surrenders to the choppers
One will not have the satisfaction
Of killing the vehicle,
Of bringing it all down.
The Universe will go on,
And one's molecules will become
Something new.
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DAILY PHOTO: Incheon Chinatown Gates
“America” by Claude McKay [w/ Audio]
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth.
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate,
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet, as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.
