Poems collected along my journey
Sunday noon, 10/21/2012
I'm looking out,
Across the street,
Past the roof,
Into the sky.
I see a sheet of blue,
Shards of white,
I see your smile,
A tint of blue,
A whiff of cinnamon,
A sheaf of moor-grass,
Hot afternoon sun,
Cool flowing water,
In the center,
With a smile,
Like a queen,
Like a believer,
On top of the world,
Under fathoms of the sea,
An arena of cheers,
An aquarium of tears,
In the blue.
I see a leaf of gold,
Veins of purple,
I see your frown,
A tad of yellow,
A whit of sunset,
A train of autumn,
Behind all this,
With a frown,
Like a charmer,
Like a doubter,
At the edge of a chair,
On the brim of the horizon,
A crystal ball of the future,
A jewelry box of the past,
In the yellow.
I'm looking in,
Through the room,
Over the floor,
Behind the door.
I see a chamber of mystery,
Wraiths of indeterminate,
The blue of his eyes,
Secluded the Pacific inside him.
Elided into the elvish twinkle
Of the blue.
Bright as the sky of the solstice,
Lost as the last magpie ready for the air,
The blue is searching,
For the closing beam of the sunlight,
That seams day and night.
Do you know,
It matters not,
Whether the blue is a tarrying spring in the treeless city,
Or the sooty prints through the roadless snow?
As long as it takes my smile along,
In its aqua,
Snow in July
It is snowing again
In spite of all the blossoms,
The bird nests,
And the inviting summer breeze,
That covers up one after another frozen bruises,
Of the fingers,
My naked whole,
Denounced by the wintry tattletale.
Real or fake,
A duplicate of the icy battle between life and death.
It's hard to believe,
Let alone feel,
The chill underneath the silky white,
Colorless but not lifeless,
Which makes the escape more impossible than ever.
The hottest snow,
Paradoxically fooling all my senses,
That just got used to the moist air,
The silky fragrance,
The lilting warbles,
The reminiscent grass,
The amnestic sky,
All choicelessly espousing one another....
It is snowing again,
In the middle of July,
Though the swallows are ready to nest,
And fighting again for their willful existence,
Despite the hurting wounds carried through,
From the unimaginable past,
To the imaginary future.
It is snowing again,
Though the memories are already consolidated,
And endless waiting is pending.
The cold is not unknown, though.
Just like the heat used to be part of the iceless heart.
Pity and shame,
My dear strangers,
How long are you planning to linger,
In the aqua silhouette of all the mountains,
That life has trekked through?
Sense of self blurred,
One thing is preserved -
A sense of sap is floating but not fleeting.
So life shall be fine,
In the massive snow of July....
I Am a Poet
4:00 PM, 01/22/09
Aha, I told the world I am a poet,
With so much pride above and lamentation beneath,
I declared that I am a poet.
I am a poet without a kingdom,
Because I have no land.
But at least,
I have not tossed the daffodils,
And every flicker of Sirius quivering,
Inside those tears
—yes, water and fire co-exist,
To them like one.
Aha, I stared into his eyes, her eyes,
Wiped the sneer off those muzzles,
And announced with no hesitation or reservation,
I am a poet!
My heart is bleeding,
Yet it is cooing with every thump,
Flushed with carmine and vermilion,
A mockingbird in the heat of the night.
My feet are throbbing,
Yet they are fruiting with every tramp,
Endowed with psalms and litanies,
A queen in the dawn of her queenhood.
My eyes are strained,
Yet they stage the Crusades and the Big Bang,
Sahara and Niagara,
Qianlong and Pothinus,
Selene and Eos,
Eleutherios and Astraea,
Streaming and reeling and dripping—
Have I ever lost sight of you,
In my dreams,
In my hymns,
And in all the thistles that I held out to the Asbru,
Lain behind me?
The future is unseen by so many eyes,
The past unkept,
They say now is all, all is now—
All I clench in my fists,
Are the lava of the sea and the oil of the land,
The crystal of the smoke and the granite of the cloud,
The down of the blue and the up of the rain,
The bodkins of larch cones,
The brickbats of smooched lips,
The Seven Days of infinite waiting,
The Tendre of nanna's hands,