Between bowls of sticky rice,
And servings of miso soup
I find myself a little lost in a place I've never been
The floor my chair
My knees, the seat
Pondering on vertical languages of honor and courage
the pictures all move in silent circles
forming messy representations of
thoughts, feelings, reality
turning mere images into
real art, like paintings
but it has taken over
everything around me
from a mile up,
peering from a window seat
lights of tokyo beneath us
and we're sat, soaring
amazing, isnt it?
like a looking glass
this little round window
on a way-too-big airplane
On the third day of spring
In Hakone, Japan
A heavy snow fell
It was a bit of a sensation
Between the store clerks
And visiting tourists
I walked along the dark street
Letting it melt
In my hair
Like I was feeling it
For the first time again
I spent two days crying over a boy
who couldn’t even admit that I was ever something to him.
Two nights crying my tears into a river
in a city that didn’t give two ***** about me.
A boy that wouldn’t hold me and couldn’t let go of me.
I was a flower, wilting and dying under his touch
because he just couldn’t bear to ******* cut me off.
cherry blossoms fall
trees weeping for their homeland
tears of pink and white
I wrote this on the night I found out about the tsunami in Japan in 2011.
Now every spring season when cherry blossoms bloom I remember And I know that nation is still recovering
"Goodbye my love, we'll meet again under the cherry blossom tree."
"The wind rustles and whispers to me, the songs of the fated."
"If only the mountain Gods were ever generous, our feet would gladly lead us the same path."
"The red sea would surely separate, wave by wave."
"Again my love, the rain may falter, my tears come in streams of a waterfall."
Japanese poems are songs of nature.
Love beneath the linden tree,
The blue touchpaper of fingers entwined,
And sunsets of ignis fatui,
The lightning wick of lips and the caroming atom,
That once held faces,
All but sear and blast wind and howl of eyes,
All of love adrift.
“Hibakujumoku” means survivor tree or A-bombed tree in Japanese. The linden tree, Tilia miqueliana, is one such tree in Hiroshima, and a Linden Tree Monument exists at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial.
red torii gates separate the sacred
engraved with kana names
I step on the stone tiles
reinvent myself by praying
to every god I have never believed in
donating all the coins I have to shrines
the omamori will protect me
with pretty ribbons, silk, and wood
their birds guide to understanding
converting lies into truths before me
their paper songs a tender kindness
and there is courage within me
even as my voice turns to melody
my words spill out a tune
the temple walls hum
a chorus of veracity, louder
I have come to realize the importance
of moral authenticity within me
your gracious decency, divine
delicate gentleness with my fragility
from shattered pieces I rebuild
recollect myself and rise stronger
the sakura blossoms melt
the tide rises up the torii
compelled by a cold moon
wooden birds take flight away
and I return solid and true