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FLIGHT
We imagine that they aredisappearing into the cloudsonly to reemergein a different place. Nothing could be furtherfrom the truth for they,these raptors flyingon monstroius wings,are shredding the cloudsripping free their fruit,eating of the sweetestparts, letting the restfall down on usas we scurry awayafraid of being soakedin their remnants.
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SOUL MUSIC
The first time I heard Mozart, I swore I was in a biblical garden and I was content to sit and listen for eternity. The serpent came along, as they do in such gardens, as I recall, with the face of Beethoven, though now I am convinced it was just Mahler trying to pass. I…
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GOING AND RETURNING 鐵笛倒吹 三十八
Only the fool will wander from teacher to teacher seeking answers. They will offer only questions. The wise one returns to the question again and again for she may find many answers within, just as the apple tree bears many ripe fruit if carefully tended, each with the seeds of a new tree. Pick…
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BRIEF THOUGHTS (3 HAIKU)
In the sunlit park the small dog watches the man go fetch the thrown ball Maple leaves emerge almost certain that winter is now history A rain of petals cherry snow covers the ground we await the fruit.
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ELEGY
I am a Yao gem inferior to jade but awaiting the sorceress. Will she wear me in her ear, or prefer the pendant? I am a branch broken from the tree to dry on the ground my fruit shriveled into stones. Carry me in your dance inhale the fragrance and raise me from the ashes…
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FERRYMAN
He comes to me in the dead hour of night the old shriveled man poling his poor ferry across the river of my dreams. He comes when the moon has fled and the stars fall mute and he beckons me holding out the copper coins stating his fare. He comes to me, beckoning, and for…
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AS THE CROW FLIES
Leaving the fields of the countryside for the city, it is the birds that tell you when the invisible boundary has been crossed. There are usually signs along the roads bolted to steel poles but the birds know better. In the country, birds sing long arias to the day, to cornstalks making the slow green…
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an old writer and his words 