One Fish [Haiku]

solitary fish
darts about at lake's edge:
taunting fates & fishers.

“Tortuous” [Poetry Style #17 (委曲)] by Sikong Tu [w/ Audio]

Climbing Taihang Mountain,
On the green winding way.
The jade-lined trail in fog,
Floral scents from the gray.
Stuck in unflowing time,
'Til a song sung bright and gay...
I'm steered back to my past
With the grace of ghosts at play.
Skirting roiling waters,
A Roc soars after prey.
The Tao is unbounded --
Round or square as it may.

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 seventeenth of the twenty-four poems. This poem’s Chinese title is 委曲, and has been translated as: “Grievance” and “In Tortuous Ways.”

PROMPT: Relax

Daily writing prompt
How do you relax?

I usually don’t find it too difficult. I find reading and free writing conducive to relaxation. In cases in which I’m wound up, I move and / or exercise intensely. If I ever need to achieve relaxation expeditiously, I use Visama Vritti Pranayama or PMR (progressive muscle relaxation.)

DAILY PHOTO: The Big Buddha of Pai

Burnable World [Haiku]

after the harvest,
farmland - dry & ignitable:
distant smoke.

BOOKS: “Atlas of Paranormal Places” by Evelyn Hollow

Atlas of Paranormal Places: A Journey to the World's Most Supernatural PlacesAtlas of Paranormal Places: A Journey to the World’s Most Supernatural Places by Evelyn Hollow
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Publisher Site

While I’m not much of a believer in the paranormal, I am always curious to learn more about the beliefs, folklore, and backstories of various destinations. Such information, even when immensely interesting, often remains hidden from the casual traveler. For example, had a not read this book I wouldn’t have known that Siquijor Island in the Philippines (a place I’ve been to) had a thriving witch market. I read this book not only because of an interest relevant to places I’ve been and also places I intend to go (e.g. Bhangarh Fort,) but — most importantly — to learn about new and fascinating locations that were not yet on my radar. The book did not disappoint.

The almost forty entries in this atlas are divided among six categories (ghosts, witches, sacred, mythic, nature, and cryptid/creatures.) It is a broad and varied selection of locations from around the world and will most certainly offer even vagabonds some new sites for their “to travel” lists.

I appreciated the thoughtfulness of this book. I noticed this with the discussion of Báthori Erzsébet, a Hungarian noblewoman who was accused of mass murder and – literal – blood baths. Many paranormal authors, either out of an intense need to believe strange things or because of a desire to sell more books, would ignore the extensive evidence that Báthori was framed for purely political motives. Hollow presents said evidence despite the fact that it kind of undercuts her argument that Cachtice Castle is a locus of supernatural happenings.

I found this book compelling, well-written, and illustrated with fine maps and photographs. If you’re interested in the folklore and ghost stories of various locations, I’d check it out.


View all my reviews

“Should the Wide World Roll Away” by Stephen Crane [w/ Audio]

Should the wide world roll away
Leaving black terror
Limitless night,
Nor God, nor man, nor place to stand
Would be to me essential
If thou and thy white arms were there
And the fall to doom a long way.

DAILY PHOTO: Taroko Gorge

Singer [Haiku]

a lovely voice,
heard down the valley, grows
louder & louder.

“In the Prison Pen” by Herman Melville [w/ Audio]

Listless he eyes the palisades
And sentries in the glare;
'Tis barren as a pelican-beach --
But his world is ended there.

Nothing to do; and vacant hands
Bring on the idiot-pain;
He tries to think -- to recollect,
But the blur is on his brain.

Around him swarm the plaining ghosts
Like those on Virgil's shore --
A wilderness of faces dim,
And pale ones gashed and hoar.

A smiting sun. No shed, no tree;
He totters to his lair --
A den that sick hands dug in earth
Ere famine wasted there,

Or, dropping in his place, he swoons,
Walled in by throngs that press,
Till forth from the throngs they bear him
dead --
Dead in his meagerness.