light penetrates a fissure,
illuminating a raw wound in rock.
Cat & Burglar [Senryū]
Photographic Deception [Free Verse]
DAILY PHOTO: Azerbaijan National Carpet Museum
“Fluid” [Poetry Style #24] by Sikong Tu [w/ Audio]
Like water spilling over rocks?
Like a bead's roll across the floor?
Cliches, they fail to tell the story,
As no doll shows life's splendor.
But the Earth' unsupported spin through space,
As the heaven's pivot and sprawl for more...
If you could find how it all began,
You'd see it'll be as it was before.
The high and bright realm of the gods
Returns to nothing and nevermore.
And if you lived ten-thousand years,
You might find yourself in days of yore.
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 translation of the twenty-fourth of the twenty-four poems. This poem has been alternately titled “The Flowing Style,” “Fluid,” “Motion,” etc. by varied translators from its Chinese title of 流动.
Discovering Ruins [Haiku]
Cloud Watching [Haiku]

on the hillside,
amid the wildflowers,
watching clouds shape-shift.
DAILY PHOTO: Old Khndzoresk Cave Village
NOTE: This village of caves located on the wall of a deep gorge (Khor Dzor) was occupied until the late 1950’s or into 1960’s (depending upon who you talk to.) In 1958 a “regular” village was built nearby, and the residents moved into the new village. Lest one think this was just some tiny backward settlement, it was for some time the largest village in Eastern Armenia with over 8,000 residents serviced by some 30 shops, seven schools, and a number of professional service providers.
Spring Green [Haiku]
“The Knight’s Tomb” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge [w/ Audio]
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
Where may the grave of that good man be? --
By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn,
Under the twigs of a young birch tree!
The oak that in summer was sweet to hear,
And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,
And whistled and roared in the winter alone,
Is gone, -- and the birch in its stead has grown. --
The Knight's bones are dust,
And his good sword rust; --
His soul is with the saints, I trust.














