“Form” [Poetry Style #20] by Sikong Tu [w/ Audio]

Quit seeking to firm up the soul;
Return to the unadorned truth.
One can seek the shape of water;
One can write of a pleasant spring.
Winds shift the shapes of clouds,
Flowers stand tall, and flowers droop.
The great waves of a sprawling sea,
The mountain's craggy ruggedness...
They all emulate the Great Way.
Every wonderful thing is dust.
Find semblance beyond shape or form.
In this person, the multitudes.

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 twentieth of the twenty-four poems. Translated titles vary. This one has been titled “Descriptive” and “Form and Feature” by varied translators.

PROMPT: Passionate

Daily writing prompt
What are you passionate about?

Being a better version of myself with each new day.

Raptor Unseen [Haiku]

a hawk screeches 
somewhere in the valley,
but remains unseen.

Winter’s Long Shadow [Haiku]

in the mountains,
winter always looms nearby:
green hills, or not.

DAILY PHOTO: Sculptures of Cafesjian Center for the Arts

by Fernando Botero
by Yue Minjun
“Big Blue Kiwi”

Dystopian Desolation [Lyric Poem]

A road lined with burnt out junkers,
And garbage fires 'round which hunker
Cold souls sitting in drizzling rain --
That rain, that rain, their eternal bane.

Blue skies are a distant memory --
Except for in every reverie
That denies claustrophobic skies
The main villain role - e'er reprised.

Where's our long-lost hero, the sun?
Have stout clouds got him on the run?
Or maybe our hero 's bleeding out;
Its feeble showing leaves room for doubt.

Sonnet 138 by William Shakespeare [w/ Audio]

When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
Oh, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told.
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

Gloom [Haiku]

clouds advance in waves:
mighty army on the march
set on spreading gloom.

Breeze-Free Beat [Tanka]

the eternal flame
lunges this way and that;
then -- for an instant --
it stands symmetrically:
only one breeze-free beat.

DAILY PHOTO: Balakhani Cemetery Hill