Milpitas Library closed its doors.
The ageing dinosaur
Outlive its usefulness
Obsolete before Its time.
The skeletal remains of its abode
Is ready for makeover into Senior Center
In tribute to our valuable senior citizens
Whom have toiled & contributed to the
Betterment of our great city – Milpitas.
The vacant building stands lonely
Empty of inhabitants
Voices no long heard in its vast corridors.
The emptiness – resonates –
In explosive quietude of silence.
Dust covered floor – debris –
Remanence of past –
And fragments of time –
Bequeath to the ageing dinosaur.
I miss the sound
Of children’s joyous laughter.
I miss hearing the exuberant “ALOHA” –
A gracious proclamation of greetings
From cheerful, smiling librarian
As we enter the halls of knowledge
And chamber for learning.
I miss the recitals of poems –
Poetry Slam – Open Mic Night –
From library’s Community Hall
Home of
PEACEFUL POET GROUP –
MALUHIA HAKU MELE OHANA.
RAYMOND CHOW 12-14-08
Sunday, December 14, 2008
TRICK OR TREAT IN MILPITAS
The haunting rattle of bones of skeleton
echoes into silence
of the darkest night of the year.
A paradise of candy-land unfolds
just outside our doorstep for the little keikis.
A world of peppermint, raspberry, chocolates,
and all the delectable tidbits of yummy treats
for the tummy are just waiting
at each beacon of porch light
that welcomes tricksters with treats
just for the asking.
The adventure unfolds when the sun sets
and darkness envelopes the night sky;
cloak of ominous dark clouds hovering above
intensifies the haunting omen
that bewitches frightened
little keikis of the night.
Mahealani just doesn’t care to go tricking
and hasn’t for several years.
She still has hang-ups
of scary skeletons rattling in their cage
that haunted her during her toddler years
and traumatize her to present day.
The kahuna spell remains ever present.
She is self proclaimed benefactor
for her brethrens - brothers and sisters,
by handing top-shelf goodies to little cripes
that comes knocking-knocking at our door
at the ungodly hour of early night,
the most nightmarish time
of the night for little keikis.
Melika wore black leotard and sweater
Mom painted her face with cat’s whiskers
and a big dab of black on the tip of her nose.
Naniloa wore a dragon costume
with long trailing tail that was sweeping
the walkway squeaky clean.
The black cat slinks thru the neighborhood,
cautiously mincing each step,
Reluctant Dragon, a step behind
plodding on the sidewalk
like a herd of elephants
clumping thru our neighboring savanna.
Mom & Dad
venture into the heart of darkness
accompanying both our little darlings,
brave souls were they
to enter into the bleak world
Where ghouls and goblins,
nocturnal haunters of Halloween night,
lurk under deep shadows of trees
and in darkest corners of houses.
Mom & Dad will protect
our little darlings from the Highwayman
that lurks in the wilderness of our streets
ready to pounce on
unsuspecting angels of the night
for their treasured booties of goodies.
A massive tribe of angelic keikis
and some creepy devils
interspersed in the crowd,
trooping through Milpitas Township,
stripping and pillaging each household
of all the sweet treats
like a horde of locust
descending on our field of homes
And leaving a scattering trail
of empty shell of candy wrappers.
Our little angel’s booty bag
was filled to the brim,
their cup runneth over
ending the memorable
Halloween night in Milpitas.
A fleeting night that ended too quick,
and a glimpse into wonderful world
of candy-land;
bless the little menehunes,
dispensers of elixir for children’s tummies
that is soooooo goooood.
RAYMOND CHOW November 30 2008
Mahealani = heavenly moon,
she was born during full moon
Melika = equivalent to Melissa, valued gift
Naniloa = heavenly beauty
kahuna = sorcerer, one who inflict illness, ill will
keiki = little children
keiki wahine = little girl;
menehune = legendary race of small people who
work at night before the arrival of
1st Hawaiian, Hawaiian leprechaun
echoes into silence
of the darkest night of the year.
A paradise of candy-land unfolds
just outside our doorstep for the little keikis.
A world of peppermint, raspberry, chocolates,
and all the delectable tidbits of yummy treats
for the tummy are just waiting
at each beacon of porch light
that welcomes tricksters with treats
just for the asking.
The adventure unfolds when the sun sets
and darkness envelopes the night sky;
cloak of ominous dark clouds hovering above
intensifies the haunting omen
that bewitches frightened
little keikis of the night.
Mahealani just doesn’t care to go tricking
and hasn’t for several years.
She still has hang-ups
of scary skeletons rattling in their cage
that haunted her during her toddler years
and traumatize her to present day.
The kahuna spell remains ever present.
She is self proclaimed benefactor
for her brethrens - brothers and sisters,
by handing top-shelf goodies to little cripes
that comes knocking-knocking at our door
at the ungodly hour of early night,
the most nightmarish time
of the night for little keikis.
Melika wore black leotard and sweater
Mom painted her face with cat’s whiskers
and a big dab of black on the tip of her nose.
Naniloa wore a dragon costume
with long trailing tail that was sweeping
the walkway squeaky clean.
The black cat slinks thru the neighborhood,
cautiously mincing each step,
Reluctant Dragon, a step behind
plodding on the sidewalk
like a herd of elephants
clumping thru our neighboring savanna.
Mom & Dad
venture into the heart of darkness
accompanying both our little darlings,
brave souls were they
to enter into the bleak world
Where ghouls and goblins,
nocturnal haunters of Halloween night,
lurk under deep shadows of trees
and in darkest corners of houses.
Mom & Dad will protect
our little darlings from the Highwayman
that lurks in the wilderness of our streets
ready to pounce on
unsuspecting angels of the night
for their treasured booties of goodies.
A massive tribe of angelic keikis
and some creepy devils
interspersed in the crowd,
trooping through Milpitas Township,
stripping and pillaging each household
of all the sweet treats
like a horde of locust
descending on our field of homes
And leaving a scattering trail
of empty shell of candy wrappers.
Our little angel’s booty bag
was filled to the brim,
their cup runneth over
ending the memorable
Halloween night in Milpitas.
A fleeting night that ended too quick,
and a glimpse into wonderful world
of candy-land;
bless the little menehunes,
dispensers of elixir for children’s tummies
that is soooooo goooood.
RAYMOND CHOW November 30 2008
Mahealani = heavenly moon,
she was born during full moon
Melika = equivalent to Melissa, valued gift
Naniloa = heavenly beauty
kahuna = sorcerer, one who inflict illness, ill will
keiki = little children
keiki wahine = little girl;
menehune = legendary race of small people who
work at night before the arrival of
1st Hawaiian, Hawaiian leprechaun
Friday, October 17, 2008
INNER PEACE WITHIN
I yearn to find that inner peace.
Look within your inner self
It’s within your grasp.
Clusters of words –
Journey thru the mind –
Embroidered with metaphors –
Decorated with imagery –
Harmoniously coming together –
The Rush! –
Igniting the tidal flow of euphoria
Inundates my soul –
With spiritual waves of serenity.
Inhale the essence of inner peace –
Poetic songs from my soul.
Raymond Chow 09-11-08
Look within your inner self
It’s within your grasp.
Clusters of words –
Journey thru the mind –
Embroidered with metaphors –
Decorated with imagery –
Harmoniously coming together –
The Rush! –
Igniting the tidal flow of euphoria
Inundates my soul –
With spiritual waves of serenity.
Inhale the essence of inner peace –
Poetic songs from my soul.
Raymond Chow 09-11-08
Sunday, September 21, 2008
THE INNER PEACE OF “DANCING LIBBY
Demure “Dancing Libby” has found
Her inner peace.
It is written in her dancing eyes
Peeking around her smiles.
The purity and innocence
Of her child-like trust and faith –
She surrenders her soul to Christ –
Faithfully embraces her deep rooted faith.
She dances with her inner peace
To rapturous music from her soul.
Beatitude of “Dancing Libby”
She is completely at peace.
Our endearing MATRIARCH OF POETRY –
We embrace her with love –
OUR BELOVED – “DANCING LIBBY’.
Dedicated to Loeth Elizabeth Pledger
Our Dancing Libby
Raymond Chow 09-ii-08
Her inner peace.
It is written in her dancing eyes
Peeking around her smiles.
The purity and innocence
Of her child-like trust and faith –
She surrenders her soul to Christ –
Faithfully embraces her deep rooted faith.
She dances with her inner peace
To rapturous music from her soul.
Beatitude of “Dancing Libby”
She is completely at peace.
Our endearing MATRIARCH OF POETRY –
We embrace her with love –
OUR BELOVED – “DANCING LIBBY’.
Dedicated to Loeth Elizabeth Pledger
Our Dancing Libby
Raymond Chow 09-ii-08
I FOUND MY INNER PEACE
I yearn to find that inner peace.
My endearing love for my granddaughters
The things they say or do
From the sublime to unmentionable.
Spontaneous – unrehearsed –
’Tutu* U got We-We?’
‘My Da-Da got We-We.’
Momentary shock! –
State of denial! –
Burst of exuberant laughter –
Titillating my funny bone to the core –
Medication for my aging soul.
Rivulets of curls flow below her shoulders
Framing her milky white face.
Sparkling round eyes –
Peek thru curtain of frizzy curly-locks –
Staring up with smile.
Her pink lips spread out like wings –
Of an angel ready to take flight.
‘Tutu* U Da Bess!’
Our connection – and bond will last and last.
KEALOHA MO’OPUNA KEIKI WAHINE. **
I FOUND MY INNER PEACE.
Raymond Chow 09-11-08
* Tutu = Grandpa, ** love of little granddaughter - Hawaiian
My endearing love for my granddaughters
The things they say or do
From the sublime to unmentionable.
Spontaneous – unrehearsed –
’Tutu* U got We-We?’
‘My Da-Da got We-We.’
Momentary shock! –
State of denial! –
Burst of exuberant laughter –
Titillating my funny bone to the core –
Medication for my aging soul.
Rivulets of curls flow below her shoulders
Framing her milky white face.
Sparkling round eyes –
Peek thru curtain of frizzy curly-locks –
Staring up with smile.
Her pink lips spread out like wings –
Of an angel ready to take flight.
‘Tutu* U Da Bess!’
Our connection – and bond will last and last.
KEALOHA MO’OPUNA KEIKI WAHINE. **
I FOUND MY INNER PEACE.
Raymond Chow 09-11-08
* Tutu = Grandpa, ** love of little granddaughter - Hawaiian
SEACH FOR INNER PEACE
I yearn to find that inner peace.
Its way up high in the sky –
Hiding among the bellowing clouds.
Unending mutation –
Into various forms – shapes –
Impressionistic cloud games –
Appeases my inner peace.
Fly up to the sky
Grasp the inner peace by its tail
Stow it in your head
Cap-it with baseball cap
Before it melts into the sky.
Raymond Chow 09-11-08
Its way up high in the sky –
Hiding among the bellowing clouds.
Unending mutation –
Into various forms – shapes –
Impressionistic cloud games –
Appeases my inner peace.
Fly up to the sky
Grasp the inner peace by its tail
Stow it in your head
Cap-it with baseball cap
Before it melts into the sky.
Raymond Chow 09-11-08
Friday, August 8, 2008
POETRY – THE OPEN WINDOW INTO MY SOUL
Narcissist mirror reflex my soul
The protagonist –
me –
Hiding behind poetry
With flowing cloak of chivalry –
Glowing words that aspire to be heard
That smothers the sensory
A string of ragtag words bonded together –
Dressed with flowery words –
Fine tune words – all prettied-up –
Belt-out those ditties –
Illusions from depth of my soul
There is – the pretentious critic –
Assassins of poetry –
Eviscerates my poem with its lashing tongue
Spitting out bones – stones – bits and pieces –
Entails of my maudlin soul exposed –
Bruising my fragile ego –
Hung-out to be dried – fried - pried
In darkest corner –
The receptacle of my soul –
Where my psychosis hang-out –
An area I shun to transgress
Guilt ridden store house
Of faulty decisions
That sorely needs revision
And rife with indecisions –
MY DOMICILE
Poetry – opens the window to my psyche
Purge the opprobrium from my soul
Into this poem
exit darkside –
into the BRIGHTSIDE –
MY CATHARSIS – and UNCTION –
Resurrecting my recalcitrant soul
Poetry – The Open Window Into My Soul
Raymond Chow - Aug 7 2008
The protagonist –
me –
Hiding behind poetry
With flowing cloak of chivalry –
Glowing words that aspire to be heard
That smothers the sensory
A string of ragtag words bonded together –
Dressed with flowery words –
Fine tune words – all prettied-up –
Belt-out those ditties –
Illusions from depth of my soul
There is – the pretentious critic –
Assassins of poetry –
Eviscerates my poem with its lashing tongue
Spitting out bones – stones – bits and pieces –
Entails of my maudlin soul exposed –
Bruising my fragile ego –
Hung-out to be dried – fried - pried
In darkest corner –
The receptacle of my soul –
Where my psychosis hang-out –
An area I shun to transgress
Guilt ridden store house
Of faulty decisions
That sorely needs revision
And rife with indecisions –
MY DOMICILE
Poetry – opens the window to my psyche
Purge the opprobrium from my soul
Into this poem
exit darkside –
into the BRIGHTSIDE –
MY CATHARSIS – and UNCTION –
Resurrecting my recalcitrant soul
Poetry – The Open Window Into My Soul
Raymond Chow - Aug 7 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
INTERNALIZING WORDS
I like to crawl into my mind.
–
See colorful – vibrant words
Whirling round and around
Painting murals on my eyes.
–
Words that dance on roof of my head
Pirouetting round and round
Gliding on dance floor of my mind.
–
Listen to silent melodic scores
Wordless notes scaling up and down
And sometimes down and around.
–
The vowels in my bowel
Enunciate from lips of my soul
Awaken this text – ALIVE!
–
Feel the tactile touch
Of words so smooth and round
And palatable around the mind.
–
Internalizing WORDS surrounding my mind.
RAYMOND G. CHOW: 07/08/08 2008
–
See colorful – vibrant words
Whirling round and around
Painting murals on my eyes.
–
Words that dance on roof of my head
Pirouetting round and round
Gliding on dance floor of my mind.
–
Listen to silent melodic scores
Wordless notes scaling up and down
And sometimes down and around.
–
The vowels in my bowel
Enunciate from lips of my soul
Awaken this text – ALIVE!
–
Feel the tactile touch
Of words so smooth and round
And palatable around the mind.
–
Internalizing WORDS surrounding my mind.
RAYMOND G. CHOW: 07/08/08 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
IMPRESSIONISM
Conceptualizing the bending of words to blend
Into geometric forms and curvilinear line –
Crystallized from the bowels of my mind.
Choreograph the infusion of angles that fill gaps
Not smothering but complementing –
And juxtapose cool words that coos and sooths –
Culminating into embodiment of space – forms and words.
Rhythmic symbols – and angles that dangles.
–
Bend words to blend into curvilinear line –
That curls around the corners of circle.
Arms – legs – torso – nostril – eyes and breast askew –
Left eye captive in cube – suspended on tangent line –
Juxtapose detached right breast – sliding down to navel
Attach right nostril on oblique line
Acoustic curve ecliptically orbiting around left ear
Rhythmic cubistic eye – impressionistic lines that rhymes.
–
Tattooing symbols in the air
Indelible in the mind –
Transparent in the sky –
Sailing on wings and wind –
Illusions suspended among the stars –
Gliding and spiraling into convoluted world of dreams.
Revolution – and evolution of art forms
Rhythmic beat of wings on wind and line that rhymes.
–
Bend words to blend into curvilinear line
Juxtapose ubiquitous humor – laughter –
And infuse silly giggles that must wiggle and swoon to tunes –
Shunt reality aside – not real – surreal!
Savory the insanity with smiles – but shirk the smirks.
Newfound freedom and impromptu self-expression.
A brief departure from norms of poetic genre.
Rhythmic humor – freedom of impressionistic lines that rhymes.
Into geometric forms and curvilinear line –
Crystallized from the bowels of my mind.
Choreograph the infusion of angles that fill gaps
Not smothering but complementing –
And juxtapose cool words that coos and sooths –
Culminating into embodiment of space – forms and words.
Rhythmic symbols – and angles that dangles.
–
Bend words to blend into curvilinear line –
That curls around the corners of circle.
Arms – legs – torso – nostril – eyes and breast askew –
Left eye captive in cube – suspended on tangent line –
Juxtapose detached right breast – sliding down to navel
Attach right nostril on oblique line
Acoustic curve ecliptically orbiting around left ear
Rhythmic cubistic eye – impressionistic lines that rhymes.
–
Tattooing symbols in the air
Indelible in the mind –
Transparent in the sky –
Sailing on wings and wind –
Illusions suspended among the stars –
Gliding and spiraling into convoluted world of dreams.
Revolution – and evolution of art forms
Rhythmic beat of wings on wind and line that rhymes.
–
Bend words to blend into curvilinear line
Juxtapose ubiquitous humor – laughter –
And infuse silly giggles that must wiggle and swoon to tunes –
Shunt reality aside – not real – surreal!
Savory the insanity with smiles – but shirk the smirks.
Newfound freedom and impromptu self-expression.
A brief departure from norms of poetic genre.
Rhythmic humor – freedom of impressionistic lines that rhymes.
Friday, April 25, 2008
"WHEN THE HEAVENS WEEP - THE LAND LIVES"
When the Heavens fail to weep –
The grasses shrivel.
The blazing summer’s eye –
Scorch the sparse hills –
Baking the green grassland –
From dawn to dusk –
Toasting the hills –
To pallid earthy hues.
Where have all the lush green gone?
Leached by famished–hungry hills
Sucking the marrow of life giving chlorophyll –
To skeletal remains of standing straws.
Light breeze hushes across the sea of straws –
Swaying in unison to the undulating sea –
On eastern hills of Milpitas.
When the Heavens fail to weep –
The land withers.
The Artic wind exhales its hoary cold breath
Transforming Milpitas Hills to dormancy.
The chagrin, forlorn loss of greenery
And unsightly flesh wounds – scar the earth.
The annual metamorphosis of Milpitas Hills
Commences in fall – attenuated by deprivation
Of life’s gift – tears from heaven
“When the Heavens weep – the Land lives.”
The cycle of circadian rhythm begins –
In spring – the rebirth of Milpitas Hills.
Nurtured by built–in compose –
Tears from heaven – a gift to life
Sun – empowers primal beginning –
Painting fecund hills with reborn-hues of green.
A coat of vibrant-green carpet
Shields the rusty earth –
Green band-aid – erases
The flesh wounds on Milpitas Hills.
“Uwe kalani – ola kahonua.”
“When the Heavens weep – the Land lives.”
APRIL 21 2008
The grasses shrivel.
The blazing summer’s eye –
Scorch the sparse hills –
Baking the green grassland –
From dawn to dusk –
Toasting the hills –
To pallid earthy hues.
Where have all the lush green gone?
Leached by famished–hungry hills
Sucking the marrow of life giving chlorophyll –
To skeletal remains of standing straws.
Light breeze hushes across the sea of straws –
Swaying in unison to the undulating sea –
On eastern hills of Milpitas.
When the Heavens fail to weep –
The land withers.
The Artic wind exhales its hoary cold breath
Transforming Milpitas Hills to dormancy.
The chagrin, forlorn loss of greenery
And unsightly flesh wounds – scar the earth.
The annual metamorphosis of Milpitas Hills
Commences in fall – attenuated by deprivation
Of life’s gift – tears from heaven
“When the Heavens weep – the Land lives.”
The cycle of circadian rhythm begins –
In spring – the rebirth of Milpitas Hills.
Nurtured by built–in compose –
Tears from heaven – a gift to life
Sun – empowers primal beginning –
Painting fecund hills with reborn-hues of green.
A coat of vibrant-green carpet
Shields the rusty earth –
Green band-aid – erases
The flesh wounds on Milpitas Hills.
“Uwe kalani – ola kahonua.”
“When the Heavens weep – the Land lives.”
APRIL 21 2008
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
NAPO'OKALA - JULY 2005
body crooked
bent
slants toward the western horizon
blue crowns the tall sky
tapers – fades – melt on the western rim
prism of La – scatter slanting rays
burnishing a collage of colors
bathing Pele’s blood-red cauldron
a harmonic convergence of color
each complementing and infusing
into a symphonic hue of poetic colors
an amorphous mass of silent beauty
seductively caresses the “mind’s eye”
phoenix spreads its flaming wings to distant
the manna of Ka'ne
exhales molten breath of opulent colors on blue
cloning mirrored images upon the sea
juxtaposing a painted homily
in homage to a day lost forever
with solemn piety – La slid
slower than funeral dirge into the abyss
draining the last vestige of daylight
darkness devours the heaven’s sky
vainglorious mural retreats in the La’s wake
quintessential Napo’okala the essence of deity
no artificial colors – preservatives – nor additives –
fat free – and as organic as can be
and as palatable and mellow as mango sorbet
the parade of colors – changes from day to day
and ends – when Napo’okala – hiamo’e and La abdicates
body crooked
bent
slants toward the western horizon
in darkness and stillness of silent night
constellations gems sprinkle the heaven’s high
scripted highways in the sky
for ancient mariners
nocturnal travelers of the night
moon went awol to the far side
courting venus in the distant cosmos
weather beaten lamppost felled by ragging waves
no lamp light nor moon light on ocean’s highway
nor seeing eye dog or mermaid to guide the way
Katrina has long gone
count the stars
and follow Hokule’a in the sky
nocturnal travelers of the night
starry sky
slants toward the western horizon.
AWOL = Absence With Out Leave
Hawaiian translation:
Napo’okala = Sunrise
Pele = Goddess of fire dwells in volcano
Mana = Supernatural power
Ka’ne = One of four principal Hawaiian God
La = Sun God
Hiamo’e = Sleep
Hokule’a = Arcturus, Navigation star above Hawaii
bent
slants toward the western horizon
blue crowns the tall sky
tapers – fades – melt on the western rim
prism of La – scatter slanting rays
burnishing a collage of colors
bathing Pele’s blood-red cauldron
a harmonic convergence of color
each complementing and infusing
into a symphonic hue of poetic colors
an amorphous mass of silent beauty
seductively caresses the “mind’s eye”
phoenix spreads its flaming wings to distant
the manna of Ka'ne
exhales molten breath of opulent colors on blue
cloning mirrored images upon the sea
juxtaposing a painted homily
in homage to a day lost forever
with solemn piety – La slid
slower than funeral dirge into the abyss
draining the last vestige of daylight
darkness devours the heaven’s sky
vainglorious mural retreats in the La’s wake
quintessential Napo’okala the essence of deity
no artificial colors – preservatives – nor additives –
fat free – and as organic as can be
and as palatable and mellow as mango sorbet
the parade of colors – changes from day to day
and ends – when Napo’okala – hiamo’e and La abdicates
body crooked
bent
slants toward the western horizon
in darkness and stillness of silent night
constellations gems sprinkle the heaven’s high
scripted highways in the sky
for ancient mariners
nocturnal travelers of the night
moon went awol to the far side
courting venus in the distant cosmos
weather beaten lamppost felled by ragging waves
no lamp light nor moon light on ocean’s highway
nor seeing eye dog or mermaid to guide the way
Katrina has long gone
count the stars
and follow Hokule’a in the sky
nocturnal travelers of the night
starry sky
slants toward the western horizon.
AWOL = Absence With Out Leave
Hawaiian translation:
Napo’okala = Sunrise
Pele = Goddess of fire dwells in volcano
Mana = Supernatural power
Ka’ne = One of four principal Hawaiian God
La = Sun God
Hiamo’e = Sleep
Hokule’a = Arcturus, Navigation star above Hawaii
Sunday, April 6, 2008
RALLY THE POETS 09-12-06
Blow the ram’s twisted horn
Rally poets to pick-up their pens or keyboards
To articulate their wounded cries.
Unburden the rumbling beast
That’s loitering within your breast
Your voiceless cries
Are festering and fermenting
And bottled-up in prison of your mind.
Expunge those enmities
For your sanity and catharsis.
Poems heal the bleeding soul.
Corral the galloping white horse on Main
Where youth seeks illusions to bury their pain
Save Emily’s friend before she reaches Main
Let not the search be in vain.
Poems heal the restless soul.
Sign “The Kyoto Accord”
Save your children,
My children, everyone’s children
Save the whales, porpoises, and otters
From the poisons of our making.
Heal our fragile wounded earth
Sign “The Kyoto Accord”.
Poems heal the fragile soul.
Rally poets to pick-up their pens or keyboards
To articulate their wounded cries.
Unburden the rumbling beast
That’s loitering within your breast
Your voiceless cries
Are festering and fermenting
And bottled-up in prison of your mind.
Expunge those enmities
For your sanity and catharsis.
Poems heal the bleeding soul.
Corral the galloping white horse on Main
Where youth seeks illusions to bury their pain
Save Emily’s friend before she reaches Main
Let not the search be in vain.
Poems heal the restless soul.
Sign “The Kyoto Accord”
Save your children,
My children, everyone’s children
Save the whales, porpoises, and otters
From the poisons of our making.
Heal our fragile wounded earth
Sign “The Kyoto Accord”.
Poems heal the fragile soul.
AD INFINITUM WAR - 09-12-06
History
Past – present – future –
The continuum of storms of war –
Crusade wars – sectarian wars –
Wars to end all wars –
Ad infinitum wars
The world’s unborn children
And their unborn children
Ad infinitum unborn children
Will not see
“The light at the end of the tunnel” of war.
The haunting chatter of weapons of war
Sowing flaming red seeds of anger.
The chattering-chattering awaken
Fallen shadows that died a thousand deaths.
Light the fire at the end of the tunnel of war
Let the valiant dead rest in eternal peace.
Past – present – future –
The continuum of storms of war –
Crusade wars – sectarian wars –
Wars to end all wars –
Ad infinitum wars
The world’s unborn children
And their unborn children
Ad infinitum unborn children
Will not see
“The light at the end of the tunnel” of war.
The haunting chatter of weapons of war
Sowing flaming red seeds of anger.
The chattering-chattering awaken
Fallen shadows that died a thousand deaths.
Light the fire at the end of the tunnel of war
Let the valiant dead rest in eternal peace.
ROLLING MIST - APRIL 15 1958
Wave of mist rolled over City
Blending sea and sky.
An island floating
On downy sea of cloud.
Apparitions fade in and out.
Mist rolled across the bay,
Bay Bridge climbed into the sky
Fog horns bellowed
Tug boat hooted and chugged
Curling furrows parted and melted.
Blending sea and sky.
An island floating
On downy sea of cloud.
Apparitions fade in and out.
Mist rolled across the bay,
Bay Bridge climbed into the sky
Fog horns bellowed
Tug boat hooted and chugged
Curling furrows parted and melted.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
WHY DO COCKERELS CROW WHEN MOON GLOWS? SONNET 1958
I.
Unsymmetrical moon hung neath eaves
Its beams stole into the darkened room.
A book with pencil betwixt the leaves
Laid on shafts of light illumed.
The night wind swept thru opened door
Wind’s fingers leafing from protozoa to metazoan
And thence man from lower form soared
Procreating with spermatozoa.
In yonder pen cockerels crowed
Invading the stillness of moonlit night
Why do cockerels crow when moon glows?
Hormones surge twixt hypophysis and light.
Romancing the hen in yonder pen.
Perpetuation of the species – an innate yen.
II.
The answer suffices but in part
Tis but life plotted in test tubes –
Psycho – Physio – and Bio’s arts
Calculated in roots – squares – and cubes.
Isolated the cockerels strutted
Across the field pullets gaily clucked.
Feathers flew – spurs slashes – heads butted.
Victor crowed and vanquish in the muck.
Selected for their chromosomes
Into a harem the roosters mate.
Vigor – intensity in autosomes,
Roosters mated after long wait.
Rejects and culls – no seed they’ll sow
The victors boisterously crow and crow.
Unsymmetrical moon hung neath eaves
Its beams stole into the darkened room.
A book with pencil betwixt the leaves
Laid on shafts of light illumed.
The night wind swept thru opened door
Wind’s fingers leafing from protozoa to metazoan
And thence man from lower form soared
Procreating with spermatozoa.
In yonder pen cockerels crowed
Invading the stillness of moonlit night
Why do cockerels crow when moon glows?
Hormones surge twixt hypophysis and light.
Romancing the hen in yonder pen.
Perpetuation of the species – an innate yen.
II.
The answer suffices but in part
Tis but life plotted in test tubes –
Psycho – Physio – and Bio’s arts
Calculated in roots – squares – and cubes.
Isolated the cockerels strutted
Across the field pullets gaily clucked.
Feathers flew – spurs slashes – heads butted.
Victor crowed and vanquish in the muck.
Selected for their chromosomes
Into a harem the roosters mate.
Vigor – intensity in autosomes,
Roosters mated after long wait.
Rejects and culls – no seed they’ll sow
The victors boisterously crow and crow.
MAIDEN IN THE WINDOW PANE - FEB. 2007
A beautiful young maiden smiled at me;
Our flirtatious eyes met – she’s coy I see.
We uttered love’s cries,
Words spoken with eyes and smiles.
Entranced in the rain;
My bosom welled with love’s pain.
My shipmate stood idle by,
Unaware of our smiles and sighs.
The rain drip-drip – wetting my sleeves.
I stood welded – not wanting to leave.
A feet apart – narrows to inches apart
The window pane – between us dart.
Naught a word passed between lips.
On the pane – imprint of her finger tips
Touch my cheek, coolness turned to flame
Departing with smiles – nay a word is shame.
An eternal minute of bliss –
A farewell without a kiss.
Aloha Oe – time beckon us to sea.
A beautiful young maiden smiled at me.
Our flirtatious eyes met – she’s coy I see.
We uttered love’s cries,
Words spoken with eyes and smiles.
Entranced in the rain;
My bosom welled with love’s pain.
My shipmate stood idle by,
Unaware of our smiles and sighs.
The rain drip-drip – wetting my sleeves.
I stood welded – not wanting to leave.
A feet apart – narrows to inches apart
The window pane – between us dart.
Naught a word passed between lips.
On the pane – imprint of her finger tips
Touch my cheek, coolness turned to flame
Departing with smiles – nay a word is shame.
An eternal minute of bliss –
A farewell without a kiss.
Aloha Oe – time beckon us to sea.
A beautiful young maiden smiled at me.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
VACATIONS - JANUARY 2008
It was my time to take vacation
Meted out on annual basis
By the pointy–headed Lord of Lords.
There never seems to be enough vacation days
If only I could have another week or day.
It was my time to enter verdant pasture
The path to permanent vacation.
To escape the rigors of perpetual vacation – take a week off.
There never seems to be enough vacation days
If only I could have another week or day.
It was my time – my exodus from worldly cares
Where eternal vacation commences forever and ever.
Eternally basking in sun drenches “Heaven” –
Flying from downy clouds to fluffy clouds with clip on wings
Or – explore conclave of Dante’s purgatory.
THE WORLD BEYOND
The paradox of parables –
Rewards of Kingdom of “Heaven” –
Face uplifted toward the heavens –
Or to be condemned to damnation of hell –
Weary eyes casting downward.
The “Heavens” is the center of maelstrom
Hurricanes, tornados, lightning, thunder storm –
Destructive forces of nature and pervasive pollution –
A frightful place to be called “Heaven”.
Forsake “Heaven” – and free-fall in limbo.
The designation “Hell” –
A treasure trove of precious gems –
Gold, diamonds, oil, precious ores, and lowly silicon.
Silicon Valley the World’s center of high-tech.
The earth – the bread basket of the world.
The absurdity of “Heaven” and “Hell”.
Just simplistic metaphors!
Meted out on annual basis
By the pointy–headed Lord of Lords.
There never seems to be enough vacation days
If only I could have another week or day.
It was my time to enter verdant pasture
The path to permanent vacation.
To escape the rigors of perpetual vacation – take a week off.
There never seems to be enough vacation days
If only I could have another week or day.
It was my time – my exodus from worldly cares
Where eternal vacation commences forever and ever.
Eternally basking in sun drenches “Heaven” –
Flying from downy clouds to fluffy clouds with clip on wings
Or – explore conclave of Dante’s purgatory.
THE WORLD BEYOND
The paradox of parables –
Rewards of Kingdom of “Heaven” –
Face uplifted toward the heavens –
Or to be condemned to damnation of hell –
Weary eyes casting downward.
The “Heavens” is the center of maelstrom
Hurricanes, tornados, lightning, thunder storm –
Destructive forces of nature and pervasive pollution –
A frightful place to be called “Heaven”.
Forsake “Heaven” – and free-fall in limbo.
The designation “Hell” –
A treasure trove of precious gems –
Gold, diamonds, oil, precious ores, and lowly silicon.
Silicon Valley the World’s center of high-tech.
The earth – the bread basket of the world.
The absurdity of “Heaven” and “Hell”.
Just simplistic metaphors!
MUSING THANATOPSIS - JULY 2007
Ephemera is my tenure on earth.
I did not witness my mortality
Blinded by the final beat.
Death was mine to keep.
Evicted from my temple –
Soul wondering eternally in void –
Inversion of metamorphosis commences.
My time arrived – too soon – too soon.
No time for obeisance –
A timeworn need to bid a final aloha,
Not even time for absolution
Or effacing moral ineptitude –
A deficit disorder – my selfsame art.
Was I betrayed by time?
It arrived before my time.
Too soon! – Too soon!
Or was it divine intervention
Or invasive ancient-maladies,
The scourges of the millennium?
Exigency of time ushered me
Thru the mortal gate of oblivion
Free from the pettiness of human strife
And abnegation of trivia agendas –
Trivia – acquiesced to the living.
The burdensome oppression of mental pain
Finally unfettered – “free at last”.
Let the ponderous dregs fly –
Inherited by the wings of time.
It was time –
My exodus with the winds of time.
I did not witness my mortality
Blinded by the final beat.
Death was mine to keep.
Evicted from my temple –
Soul wondering eternally in void –
Inversion of metamorphosis commences.
My time arrived – too soon – too soon.
No time for obeisance –
A timeworn need to bid a final aloha,
Not even time for absolution
Or effacing moral ineptitude –
A deficit disorder – my selfsame art.
Was I betrayed by time?
It arrived before my time.
Too soon! – Too soon!
Or was it divine intervention
Or invasive ancient-maladies,
The scourges of the millennium?
Exigency of time ushered me
Thru the mortal gate of oblivion
Free from the pettiness of human strife
And abnegation of trivia agendas –
Trivia – acquiesced to the living.
The burdensome oppression of mental pain
Finally unfettered – “free at last”.
Let the ponderous dregs fly –
Inherited by the wings of time.
It was time –
My exodus with the winds of time.
POST ELEGY FOR GRANDMA - 02-18-07
Her flitting shadow stole away
In darkness of night
Severing unwanted residue
Of pain and cancerous growth
That stole her beating heart.
She left behind her suffering
And entered the after world.
Free at last from her burdens
And from an imperfect world –
She entered her nirvana.
The white chrysanthemum
You cast on her door step –
Flower to flower –
A symbolic gesture –
Of her love and toil on earth.
A final parting – for the living:
Take care of her love –
And love each other –
And cast aside all enmities –
A cancerous growth that eat away your soul.
In darkness of night
Severing unwanted residue
Of pain and cancerous growth
That stole her beating heart.
She left behind her suffering
And entered the after world.
Free at last from her burdens
And from an imperfect world –
She entered her nirvana.
The white chrysanthemum
You cast on her door step –
Flower to flower –
A symbolic gesture –
Of her love and toil on earth.
A final parting – for the living:
Take care of her love –
And love each other –
And cast aside all enmities –
A cancerous growth that eat away your soul.
SHORE LEAVE - FEBRUARY 2007
Look beyond the surreal world –
Left wing heaven’s felon cast it’s
Thunderous typhoon winds
Whipping the void into a frenzy
Stirring the ocean’s cauldron into
Madness of apocalyptic fury.
The wild beast unleash its maelstrom
Of pulverizing waves – mountainous waves.
Scaling the stairway up the slanting sea –
Plunging to the edge of oblivion.
A surreal world of violent beauty –
Flaming the beating heart.
Shore leave – a respite from daily grind of angry sea.
The hostess greets us with a bow.
She was not of glamorous beauty
Her asset was her charm – gentleness
A calming demeanor of big sister.
Eyes that say, Leave your troubles at the door.
Neither of us spoke the other’s language
The universal silent language –
Our common denominator –
Spoken with darting eyes that caress –
Soliloquy with nods and smiles –
Mutual comprehension without spoken words.
The simplicity of guest-hostess relationship –
She was there –
Nothing more – nothing expected.
We danced all night – melded as one,
Gliding to slow music
That sooths the battered soul.
Her warm cheeks firmly planted
A tactile brush of lips to cheek.
She did not resist, nor did I pursue.
Her cheek was soft, velvety
As fragrant as flower petals –
And exudes an aura of femininity.
The tactile brush of lips was just a gesture,
There was no passion or sensual intent.
She was too much of a gentlewoman
Further advances will denigrate her
To a common dance hall girl.
Capture the precious moment – and let it be.
This dream-like spell
Was like watching beautiful scenery
Or to be captivated by words
Weaving thru a love poem
Or listening to adagio of a symphony
She was the conductress of the spell.
The establishment is not
A place for cheap romance
But a place for lonely seamen or men
Who seek opposing spectrum
From drunken brawl in cheap dance hall.
Capture the precious moment – and hold on.
Look beyond the world of flaccid sea –
A macrocosm of men – steel – and ship.
Homeward bound – north by northeast.
The Hostess soothed raging storm in my mind.
I left my troubles at their door step.
Capture the precious moment – and let it be.
Left wing heaven’s felon cast it’s
Thunderous typhoon winds
Whipping the void into a frenzy
Stirring the ocean’s cauldron into
Madness of apocalyptic fury.
The wild beast unleash its maelstrom
Of pulverizing waves – mountainous waves.
Scaling the stairway up the slanting sea –
Plunging to the edge of oblivion.
A surreal world of violent beauty –
Flaming the beating heart.
Shore leave – a respite from daily grind of angry sea.
The hostess greets us with a bow.
She was not of glamorous beauty
Her asset was her charm – gentleness
A calming demeanor of big sister.
Eyes that say, Leave your troubles at the door.
Neither of us spoke the other’s language
The universal silent language –
Our common denominator –
Spoken with darting eyes that caress –
Soliloquy with nods and smiles –
Mutual comprehension without spoken words.
The simplicity of guest-hostess relationship –
She was there –
Nothing more – nothing expected.
We danced all night – melded as one,
Gliding to slow music
That sooths the battered soul.
Her warm cheeks firmly planted
A tactile brush of lips to cheek.
She did not resist, nor did I pursue.
Her cheek was soft, velvety
As fragrant as flower petals –
And exudes an aura of femininity.
The tactile brush of lips was just a gesture,
There was no passion or sensual intent.
She was too much of a gentlewoman
Further advances will denigrate her
To a common dance hall girl.
Capture the precious moment – and let it be.
This dream-like spell
Was like watching beautiful scenery
Or to be captivated by words
Weaving thru a love poem
Or listening to adagio of a symphony
She was the conductress of the spell.
The establishment is not
A place for cheap romance
But a place for lonely seamen or men
Who seek opposing spectrum
From drunken brawl in cheap dance hall.
Capture the precious moment – and hold on.
Look beyond the world of flaccid sea –
A macrocosm of men – steel – and ship.
Homeward bound – north by northeast.
The Hostess soothed raging storm in my mind.
I left my troubles at their door step.
Capture the precious moment – and let it be.
QUIET TIME IS A SLOW TIME - DECEMBER 2006
Quiet time – is a slow time – a great time –
Immerging into poetic sanctuary;
Listening to the silence of inner voice –
While reading – writing poems –
Exploring storehouse of life’s experiences
In solitude of your quiet room.
Charting thru lethargic mind
Relics of long forgotten journeys
Untangled from web of mystic fog.
Nostalgia drifting –
In and out of consciousness
Then illuminates with clarity.
What are the motivating forces
That drives a person to write poems?
The urgent need to express ideas or tales?
Emotionally piling word upon words
Line upon lines – till
Their lyrical story unfolds.
Driven by emotional forces
Words flow thru fingertips.
Fingers wing over keyboard
Gliding like a bird in flight
As emotional energy flows
To the rhythm of slow flowing brook.
Quiet time – is a slow time – a good time –
To seek haven in poetic sanctuary.
Reliving youthful past –
Sailing to far flung islands in the Pacific –
Exploring the real or imaginary world. –
Distillation of lyrical dreams – or gems
In your peaceful and quiet sanctum.
Immerging into poetic sanctuary;
Listening to the silence of inner voice –
While reading – writing poems –
Exploring storehouse of life’s experiences
In solitude of your quiet room.
Charting thru lethargic mind
Relics of long forgotten journeys
Untangled from web of mystic fog.
Nostalgia drifting –
In and out of consciousness
Then illuminates with clarity.
What are the motivating forces
That drives a person to write poems?
The urgent need to express ideas or tales?
Emotionally piling word upon words
Line upon lines – till
Their lyrical story unfolds.
Driven by emotional forces
Words flow thru fingertips.
Fingers wing over keyboard
Gliding like a bird in flight
As emotional energy flows
To the rhythm of slow flowing brook.
Quiet time – is a slow time – a good time –
To seek haven in poetic sanctuary.
Reliving youthful past –
Sailing to far flung islands in the Pacific –
Exploring the real or imaginary world. –
Distillation of lyrical dreams – or gems
In your peaceful and quiet sanctum.
ODE TO THE AGING BASS FISHERMAN - JULY 2006
I.
Up before the sun’s bleary eye
Peeks over tall eastern hills
Shading the lake from sun’s warm rays.
Bundled-up in winter’s frock,
A light bellowing mist
Hushes across the lake.
A buff of wind rides on mist’s wing
Wrinkling dark glass-pane
Wavelets roll to far side
Gently lapping distant shore’s edges.
Tall pine trees shiver
In dawns early light.
Early-spring mornings breathe
Brushes our cheeks
With its fretful cold hands
Sending chills to the core of marrow.
The sun slowly rose over the hill
Comforting us with its warm slanting-rays,
The sensual comfort of woman’s warmth.
II.
Two dignified gents - in their eighties,
Put-putting around the lake
With knowledgeable demeanor
Of professional bass fisherman,
Pretending they know what heck they are doing.
Armed to the teeth with every known
Conceivable devices in the bass world
Chasing the scattering elusive bass.
Harry’s presentation was perfection.
From the denizen - Polaris launches,
Erupting the surface with explosive force.
The cry of “Fish-On” echoes across the lake.
A banzai charge a meter high,
Gnashing its powerful toothless jaw
And flashing its angry red gills
As it tosses its fierce head from side to side,
Trying in vain to dislodge the talons of death,
Like a bull dog shaking a Raggedy Ann doll.
Then plunges back to its lair
Splash,
Sending concentric rings of tsunami waves
Which race and dissipate into thinness.
Shuddering, and sprinting hither and yond
Scattering water boils on the surface
As it struggles for freedom
From line that binds.
Peeling 5 meters of line,
Sending the reel zinging the fisherman’s song.
The race for freedom ebb
Exhausted the vanquished lay belly-up.
Harry grasped the lower lip
Lifting the bass sky high
Showering the lake with fish’s sweat
Bringing closure to the fearless warrior,
The Fighting Bass.
III.
It wasn’t a good day for fishing
The bites were far between
Just a few to keep us motivated.
We keep plugging away
Hoping to find that rainbow in the lake.
We called it a day.
There is “Human Comedy”,
There always is
When two “OLD FARTS” with insidious intent
Of ethnic cleansing of bass.
Fishing God, Ku’ula,
Choreograph the events of the day
As it casts his vengeful kahuna
To those who decimate herd of bass
Leaving the flock parentless.
The eagle claw’s talons struck tenaciously,
And hung-on, refusing to let go,
Pinning Harry to his seat,
Unable to rise from his seat.
With dexterity of surgeons hand
The first triple hook was detached.
As work began on the next triple hook,
The lose hook re-hook his trousers,
If only I had 4 hands.
The fisherman on the next boat dock
Spied me prodding Harry’s okole
With a long nose pliers,
What strange behavior he surmised.
It took 5 long minutes or more
To extricate 3 sharp triple hooks
From the seat of Harry’s pants.
Fishing lures are divisive devices
That entices fish to strike
With dreadful consequences
And to those who sit on fishing lures.
The hookee was fine
The unhooker had a few penetrating nicks.
The small tear on Harry’s baggy pants
Did not expose his pretty behind.
The vinyl seat sustain the most damage
A small puka.
We survived fishing free from injure
Just curses from the Fish God Ku’ula
And hurtful wounds to Harry’s ego.
He will forget again
And I will be there to pick up the pieces.
IV.
It was a wrongful beginning
We failed to pay homage to Ku’ula.
Let’s start over again
When spring shed its hoary frock
For warm-spring’s smock
And incantation to Ancient Fish Deities
For heavenly connection
And to redeem unused karma.
How did Harry develop his thick hide
That is impervious to sharp hooks or knives?
Yes, Harry did sit on his knife once.
I search in vain from stem to stern
And from larboard to starboard for naught.
There the knife sat,
Under Harry’s ass.
“HARD ASS HARRY” his new moniker.
Fishing with oldies
Could be hazardous to ones health,
Frequent lapse of memories is the norm.
I too - will need a HARD ASS,
Perhaps Kevlar sown to the seat of my pants.
Preventive measures must be taken
When fishing with Oldies
Who keep misplacing lures and knives.
Be forewarn!
The Fish God Ku’ula and bass are after our ASS
For territorial transgressions.
DEDUCATED TO HARRY NAKANO
Hawaiian translation:
Kahuna = Sorcerer, evil spell
Ku’ula = Hawaiian Fish God
Okole = buttocks
Puka = hole
The Poets Moniker: Okole Puka
Up before the sun’s bleary eye
Peeks over tall eastern hills
Shading the lake from sun’s warm rays.
Bundled-up in winter’s frock,
A light bellowing mist
Hushes across the lake.
A buff of wind rides on mist’s wing
Wrinkling dark glass-pane
Wavelets roll to far side
Gently lapping distant shore’s edges.
Tall pine trees shiver
In dawns early light.
Early-spring mornings breathe
Brushes our cheeks
With its fretful cold hands
Sending chills to the core of marrow.
The sun slowly rose over the hill
Comforting us with its warm slanting-rays,
The sensual comfort of woman’s warmth.
II.
Two dignified gents - in their eighties,
Put-putting around the lake
With knowledgeable demeanor
Of professional bass fisherman,
Pretending they know what heck they are doing.
Armed to the teeth with every known
Conceivable devices in the bass world
Chasing the scattering elusive bass.
Harry’s presentation was perfection.
From the denizen - Polaris launches,
Erupting the surface with explosive force.
The cry of “Fish-On” echoes across the lake.
A banzai charge a meter high,
Gnashing its powerful toothless jaw
And flashing its angry red gills
As it tosses its fierce head from side to side,
Trying in vain to dislodge the talons of death,
Like a bull dog shaking a Raggedy Ann doll.
Then plunges back to its lair
Splash,
Sending concentric rings of tsunami waves
Which race and dissipate into thinness.
Shuddering, and sprinting hither and yond
Scattering water boils on the surface
As it struggles for freedom
From line that binds.
Peeling 5 meters of line,
Sending the reel zinging the fisherman’s song.
The race for freedom ebb
Exhausted the vanquished lay belly-up.
Harry grasped the lower lip
Lifting the bass sky high
Showering the lake with fish’s sweat
Bringing closure to the fearless warrior,
The Fighting Bass.
III.
It wasn’t a good day for fishing
The bites were far between
Just a few to keep us motivated.
We keep plugging away
Hoping to find that rainbow in the lake.
We called it a day.
There is “Human Comedy”,
There always is
When two “OLD FARTS” with insidious intent
Of ethnic cleansing of bass.
Fishing God, Ku’ula,
Choreograph the events of the day
As it casts his vengeful kahuna
To those who decimate herd of bass
Leaving the flock parentless.
The eagle claw’s talons struck tenaciously,
And hung-on, refusing to let go,
Pinning Harry to his seat,
Unable to rise from his seat.
With dexterity of surgeons hand
The first triple hook was detached.
As work began on the next triple hook,
The lose hook re-hook his trousers,
If only I had 4 hands.
The fisherman on the next boat dock
Spied me prodding Harry’s okole
With a long nose pliers,
What strange behavior he surmised.
It took 5 long minutes or more
To extricate 3 sharp triple hooks
From the seat of Harry’s pants.
Fishing lures are divisive devices
That entices fish to strike
With dreadful consequences
And to those who sit on fishing lures.
The hookee was fine
The unhooker had a few penetrating nicks.
The small tear on Harry’s baggy pants
Did not expose his pretty behind.
The vinyl seat sustain the most damage
A small puka.
We survived fishing free from injure
Just curses from the Fish God Ku’ula
And hurtful wounds to Harry’s ego.
He will forget again
And I will be there to pick up the pieces.
IV.
It was a wrongful beginning
We failed to pay homage to Ku’ula.
Let’s start over again
When spring shed its hoary frock
For warm-spring’s smock
And incantation to Ancient Fish Deities
For heavenly connection
And to redeem unused karma.
How did Harry develop his thick hide
That is impervious to sharp hooks or knives?
Yes, Harry did sit on his knife once.
I search in vain from stem to stern
And from larboard to starboard for naught.
There the knife sat,
Under Harry’s ass.
“HARD ASS HARRY” his new moniker.
Fishing with oldies
Could be hazardous to ones health,
Frequent lapse of memories is the norm.
I too - will need a HARD ASS,
Perhaps Kevlar sown to the seat of my pants.
Preventive measures must be taken
When fishing with Oldies
Who keep misplacing lures and knives.
Be forewarn!
The Fish God Ku’ula and bass are after our ASS
For territorial transgressions.
DEDUCATED TO HARRY NAKANO
Hawaiian translation:
Kahuna = Sorcerer, evil spell
Ku’ula = Hawaiian Fish God
Okole = buttocks
Puka = hole
The Poets Moniker: Okole Puka
ODE TO EX-WORKINGMAN - 05-26-06
For Whom The Alarm Clock Tolls
For thee – The Workingman
The incessant ringing of that dreadful machine
The alarm clock,
Shattering the solitude of morning calm
With its whaling siren song.
The morning ritual of
Wrestling with that ding-aling thing
Give me 20 minutes more,
Just 20 minutes more.
Who invented that dreadful machine?
That divisive device that torments
The Workingman
With its terrorizing jangle
That resonates in bedroom wall
Drowning silence within cranium wall,
Racing my heart to an 8-8 beat,
Sending neural ends standing on edge,
Or to be rudely awaken
In the midst of passionate love
Denying The Workingman
That ultimate - blissful ending.
For Whom The Alarm Clock Tolls
For thee – The Workingman
Hidden shadows under eaves
And darkness have flown its coop
As dawn’s slanting rays
Peek thru curtained wall.
Its gentle hands of slanting rays
Awaken me from restful slumber.
A chorus of songbirds
Sung melodic arias from
Ode To The Ex-Workingman,
My solar silent alarm-clock.
List of honey-dos continuously ignored.
Exile from the work force of 18 years
Languishing in the art of doing nothing.
Memories of The Workingman
Is remnant of dust in dreams.
For Whom The Alarm Clock Tolls
For thee – The Workingman
That ding-aling thing - may it rest in peace.
Interned at that respectable city’s landfill,
The resting place for dead machines.
Sea gulls soar above the graves
A mission not to desecrate but to decorate.
For Whom The Silent Alarm-Clock Tolls
For thee - The Ex-Workingman.
For thee – The Workingman
The incessant ringing of that dreadful machine
The alarm clock,
Shattering the solitude of morning calm
With its whaling siren song.
The morning ritual of
Wrestling with that ding-aling thing
Give me 20 minutes more,
Just 20 minutes more.
Who invented that dreadful machine?
That divisive device that torments
The Workingman
With its terrorizing jangle
That resonates in bedroom wall
Drowning silence within cranium wall,
Racing my heart to an 8-8 beat,
Sending neural ends standing on edge,
Or to be rudely awaken
In the midst of passionate love
Denying The Workingman
That ultimate - blissful ending.
For Whom The Alarm Clock Tolls
For thee – The Workingman
Hidden shadows under eaves
And darkness have flown its coop
As dawn’s slanting rays
Peek thru curtained wall.
Its gentle hands of slanting rays
Awaken me from restful slumber.
A chorus of songbirds
Sung melodic arias from
Ode To The Ex-Workingman,
My solar silent alarm-clock.
List of honey-dos continuously ignored.
Exile from the work force of 18 years
Languishing in the art of doing nothing.
Memories of The Workingman
Is remnant of dust in dreams.
For Whom The Alarm Clock Tolls
For thee – The Workingman
That ding-aling thing - may it rest in peace.
Interned at that respectable city’s landfill,
The resting place for dead machines.
Sea gulls soar above the graves
A mission not to desecrate but to decorate.
For Whom The Silent Alarm-Clock Tolls
For thee - The Ex-Workingman.
THE INTERPLAY OF WORDS - MAY 2006
The Beauty of Words
Incubating in the womb – of my mind
Nurturing in the reservoir of words –
Developing – gestating –
To birth of poetic lines.
The Interplay of Words,
There permutation is infinite.
Poets extrapolate Words
Into metaphors – similes – idioms –
Structured sources
For prose and poems.
Bouncing words on cranium wall
Rebounding opposing words off wall,
Flip it – flop it – spin it around
Till it quenches – the thirst for words.
The Interplay of Words,
Listen – listen to your inner voice
To euphonious Words
For harmonic convergence
Of sounds – rhythms – and rhymes –
That’s palatable to the senses.
Listen to your inner voice
And play it again.
The Interplay of Words
Words that resonates
And stir the depth of minds.
The power of Words
Those wondrous Words
Explode on empty page
Imploding in the mind
Evoking transcendental imagery
That touches – the palate of minds.
Woven fabric of Interplaying Words –
Captive in windows of my mind –
The imagery –
Is the Heart and Soul of Poetry.
The aesthetics of punctuation is nil
As it floats over written lines
Integrating where it’s needed
And ends this poem – with the final period.
Incubating in the womb – of my mind
Nurturing in the reservoir of words –
Developing – gestating –
To birth of poetic lines.
The Interplay of Words,
There permutation is infinite.
Poets extrapolate Words
Into metaphors – similes – idioms –
Structured sources
For prose and poems.
Bouncing words on cranium wall
Rebounding opposing words off wall,
Flip it – flop it – spin it around
Till it quenches – the thirst for words.
The Interplay of Words,
Listen – listen to your inner voice
To euphonious Words
For harmonic convergence
Of sounds – rhythms – and rhymes –
That’s palatable to the senses.
Listen to your inner voice
And play it again.
The Interplay of Words
Words that resonates
And stir the depth of minds.
The power of Words
Those wondrous Words
Explode on empty page
Imploding in the mind
Evoking transcendental imagery
That touches – the palate of minds.
Woven fabric of Interplaying Words –
Captive in windows of my mind –
The imagery –
Is the Heart and Soul of Poetry.
The aesthetics of punctuation is nil
As it floats over written lines
Integrating where it’s needed
And ends this poem – with the final period.
PATHOS OF HEALTH GONE AWRY - MAY 2004
I.
Memories frozen by time
buried in the archives of my mind.
Latent threads of memories
bloom into a tapestry
of yesteryear’s journal.
Awaken in stillness of the recovery room
alone -
soft murmur wisp thru rolls of empty bed.
Were the patients discharged
or carted off to the cold-cold room?
The brotherhood of survivors –
under the knife
lament your hasty departure
vacating your empty shell
exiled thru the mysterious portal
of perpetual silence.
Your departure was in such haste
no ululation or elegies were sung
nor poems read or composed
to nourish your departing soul.
An empty embrace
and dry tear drops linger
on your trail of traceless dust.
“Pax Vobiscum”.
II,
Finger tips gently trace the suture
all body parts intact
no surgical residue implanted.
Anesthesia surreptitiously
has stolen part of my day
and left me in a state of haze.
Am I in limbo the surreal world beyond?
The rhythm of life in sync
with circadian beat
body warm as sun baked sand
finger tips gently touch all body parts
searching for forensic evidence
of medical malfeasance.
III.
Mental skirmishes in Pre-Op room.
A sea of anonymous faces this morn
seek asylum in their isolation booth
shielding their turmoil within
but mirror flitting imagery of apprehension.
A few brazenly exhibit false bravado
subliminal message is written in their eyes.
Delta stared into an illusion buried in the floor.
Alpha was writhing in pain
boring into the unyielding chair.
Beta hugs her loved bosom refusing to let go.
Solemnity permeates the tranquil room
none dare break - the secure present
all waiting - waiting
to be ushered to the slaughter room.
I wore a benign mask void of emotions.
Empty your mind and free the burden
easier said then done
apprehension flows in and out
like shifting tide
what if abounds -
history of medical malpractices.
Leave your baggage at the door
easier said then done.
IV.
Seething with mental anguish
a silent cry thunders
resonating thru fragile walls.
An inner voice echoes
why me - why me?
Internalizing painful failures
mental flagellation of self
inflicting festering-wounds of guilt
for youthful indiscretions
sins of negligence
or retribution for dastardly deeds.
Divine intervention?
DNA running amok
or treading thru minefields of diet?
V.
Death my allusive adversary and companion
the horrid specter stood sentry over the gloom
haunting the void in my mind.
Fiery thorns burn within my bowel
neural substrate pulsating rhythmically
oh it’s so cold
the pain will pass -
the pain will pass.
Candle light flickers in the deeming light.
The pain did not pass
shadow was waiting in the wing
ready to take flight.
“No pain no gain” does not apply
when the body cries.
Listen
“listen to the body”
the pain
heed the pain.
“Mea culpa”.
VI
The miracles of antibiotics
and opiate that dull the senses
liberates the waning soul.
Angel of doom has taken flight
leaving a fist full of pikaki
to be woven into a fragrant lei.
Postpone my final Aloha.
Events not momentous
but mere obstacles along the road
a medical necessity
a minor inconvenience
a brief interlude
an unwanted sojourn.
Another milestone to be posted
in the darkness of my pit.
These trivia will soon be forgotten
like a fading dream
an unwanted memory.
VII.
Along path of life’s journey
trails three surgical scars
ruptured appendices - cancer - hernia.
These hidden symbols
unwanted souvenirs
are memorial to health gone awry.
Hold off unsolicited awards
no more trumpet calls
no more badges
no more symbols
to be etched on my wall.
These scars are badges
emblazoned on once youthful landscape.
Eight decades transpired
hasten by spent youth and muscular atrophy
turned sculptured marble
to soft downy pillow
sinew limbs to wrinkle bark
and sagging flesh.
Noisy crickets infest my joints
and termites gnaw my bones.
Confined in a cage
third lumbar rages
pleading for freedom
from bondage of pain.
Sadistic sciatic-nerve
repeatedly zap my calf with a taser
excessive force will be reported to SJPD.
Fragmented memories or thoughts
lost in the labyrinth of my gulag
“Search Engine” repeatedly fails
shackled by progression of time.
VIII.
The “Golden Years” - a conundrum
have long arrived and soon will depart
leaving unfulfilled promises
and a legacy of pain.
Return my “Golden Years”
blissful years that endures time
unencumbered with anxiety
and free from frailties of time.
The intrusive arrogance of time intercedes.
“Time - the subtle thief of youth”.
Time - the insidious assassinator of aged.
IX.
Eternal quest for bliss
a nirvana free from pain
a sanctum - where time is not measured
and day never ends.
To bathe in rays of youthful pleasures.
Skinny dipping in the ocean’s womb
of warm primordial bath
and be reborn to ageless time.
Hedonist reverie
of chasing rainbow across the sky
for a pocket full of empty dreams.
Yet
we dare dream a dreamer’s dream
the eternal quest goes on - and on.
X.
Closing chapter of life cycle nears.
Drumbeats echo within the chamber
march to the footsteps of the beat
move on - move on to the beat.
The end game is in the distant
there are miles and miles to go
with bumps along the road
as high as hill or shallow as rill.
“Follow your bliss” to the very end.
It’s not time to fall.
It’s not time to fall.
Memories frozen by time
buried in the archives of my mind.
Latent threads of memories
bloom into a tapestry
of yesteryear’s journal.
Awaken in stillness of the recovery room
alone -
soft murmur wisp thru rolls of empty bed.
Were the patients discharged
or carted off to the cold-cold room?
The brotherhood of survivors –
under the knife
lament your hasty departure
vacating your empty shell
exiled thru the mysterious portal
of perpetual silence.
Your departure was in such haste
no ululation or elegies were sung
nor poems read or composed
to nourish your departing soul.
An empty embrace
and dry tear drops linger
on your trail of traceless dust.
“Pax Vobiscum”.
II,
Finger tips gently trace the suture
all body parts intact
no surgical residue implanted.
Anesthesia surreptitiously
has stolen part of my day
and left me in a state of haze.
Am I in limbo the surreal world beyond?
The rhythm of life in sync
with circadian beat
body warm as sun baked sand
finger tips gently touch all body parts
searching for forensic evidence
of medical malfeasance.
III.
Mental skirmishes in Pre-Op room.
A sea of anonymous faces this morn
seek asylum in their isolation booth
shielding their turmoil within
but mirror flitting imagery of apprehension.
A few brazenly exhibit false bravado
subliminal message is written in their eyes.
Delta stared into an illusion buried in the floor.
Alpha was writhing in pain
boring into the unyielding chair.
Beta hugs her loved bosom refusing to let go.
Solemnity permeates the tranquil room
none dare break - the secure present
all waiting - waiting
to be ushered to the slaughter room.
I wore a benign mask void of emotions.
Empty your mind and free the burden
easier said then done
apprehension flows in and out
like shifting tide
what if abounds -
history of medical malpractices.
Leave your baggage at the door
easier said then done.
IV.
Seething with mental anguish
a silent cry thunders
resonating thru fragile walls.
An inner voice echoes
why me - why me?
Internalizing painful failures
mental flagellation of self
inflicting festering-wounds of guilt
for youthful indiscretions
sins of negligence
or retribution for dastardly deeds.
Divine intervention?
DNA running amok
or treading thru minefields of diet?
V.
Death my allusive adversary and companion
the horrid specter stood sentry over the gloom
haunting the void in my mind.
Fiery thorns burn within my bowel
neural substrate pulsating rhythmically
oh it’s so cold
the pain will pass -
the pain will pass.
Candle light flickers in the deeming light.
The pain did not pass
shadow was waiting in the wing
ready to take flight.
“No pain no gain” does not apply
when the body cries.
Listen
“listen to the body”
the pain
heed the pain.
“Mea culpa”.
VI
The miracles of antibiotics
and opiate that dull the senses
liberates the waning soul.
Angel of doom has taken flight
leaving a fist full of pikaki
to be woven into a fragrant lei.
Postpone my final Aloha.
Events not momentous
but mere obstacles along the road
a medical necessity
a minor inconvenience
a brief interlude
an unwanted sojourn.
Another milestone to be posted
in the darkness of my pit.
These trivia will soon be forgotten
like a fading dream
an unwanted memory.
VII.
Along path of life’s journey
trails three surgical scars
ruptured appendices - cancer - hernia.
These hidden symbols
unwanted souvenirs
are memorial to health gone awry.
Hold off unsolicited awards
no more trumpet calls
no more badges
no more symbols
to be etched on my wall.
These scars are badges
emblazoned on once youthful landscape.
Eight decades transpired
hasten by spent youth and muscular atrophy
turned sculptured marble
to soft downy pillow
sinew limbs to wrinkle bark
and sagging flesh.
Noisy crickets infest my joints
and termites gnaw my bones.
Confined in a cage
third lumbar rages
pleading for freedom
from bondage of pain.
Sadistic sciatic-nerve
repeatedly zap my calf with a taser
excessive force will be reported to SJPD.
Fragmented memories or thoughts
lost in the labyrinth of my gulag
“Search Engine” repeatedly fails
shackled by progression of time.
VIII.
The “Golden Years” - a conundrum
have long arrived and soon will depart
leaving unfulfilled promises
and a legacy of pain.
Return my “Golden Years”
blissful years that endures time
unencumbered with anxiety
and free from frailties of time.
The intrusive arrogance of time intercedes.
“Time - the subtle thief of youth”.
Time - the insidious assassinator of aged.
IX.
Eternal quest for bliss
a nirvana free from pain
a sanctum - where time is not measured
and day never ends.
To bathe in rays of youthful pleasures.
Skinny dipping in the ocean’s womb
of warm primordial bath
and be reborn to ageless time.
Hedonist reverie
of chasing rainbow across the sky
for a pocket full of empty dreams.
Yet
we dare dream a dreamer’s dream
the eternal quest goes on - and on.
X.
Closing chapter of life cycle nears.
Drumbeats echo within the chamber
march to the footsteps of the beat
move on - move on to the beat.
The end game is in the distant
there are miles and miles to go
with bumps along the road
as high as hill or shallow as rill.
“Follow your bliss” to the very end.
It’s not time to fall.
It’s not time to fall.
WALKING ON THE EDGE - APRIL 1958
My humble life on taut rope tread,
Ambivalent of heaven – apprehensive of hell
From birth to road of perverse path
Thence death and only death tells.
Only the end unfolds the truth
Of other worlds – an endless search,
Too late for things undone and done.
Too late for penitence, death perches.
With bland and pallid countenance,
Emotionless and lifeless
As empty roaches shell in autumn,
You know but feign vacuousness.
“Speak! Speak you famished hulk of bones;
Speak of glories of paradise!
Speak naught of hell your eyes have seen
You esoteric fiend is so wise”.
“What do you say of piety unmeeded,
Virtue, a vain creed unrecompensed?
What do you say of retributions
For heedless God’s ordinance?”
Incompetent to utter words
You have stealthily taken flight;
Vacating your silent temple,
Mortals seek not your odious plight.
Microbes feasted on your beatless heart;
Clinging flesh smoldered to dust;
Soon skull void as empty sea shell
The, silent roar of eternal lust.
More wine, more wine and to the path,
For brief, very brief candle tears pour.
Ephemera is the waning flame;
Death is dead and nothing more.
Tenure on earth is but a transition
Into nothingness. Days are dearth!
Bewoe naught of darkness nor light;
Life is but a ludicrous mirth!
Ambivalent of heaven – apprehensive of hell
From birth to road of perverse path
Thence death and only death tells.
Only the end unfolds the truth
Of other worlds – an endless search,
Too late for things undone and done.
Too late for penitence, death perches.
With bland and pallid countenance,
Emotionless and lifeless
As empty roaches shell in autumn,
You know but feign vacuousness.
“Speak! Speak you famished hulk of bones;
Speak of glories of paradise!
Speak naught of hell your eyes have seen
You esoteric fiend is so wise”.
“What do you say of piety unmeeded,
Virtue, a vain creed unrecompensed?
What do you say of retributions
For heedless God’s ordinance?”
Incompetent to utter words
You have stealthily taken flight;
Vacating your silent temple,
Mortals seek not your odious plight.
Microbes feasted on your beatless heart;
Clinging flesh smoldered to dust;
Soon skull void as empty sea shell
The, silent roar of eternal lust.
More wine, more wine and to the path,
For brief, very brief candle tears pour.
Ephemera is the waning flame;
Death is dead and nothing more.
Tenure on earth is but a transition
Into nothingness. Days are dearth!
Bewoe naught of darkness nor light;
Life is but a ludicrous mirth!
MOBILE ON MY PORTHOLE - OCTOBER 1957
Porthole round as moon is round
Paintings flashed of city night.
Mobile with gems on porthole crowned
Spinning round nocturnal lights.
Heaven has fallen on the hill
Shimmering stars bedecked the earth
Beckoning travelers with zeal
To its lair promises of mirth.
Mute city voices softly crooned
Multiplex tunes from lighted lea.
Facets of infinitesimal moon
Shimmer on wind frosted sea.
Moon embroidered with silver thread
Yellow beads strung on Golden Gate
Columns of fireflies tread
Vistas of candlelight brigade.
Moongate on mobile spins round and round
Stars returned to heaven
City voices longed drowned
Ship’s bell rung “dog watch seven”…
Paintings flashed of city night.
Mobile with gems on porthole crowned
Spinning round nocturnal lights.
Heaven has fallen on the hill
Shimmering stars bedecked the earth
Beckoning travelers with zeal
To its lair promises of mirth.
Mute city voices softly crooned
Multiplex tunes from lighted lea.
Facets of infinitesimal moon
Shimmer on wind frosted sea.
Moon embroidered with silver thread
Yellow beads strung on Golden Gate
Columns of fireflies tread
Vistas of candlelight brigade.
Moongate on mobile spins round and round
Stars returned to heaven
City voices longed drowned
Ship’s bell rung “dog watch seven”…
ELEGY TO THE FALLEN - NOVEMBER 2006
Be joyous –
It was an ending of an old
And beginning of a new.
My expiration date has transpired
It is transient nature of reality,
The reality of –
The “impermanence of life”.
It was my time to fall.
Grieving is a tragic waste
I abhor false lamentation.
This is a joyous occasion,
If you must – wear a façade
Of benign countenance
But I do – abhor false lamentation.
Nature’s life-cycle ordains,
A time worn covenant
There is a beginning and an end
And it was my time to fall.
Though brief my interlude,
The joys and laughter
I have shared with all of you.
If I have brought happiness or joy –
Or enlightenment –
Then I am content
That it was my time to fall.
The pleasures of fishing
With family and friends
In pristine waters of Alaska
In the midst of scenic splendor,
Surrounded by Snowcap Mountains
Carpeted with towering cedar forest
That tumbles to the water’s edge,
It is the essence and nurturing of deities
Untouched by time.
The trophy king salmon
Were strong combatants
And cranking-up barn-door halibuts
Till your arms are ready to fall-off.
The powerful surge of ahi
Around the bend off Punta Los Arenas
Bending rod tips to ninety –
Straining back – numbing arms and legs.
The tail dancing of mahimahi on a string
As it slashes thru crest of waves
In crystal-clear – dark-blue waters of La Paz.
Dining at street corner vender
To the smell of mesquite
Wafting along the Malecon waterfront
As smoke curled into cool night-sky.
The appetizing smell of BBQ carnitas
Titillating hunger pangs and olfactory sensors –
Salivating to the tune of Pavlov’s jangles.
Savoring each bite of carne asada tacos
Lased with spicy salsa and guacamole –
Smacking lips and
Licking savory spices off fingers – and finally –
Mexican fresh-fruit gelato at La Fuente.
The joys of sharing vintage – pricy wines
Or “Two Buck Chuck” on a budget
And BBQing and smoking honey-glazed ribs
Till the ribs have caramelized
To chocolate shade of night.
Drinking – eating – telling outrageous tales,
If I could only barter my soul
For one more drink – one more morsel –
One more outrageous tale –
Before it’s my time to fall.
Do care for one another
And LOVE each other.
My parting gift to all of you
Is a feast to life.
Let’s party today
To celebrate the end.
Let’s party today
To celebrate the beginning.
Let’s party today
A feast to the living.
It was an ending of an old
And beginning of a new.
My expiration date has transpired
It is transient nature of reality,
The reality of –
The “impermanence of life”.
It was my time to fall.
Grieving is a tragic waste
I abhor false lamentation.
This is a joyous occasion,
If you must – wear a façade
Of benign countenance
But I do – abhor false lamentation.
Nature’s life-cycle ordains,
A time worn covenant
There is a beginning and an end
And it was my time to fall.
Though brief my interlude,
The joys and laughter
I have shared with all of you.
If I have brought happiness or joy –
Or enlightenment –
Then I am content
That it was my time to fall.
The pleasures of fishing
With family and friends
In pristine waters of Alaska
In the midst of scenic splendor,
Surrounded by Snowcap Mountains
Carpeted with towering cedar forest
That tumbles to the water’s edge,
It is the essence and nurturing of deities
Untouched by time.
The trophy king salmon
Were strong combatants
And cranking-up barn-door halibuts
Till your arms are ready to fall-off.
The powerful surge of ahi
Around the bend off Punta Los Arenas
Bending rod tips to ninety –
Straining back – numbing arms and legs.
The tail dancing of mahimahi on a string
As it slashes thru crest of waves
In crystal-clear – dark-blue waters of La Paz.
Dining at street corner vender
To the smell of mesquite
Wafting along the Malecon waterfront
As smoke curled into cool night-sky.
The appetizing smell of BBQ carnitas
Titillating hunger pangs and olfactory sensors –
Salivating to the tune of Pavlov’s jangles.
Savoring each bite of carne asada tacos
Lased with spicy salsa and guacamole –
Smacking lips and
Licking savory spices off fingers – and finally –
Mexican fresh-fruit gelato at La Fuente.
The joys of sharing vintage – pricy wines
Or “Two Buck Chuck” on a budget
And BBQing and smoking honey-glazed ribs
Till the ribs have caramelized
To chocolate shade of night.
Drinking – eating – telling outrageous tales,
If I could only barter my soul
For one more drink – one more morsel –
One more outrageous tale –
Before it’s my time to fall.
Do care for one another
And LOVE each other.
My parting gift to all of you
Is a feast to life.
Let’s party today
To celebrate the end.
Let’s party today
To celebrate the beginning.
Let’s party today
A feast to the living.
LAFAYETTE CROSSES ON FALLEN HILL
I.
This once nameless barren hill
A pasture of grassland of vibrant green.
A few 100 lonely white crosses stood above the hill
Tidal flood of white crosses cascade to bottom of hill.
O’er 3000 lonely white crosses
Randomly scattered on pastoral hill.
The lonely white crosses stood so stark and still
Peacefully resting on vernal green.
The panorama of lonely white crosses –
And scattering of Star-of-David – Islamic Cresent -
And Buddhist Wheel Of Life - etched on crosses
Spreading white wings to wings across the green
O’er 3000 strong – so straight and tall
They answered their country’s call.
Coalescence of diverse warriors of war
Resting eternally at peace – they gave their all.
The lonely white crosses – do not sleep
They stood sentry on Fallen Hill
In the blazing noon day sun – wind – rain –
And in the hallow darkness of midnight sky.
A strong compelling forces – spontaneously
Pulls and glues your eyes upon the hill.
The epiphany – of those lonely white crosses
Evoke powerful message - THE BLEEDING OF AMERICA.
An unending caravan of cars,
Solemn procession parading below the hill
Paying homage to o’er 3000 strong.
“PASS IN REVIEW’ –- at FALLEN HILL.
II.
At Lafayette Bart station
The power of rumbling Bart trains
Resonates the cries of lonely white crosses –
Fracture the morning and day long calm.
Cannon fodders resting on Fallen Hill
To correct political wills.
How soon – to soon – will green pastoral hill –
Turn to snowy white hill?
Egregiously striping names off the crosses
Identity – soul –- incantation of names –
Unceremoniously swept into dust bin
Of National Discontent – dregs of discord.
The lonely white crosses stood vigil
Neither for Left nor Right.
Will anonymous crosses be swept off Fallen Hill –
Without the dignity of benediction?
O’er 3000 lonely white crosses – on Fallen Hill –
Symbol of our Great Nation of War –
Or symbol of Futility of Wars?
Allegorical rumbles – and beat – goes on and on.
April 04 2007
This once nameless barren hill
A pasture of grassland of vibrant green.
A few 100 lonely white crosses stood above the hill
Tidal flood of white crosses cascade to bottom of hill.
O’er 3000 lonely white crosses
Randomly scattered on pastoral hill.
The lonely white crosses stood so stark and still
Peacefully resting on vernal green.
The panorama of lonely white crosses –
And scattering of Star-of-David – Islamic Cresent -
And Buddhist Wheel Of Life - etched on crosses
Spreading white wings to wings across the green
O’er 3000 strong – so straight and tall
They answered their country’s call.
Coalescence of diverse warriors of war
Resting eternally at peace – they gave their all.
The lonely white crosses – do not sleep
They stood sentry on Fallen Hill
In the blazing noon day sun – wind – rain –
And in the hallow darkness of midnight sky.
A strong compelling forces – spontaneously
Pulls and glues your eyes upon the hill.
The epiphany – of those lonely white crosses
Evoke powerful message - THE BLEEDING OF AMERICA.
An unending caravan of cars,
Solemn procession parading below the hill
Paying homage to o’er 3000 strong.
“PASS IN REVIEW’ –- at FALLEN HILL.
II.
At Lafayette Bart station
The power of rumbling Bart trains
Resonates the cries of lonely white crosses –
Fracture the morning and day long calm.
Cannon fodders resting on Fallen Hill
To correct political wills.
How soon – to soon – will green pastoral hill –
Turn to snowy white hill?
Egregiously striping names off the crosses
Identity – soul –- incantation of names –
Unceremoniously swept into dust bin
Of National Discontent – dregs of discord.
The lonely white crosses stood vigil
Neither for Left nor Right.
Will anonymous crosses be swept off Fallen Hill –
Without the dignity of benediction?
O’er 3000 lonely white crosses – on Fallen Hill –
Symbol of our Great Nation of War –
Or symbol of Futility of Wars?
Allegorical rumbles – and beat – goes on and on.
April 04 2007
EIGHT AND ONE - October 2007
Years piled upon years by 10s and 20s.
Jet stream of time flashes between blink of eyes
Till the years dwindle to a precious few.
So few! What legacy have I left behind?
A trail of inconsequential footnotes –
Dust prints of time.
So many unwritten poems
Ruminating on shelve of my mind
The edges need rounding not pounding -
Refine to smoothness of Jamba smoothie
The essencee to be inhaled into my soul
Or spit-out on this page.
Unending rewriting – rephrasing lines
Syntax and context obtuse – metaphor askew.
Confronting the havoc of confrontational wall.
Declension of convoluted mind –
Spiraling into vortex of memory –
Avalanche of time-worn years.
Obsessive fear of losing the edge –
Obsession to rise – a step above –
To the next level of perfection.
Aspiration to conjured poems that tremble the soul
Stirring the emotion to sublime height –
Transcending the spiritual high – the epitome.
Introspections and posturing web of intrigue
Yield not to the regressive mind.
Calm the soul – allay the tremulous heart.
Regroup and assault that wall of diminishing return
With a string of patched work of reclaimed words
Coalesce into this palpable ode – Eight and One.
Jet stream of time flashes between blink of eyes
Till the years dwindle to a precious few.
So few! What legacy have I left behind?
A trail of inconsequential footnotes –
Dust prints of time.
So many unwritten poems
Ruminating on shelve of my mind
The edges need rounding not pounding -
Refine to smoothness of Jamba smoothie
The essencee to be inhaled into my soul
Or spit-out on this page.
Unending rewriting – rephrasing lines
Syntax and context obtuse – metaphor askew.
Confronting the havoc of confrontational wall.
Declension of convoluted mind –
Spiraling into vortex of memory –
Avalanche of time-worn years.
Obsessive fear of losing the edge –
Obsession to rise – a step above –
To the next level of perfection.
Aspiration to conjured poems that tremble the soul
Stirring the emotion to sublime height –
Transcending the spiritual high – the epitome.
Introspections and posturing web of intrigue
Yield not to the regressive mind.
Calm the soul – allay the tremulous heart.
Regroup and assault that wall of diminishing return
With a string of patched work of reclaimed words
Coalesce into this palpable ode – Eight and One.
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